And from that moment on, Carla no longer remained a distant observer.
She joined Wendy.
She trained alongside her.
And eventually, she even stepped into the ring against Naruto. She used a transformation magic, gone the white feline replaced by a fair skinned white haired maiden with cat ears.
Then she took her first step towards the blonde.
Then—
Reality shattered the moment Carla stepped forward to face Naruto.
Wendy had already staggered to the side, drenched in sweat, her breath ragged. The young Dragon Slayer had pushed herself far beyond exhaustion, her limbs trembling from the sheer weight of their prolonged sparring session. Carla had watched it all, keenly observing how Wendy endured Naruto's relentless pressure—how she adapted, adjusted, and endured.
And yet, Carla hadn't realized the difference until she was the one standing before him.
She barely lasted ten seconds.
The moment Naruto moved, she felt it. A force unlike anything she had ever encountered—an oppressive, suffocating presence that gnawed at her instincts, making every second feel like an eternity. She swung first, desperate to at least graze him, but her strike met only air. He wasn't where she thought he was.
A blur. A shift.
Then, a pressure against her ribs. A touch, not an impact, but it sent her staggering nonetheless.
Too fast.
Her next move was sloppy—her body was too stiff, her reflexes too slow. She tried to twist away, but before she could react, he was behind her. The very air around her felt like it was siphoning her strength away. She felt her knees buckle as her body failed her.
Then, Naruto stopped.
He backed away, raising his hands in submission, as if to say, That's enough.
Carla collapsed, knees digging into the dirt, her breath shaky and uneven.
She knew Naruto was strong. She had seen it, felt it in the way Wendy struggled against him. But now—now she truly understood.
This was a different level entirely.
Her hands curled into fists.
How?
She barely lasted seconds in close combat, yet Wendy—who was just as small, just as inexperienced in raw physical combat—had been lasting long enough to make it competitive. She watched Wendy push against him, her strikes growing sharper, her movements more refined with each exchange.
And Carla?
She had barely existed in the fight.
Her chest tightened as she stared at her trembling hands. I'm too weak.
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and sweat, the rhythmic sounds of footsteps pounding against the training field harmonizing with the whispers of wind through the trees. Carla, in her human form, ran alongside Wendy, their breaths coming in sync, their determination mirroring each other beneath the ever-changing skies. Whether under the blazing sun, the freezing rain, or the silent glow of the moon, she refused to slow down.
Never again.
The memory of helplessness burned in her mind—a cruel brand that refused to fade. She had felt it too many times, standing on the sidelines, watching Wendy struggle, watching as their fate was dictated by those stronger than them. It was a humiliation that lodged itself deep inside her chest, a suffocating weight that she could not bear any longer.
She had trained. Hard. Harder than she ever had. But even as she improved, the gap between her and Naruto felt like an uncrossable void.
Their spars had become a cruel reminder.
The first time, she had lasted ten seconds.
The second time, she barely pushed past fifteen.
Now, she could endure twenty seconds before he overwhelmed her completely with that suffocating force of his—his syphoning presence that drained her strength the longer she fought. It wasn't enough. It was never enough.
Her muscles screamed, her lungs burned, but she didn't stop. Desperation clawed at her, the fear of uselessness driving her forward like a relentless storm. Every ounce of pain, every moment of exhaustion, was drowned out by the sheer refusal to remain weak.
She leaped forward, launching an assault at Naruto. Her strikes were sharper now, her footwork swifter, her movements more refined. Yet he dodged. Effortlessly. With the same eerie finesse, the same untouchable grace. His golden hair barely swayed, his expression unbothered as he weaved through her attacks like a phantom.
"Faster," he murmured, voice calm but demanding. "Again."
Carla gritted her teeth.
Her fists cut through the air. A high kick—dodged. A feint, a pivot, a follow-up strike—missed. Her claws nearly grazed his cheek, but at the last second, he leaned back, just out of reach.
"You're hesitating," Naruto noted, side-stepping her next attack as if reading her mind. "Fear makes you hesitate. You can't afford to be afraid."
Carla growled, frustration clawing at her chest. She didn't want to hear it—not from him.
Because he never knew what it was like to be weak.
She pushed harder, her body burning from exertion, her heartbeat hammering in her ears. But deep down, she knew.
She still wasn't enough.
And so, she ran harder. She swung faster. She refused to stop.
Even if she had to crawl through the mud, even if she had to destroy herself in the process—she would never be weak again.
The body could only endure so much.
Carla had ignored the warning signs—the exhaustion creeping into her bones, the dull ache in her limbs that never seemed to fade, the way her vision blurred after every training session. Even Wendy's healing magic, as gentle and revitalizing as it was, could not mend the toll she had inflicted upon herself.
And so, her body gave in.
She collapsed, the world spinning, her breath ragged as she fell into unconsciousness.
When she awoke, she was in a dimly lit room, the scent of herbs thick in the air. A soft warmth lingered on her forehead—Wendy's magic, still trying to soothe her battered body. But no amount of healing could ease the weight pressing down on her chest.
She had overtrained.
She had broken down.
And she was still weak.
The realization hit her harder than any of Naruto's attacks ever could. Carla's fingers curled against the sheets, her vision blurring—not from exhaustion, but from the sting of bitter, undignified tears.
She hated it.