Vivian returned to his human form, and everyone went back to their seats.

This time, the worry from earlier had disappeared, replaced by cheerful conversations.

Vivian's mother teased Charlotte until her face turned red, while Edward looked at his brother with open respect and admiration.

Their father and grandfather talked quietly as they ate, sharing stories and laughter that filled the room with warmth.

After a while, when the meal was done, Vivian put down his cup and looked at his father.

"Father, why can't I awaken my intuition even though I feel so close?" he asked.

It was the one thought that kept bothering him, growing heavier with each passing day.

If he couldn't awaken his intuition before the end of the month, everything he had planned would fall apart.

His father leaned back in his chair, humming softly as he thought.

"Hmm… intuition is a very difficult ability to awaken," he began, his tone turning serious.

His eyes moved to his own father, as if remembering something from long ago.

His grandfather's gaze met his, calm but deep, as though he already knew where this talk was heading.

The air around them quieted, the cheerful mood fading as the weight of the subject settled in.

His father continued as Vivian listened closely.

"Though intuition can awaken on its own after a certain time," he said, "it's very difficult to force it to awaken before it's ready."

He paused, his calm eyes fixed on Vivian.

He could tell his son was trying to awaken it early, but he didn't question him.

A father knew when to stay silent, if Vivian hadn't shared his reasons, then they must be important.

After a short silence, his father spoke again.

"You said earlier that you've felt it before, right? Was it during a battle, or in some other situation?"

Vivian fell quiet, lost in thought.

The first time he'd truly felt that spark of intuition was in his past life, before his regression, when his heart burned with hatred toward Kafrik.

But he didn't speak of that.

Instead, he mentioned another time, one he could explain.

"It was when I fought the Vehemoth Heart," Vivian said after a moment.

"Although it was just for a flicker, I was able to feel it. But since then… I haven't felt anything."

His voice grew softer at the end, frustration and doubt mixing beneath his calm tone.

"Hmm?" This time, it was his grandfather who spoke.

"If you want to awaken it early, then you must feel the same thing you felt when that flicker appeared. Try to remember what it was like at that moment."

"How I felt at that time?" Vivian repeated softly.

He tried to recall that first moment, the burning hatred that had filled him back then, but somehow, it didn't feel like the full answer.

There was something else mixed in, something deeper that he couldn't quite grasp.

He sank further into his thoughts. "The second time I felt it…" he murmured.

"There wasn't any hatred towards the Vehemoth." He frowned, thinking hard.

"Then what was common between both times? What did I feel both times?"

His mind turned slowly, sifting through the emotions, the memories, the sensations that had flickered like faint sparks in the dark.

As he pondered, his father and grandfather watched him silently, pride shining in their eyes.

They didn't dare interrupt, not wanting to disturb the fragile thread of realization forming in his mind.

Then, after a long pause, Vivian's eyes snapped open.

A light seemed to flash within them as understanding dawned.

"Yeah… that's right," he whispered, his lips curling into a faint smile.

The answer had been there all along, yet it took him a long time to see it.

The common thread between both moments was clear now.

The first time, he'd wanted to survive, so that he could take revenge on Kafrik.

The second time was the same; he had fought with everything he had, just to stay alive.

"Desperation," he muttered under his breath.

It was desperation that had driven him forward, the desperation to live, to win, to kill.

That fierce will to survive had awakened something deep within him, that faint spark of intuition that had once flickered and vanished.

A new light burned in his eyes as he lifted his head.

Looking at his father and grandfather, he spoke with quiet certainty.

"It was desperation," he said. "That's what I felt when that flicker of intuition appeared."

His father's eyes softened with pride, though his tone carried a hint of challenge.

"So," he said, "how do you intend to feel that same desperation again and awaken your intuition?"

Vivian stayed silent for a moment, thinking.

His gaze was steady when he finally spoke. "Father, would you be willing to spar with me?"

It was the only path that made sense.

During his battle with the Professor, he couldn't afford to take reckless risks.

But with his father, he could push himself to the edge, close enough to death to feel that same desperate spark again.

Of course, he didn't say this out loud.

Instead, he sent a quiet voice transmission: [Father, don't hold back. I want you to use your full strength.]

His eyes burned with determination, the calmness on his face giving way to a quiet, dangerous resolve.

His father, however, hesitated.

The thought of fighting his own son with full strength, hurting him to the brink, was something he couldn't bring himself to do, not even in his worst nightmares.

He knew why Vivian had used a voice transmission for that part.

If his wife overheard, there would be no chance of this happening.

He glanced at her, she was chatting and laughing with Charlotte, unaware of what was being planned.

A weary sigh escaped him.

He was just about to refuse when another voice transmission came through.

["Father, please. I'll tell you everything after this is over."]

Vivian's voice trembled when he sent the transmission; the desperation in it he could not bring himself to show face-to-face.

His father let out a long breath and glanced again at his wife.

He knew this would cause trouble once the spar was done.

They would return home with bruises and stories, and his wife, gentle to everyone else, would be merciless about her children's safety.

The memory made him wince.

He imagined her reaction already: scolding, fretting, and then a fierce lecture aimed at him for allowing their son to be hurt.

He rubbed his temple and forced a small, resigned smile.

He would have to accept the beating he'd get from her later.

That thought steadied him more than it annoyed him.

Still, the look he gave Vivian held something else: worry braided with pride.

The man understood why his son asked for this.

He also understood how far Vivian was willing to go.

"Very well," his father answered at last in a low voice.

"But you must promise me one thing, if it becomes too dangerous, you stop. Do you understand?"

Vivian's reply was immediate and firm. "I do. I'll stop if it's too much."

His eyes were steady now, not desperate,focused.

Hearing their low voices, Vivian's mother turned toward them, suspicion already in her eyes.

"What are you two talking about?" she asked, her tone light but sharp enough to make both men stiffen slightly.

Vivian's father forced a smile, one that came out far more awkward than he intended.

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he replied, "We were just… going to have a light spar."

"Spar?"

"Spar?"

The word echoed twice, one filled with confusion, the other brimming with excitement.

The first came from his mother, who blinked in disbelief.

The second, from Edward, whose eyes lit up like a child hearing the promise of an adventure.

"Father! Can I watch too?" Edward asked eagerly, his voice carrying a hint of awe.

His father hesitated, glancing between his two sons.

He wasn't sure he wanted Edward to witness what was about to happen, his eldest beaten half to death in the name of progress.

But before he could speak, Vivian stepped in with a calm smile.

"Of course he should watch," Vivian said. "He can learn from it."

His tone was casual, but there was quiet resolve behind it.

His father sighed, knowing there was no turning back now.

From the corner of his eye, he caught his

wife's gaze narrowing in sharp suspicion.

A chill ran down his spine as he quickly looked away, pretending not to notice.

Cold sweat gathered at his temples, sliding down his neck.

A bitter smile crept onto his face.

'Whatever happens next… it won't end well for me,' he thought grimly.

He could already imagine the lecture, the glare, and perhaps a slipper flying his way once they got home.

'Only God can give me the strength to endure the beating that's waiting for me later,' he muttered inwardly, shoulders slumping in quiet surrender.

Letting out a deep sigh, he straightened himself and forced a calm tone.

"Alright then," he said, trying to sound casual. "Let's go."

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