Chapter 3 - Training

The next day, Soren stood across from his father in an open training field, the early morning sun casting long shadows. 

Renji Oda, the hero known as Prime, didn't hold back. He had made it clear from the start: Viltrumites do not coddle their young. Strength is everything. 

"Come at me," Renji ordered, his stance firm. His piercing gaze locked onto Soren. 

"If you want to be strong, you fight for it." 

Soren took a deep breath. Despite being only four years old, his body felt strong. He could feel the raw power coursing through him, the same power he had instinctively unleashed against the villains just days ago. 

With a burst of speed, he shot forward, his small fists aiming for his father's midsection. 

CRACK! 

Renji swatted him aside like a fly. Soren slammed into the dirt, skidding across the ground. Pain flared in his side, but he grit his teeth and pushed himself up. 

"That was pathetic," Renji said coldly.

"Again." 

Soren launched himself forward, this time adjusting his trajectory midair, throwing a punch toward his father's jaw. 

Renji caught his fist. 

BOOM! 

The sheer force cracked the ground beneath them, but Renji didn't budge. Instead, he tightened his grip and threw Soren into the sky. 

Wind roared past his ears as he tumbled through the air. Instinct took over, and he stopped mid-fall, hovering. 

Renji smirked. 

"Good. You're adapting quickly." 

Soren grinned, feeling a rush of excitement. 

'Flying feels so natural. Like breathing.' 

But his father wasn't done. With a single leap, Renji shot toward him. 

"Lesson one," he said as he closed the distance in a blink. 

"Never hesitate." 

Soren barely had time to react before Renji's fist slammed into his stomach. 

BOOM! 

Soren rocketed toward the ground, crashing into the dirt hard enough to leave a small crater. He gasped for air, pain radiating through his body. 

Yet… he wasn't afraid. 

He wiped the blood from his lip and stood up. His legs felt shaky, but he refused to fall. 

Renji landed in front of him, arms crossed. 

"You're tough. Good. But toughness isn't enough. You need to be faster. Stronger. Smarter." 

Soren nodded, clenching his fists. 

"I will be." 

Renji's smirk widened. 

"Then let's keep going." 

They trained for hours, his father showing no mercy. Every punch, every strike, every fall was a lesson. And despite the brutal pain, Soren couldn't deny it— 

He was loving every second of it.

The training intensified. Soren barely had time to breathe before his father was on him again. 

Renji didn't just strike—he broke him. 

A fist to the ribs sent a sickening crack through the air as several bones snapped like dry twigs. Soren barely had time to process the pain before a brutal kick caved in his chest, the force sending him skidding across the dirt, his body leaving a trail of blood. 

He gasped, his lungs failing to expand properly. 'Shit—ribs pierced my lungs.' 

"Get up." Renji's voice was cold. Unforgiving. 

Soren's vision blurred, but his body was already healing. The unbearable pain dulled, bones snapping back into place, punctured organs stitching themselves together. 

He forced himself up, spitting out blood and bits of shattered teeth. New ones were already pushing through his gums. 

Renji nodded. 

"Good. A real Viltrumite adapts." 

The moment Soren was on his feet, his father lunged, closing the distance in an instant. A brutal uppercut dislocated Soren's jaw, sending his head snapping back. Before he could recover, Renji gripped his skull, fingers digging into flesh and bone as he slammed him into the ground. 

SPLAT! 

The earth shattered, blood and gore pooling beneath Soren's crushed face. His skull was half-caved in, his left eye popping from the pressure, dangling from its socket. 

Blackness threatened to take him, but his Viltrumite blood refused to let him fall. 

With a monstrous growl, his bones knitted back together. His eye reattached itself, vision sharpening as he exploded upward with raw fury. 

His fist connected with Renji's stomach—hard. 

A shockwave rippled through the air. For the first time, his father's feet shifted. It wasn't much, but it was something. 

Renji looked down at him, blood trickling from his lip. Then, he grinned. 

"Finally." 

Soren didn't get a chance to celebrate. His father's knee obliterated his sternum, sending shards of bone into his heart. Before his body could repair itself, Renji gripped his arm— and ripped it clean off. 

Blood sprayed like a fountain, painting the field in crimson. Soren screamed, white-hot agony consuming his senses. 

Renji held up the severed limb, tossing it aside like garbage. 

"Pain is meaningless. You think this is bad? This is nothing compared to what you'll endure out there." 

Soren collapsed onto his knees, his arm already regenerating, muscle fibers weaving back together, skin reforming in seconds. He panted, his body trembling. 

But he refused to break. 

He looked up, his eyes burning with determination. 

