(This is a spinoff after Chapter 50 rather than going to Ionia.)
Loud creaking breaks the silence as Orion steps into a large, empty, and dusty auditorium. Hanging above the seats is a large chandelier and on the stage, a grand piano.
His heavy footsteps echo as he steps toward the stage, his fingertips lightly grazing the velvet seats with skeletons gripping different items.
They looked so clear and yet so distorted.
Yet ahead, a walking stick in the skeletal palm of a well-dressed man sat expectantly on the ledge of the auditorium. His gray beard and posture, despite not having a face, read,
"You've come again?"
Orion stopped at the foot of the stage, glancing back silently at the countless dead seated around him. It was like an audience awaiting the final performance.
His expression tightened with a downcast look. It's as if he could hear another voice from the audience of souls speaking out to him.
"If you were to die and be reborn... in your new life, would you do it all again?"
------
~The Past~
"One-two-three! Pivot, Five-Six!"
Jab, right hook, left cross, pivot, body shot, headshot!
"And time!"
'It is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill, fifteen percent concentrated power of will~'
"Your turn in the ring Orion! Get in there!"
Panting, Orion swung himself between the ropes and into the ring. He was drenched in sweat and barely able to catch his breath as he bounced to his corner.
"Hey! Orion!" He turned, barely able to register his father calling out to him over the blaring music and adrenaline. He was the type of man to wear the plainest of clothes no matter where he went. Plain gray sweats and a sweatshirt with sparse gray hair from his old age.
"This time," he said, lowering his voice as Orion's opponent hopped into the ring, "don't just dance around him jabbing endlessly. Remember the boxer we watched last night?"
"Yeah?" Orion panted, adjusting his 14oz gloves.
Nodding, his father said, "Well, try his tricks out. Aim to miss purposefully, make your opponent slip purposefully into a trap!"
Orion glanced at his shorter but far more muscular opponent. With the lack of skinny teenage guys like him, he was going in at 135 lbs (~61kg) against someone over 25 lbs (~11kg) heavier. Every blow would put him on his ass so his fighting style became that of dancing and slipping everything and anything at all costs.
The bell went off, cutting his father's words mid-way and Orion started bouncing more energetically. His opponent raised his gloves, stepping forward like a tank and tightening his stance. His movements were slower, more methodical, with paced and rhythmic jabs.
The two of them joined the gym at roughly the same time but had very different styles.
Dancing and bouncing along the outside, Orion kept changing directions and throwing out jabs with his longer reach. Keeping with the bounce, his opponent would duck in and try to slip in for a short but hard jab, but Orion would dance away or it would merely graze.
Treat it like it's real, Orion recited his father's instructions. One good hit from someone like him and I'll be on my ass.
Yet thinking in the ring is a sin. In that brief moment of thought, it was as if his opponent could read it and pushed off his back foot. The jab narrowly slipped past Orion's ear, then the right as he slipped left, Orion rolled under an aggressive hook.
An angry growl escaped his opponent, followed by an angry jab too hard for any sparring session.
But that anger telegraphed his movement and let Orion slip again, landing a clean jab to his face. The impact stunned him and Orion jabbed him again, and again, and again until his opponent was forced to stop charging and raise his gloves.
Panting and gasping for air, Orion was slowing down too. He threw another jab, this time aimed at his shoulder, but there was no reaction. The man was still dazed.
So Orion threw it again a little closer to his face and, seeing it as an opportunity, the man slipped inward.
But Orion stepped back and swung a hook at chest level.
Why chest level?
Amateurs usually head-hunted and his opponent would be expecting a hook high enough to slip under now that he was inside Orion's guard. Aiming lower with this false opening gave him what he wanted.
A clean hit.
His opponent was rocked backwards and Orion let him reset. After all, this was training, not a real fight. Both sides had to realize the other might lose their temper. Orion wasn't resentful or vengeful about the earlier aggression.
It's fighting. Shit happens.
"Break his guard!"
------
~Present~
Orion's eyes snapped open and with a loud gasp for air, he sat up straight.
"What...the fuck?"
Around him was the familiar once more. The scent of rusted iron, smog that burned his eyes and skin, and air so polluted he struggled to breathe. The soft tinkling of rain against sheet metal was as soothing as it pelting his skin.
"Huh?" Orion blinked, looking up at the open sky. The roof was caved in after the fire and explosion. He then looked down at himself and saw he was exactly as he was when the glowing Hextech crystal was hurled his way.
"What the fuck?"