"Again." 

Renji chuckled. 

"That's my boy." 

And so, the training continued. And with each broken bone, shattered organ, and spilled drop of blood, Soren grew stronger.

After some time, their training sessions became nothing short of a nightmare by human standards. Flesh torn, bones snapped, blood spilled—again and again. To a normal person, it would be horrific. But to a Viltrumite, it was necessary. 

And Soren loved every second of it. 

He lay on the ground, his body still aching as it healed. His father stood over him, arms crossed, nodding in approval. 

"You're adapting faster than I expected," Renji said. "Your instincts are awakening." 

Soren grinned, wiping the blood off his face. "It feels… natural." 

'That's the weird part,' he thought. 'I was just an otaku in my past life. A nobody who wasted time reading manga, watching anime, and daydreaming. Now, I'm here, breaking bones and loving it.' 

He should have been horrified by how easily he accepted this brutal training, how normal it felt to rip and tear. 

But he wasn't. 

He looked at his hands—hands that had crushed a man's throat just days ago. Hands that would one day shape the future of this world. 

A slow, satisfied smirk spread across his lips. 

'Whoever sent me here… I don't know why you did it, but thank you.' 

Renji's sharp gaze met his. "You're ready for the next step." 

Soren sat up, cracking his neck. "And what's that?" 

His father smirked. "Domination." 

Something stirred deep inside Soren at that word. A hunger. 

'I won't just follow orders. I'll rise higher. I'll take Thragg's place as Grand Regent. And I'll shape the Viltrum Empire into something even greater.' 

A vision played in his mind—a world under his feet, powerful warriors at his command, and women, countless women, all bearing his offspring, ensuring the future of his empire. 

His blood burned with excitement. 

He clenched his fists, looking up at his father with unwavering determination. 

"Tell me everything, Father. I want to know how to conquer."

Renji's laughter echoed through the training grounds. 

"It's too early for you to worry about conquering," he said, his voice laced with amusement. 

"But… I'll tell you this—before you can take a world, you must prepare." 

Soren scoffed. 

"The only preparation I need is myself. Power is everything. If I'm strong enough, nothing can stop me. Why waste time trying to understand weaklings when I can just crush them?" 

Renji's smirk widened. 

"Good. That's the Viltrumite way. But remember this—slaughter is a means, not the goal. You kill to make them submit, not for the sake of killing itself." 

Soren's crimson eyes gleamed. 

"And if they don't submit?" 

Renji's expression darkened, his voice a low growl. 

"Then you erase them." 

A slow, predatory grin spread across Soren's face. 

"That's all I needed to hear." 

Renji chuckled. 

"Still, don't be reckless. Even a god needs time to mature. For now, you should play along with the humans. Hide your fangs until you're ready to tear out their throats." 

Soren nodded, the fire of ambition burning in his chest. 

"I'll join the heroes—for now. I'll learn their weaknesses, see what makes them tick. When the time comes… I'll tear it all down." 

Renji looked at his son with pride. 

"That's my boy." 

Soren turned away, fists clenched. He wasn't here to understand the world. He was here to conquer it. And nothing—not heroes, not villains, not even God Himself—would stand in his way.

Days passed, and Soren played the role of a normal child, laughing and training with his friends, hiding his true nature behind an innocent smile. But beneath that mask, his mind churned with violent ambition. 

Every moment he spent with Izumi and Katsuko, he analyzed them. How strong were they? What were their weaknesses? Would they break easily, or would they fight to the bitter end? 

He watched heroes on TV, listened to their ideals, their speeches about justice and peace. Naïve fools. They built their strength on rules, on limits, on a system that kept them weak. 

One evening, after another brutal training session, Soren sat on the rooftop of his house, staring at the city below. The lights stretched out endlessly, a sea of fragile lives clinging to their illusion of safety. 

'They think they're strong because of their quirks. Because of their numbers. But numbers don't matter. Strength is absolute. A single true warrior can tear through an army of weaklings. And I… I will be that warrior.' 

His blood boiled with excitement at the thought. One day, this city, this world, would kneel before him. 

The sound of heavy boots landed behind him. 

"You're thinking too much," Renji said, stepping beside him. 

Soren didn't look away from the city. 

"I'm planning." 

Renji smirked. 

"Good. But don't forget, your strength comes from your instincts as much as your mind. When the time comes, don't hesitate. Don't think. Just kill." 

Soren clenched his fists. 

"I won't hesitate. When the time comes, I'll rip apart anyone who stands in my way." 

His father chuckled. 

"That's my son." 

Soren's crimson eyes gleamed in the moonlight.