Kairo completed his third day in Nexus Academy since lessons started.
At the end of the third day, he learned something that lingered in his head even after the lessons and he retreated to his room.
’Resonance’.
Professor Voss’ teaching kept on ringing in his head like a commandment.
Laying down on his bed and looking at the ceiling, Kairo silently clenched his fists. ’I wonder how Resonance can affect my Aspect, if it even has a direct effect’.
’What a concept’. He smiled.
Compared to the first Mana Theory class on Monday, he wasn’t as clueless this time. He understood almost half of what the Professor taught.
He slept tired but full. With the contribution points remaining in his balance, he had the luxury to order additional food till satisfaction.
Kairo slept soundly.
...
The next day, Thursday...
The morning sun over Nexus Academy wasn’t gentle; it blazed through the tall windows of the sparring hall, throwing long bars of gold across polished stone floors already stained with sweat from generations of fighters.
Professor Jorvan stood like a monolith at the center; bald, broad, with a scar tissue crawling down one cheek like a map of war. He didn’t need to raise his voice; his presence was heavy enough to force silence.
"Hand-to-hand combat," he began, pacing slowly, his boots echoing. "Awakened combat comes in various forms, and war has a way of stripping you of the weapons you most rely on".
"The first battlefield strips you of your sword, the second battlefield strips you of your mana. If you can’t use your fists when all else fails, you don’t deserve to live... and that is why I am here to teach you to live".
The students shuffled, tension crackling between them.
The Monster Trio stood casually apart; Adrian with calm assurance, Valek brooding, while Selene like usual was aloof like the moonlight incarnate.
The 14 scholarship survivors clustered closer in their own corner of the classroom, still bound by their shared blood baptism. This text is hosted at novel⚑fire.net
"Pair off". The Professor instructed.
The command was simple, but the atmosphere shifted violently. Nobles eyed commoners with disdain, commoners glared back with resentment, and suddenly the sparring hall buzzed like a battlefield about to ignite.
Kairo exhaled.
His muscles still ached from yesterday’s duels, and though he’d eaten enough to keep the shriveling at bay, his body demanded more. Still, his jaw set like stone. "Mira, you and me?"
Mira smirked, tying her hair back. "Try not to cry when I throw you."
They weren’t alone.
All around them, pairs formed. Some with mutual respect, some with thinly veiled hatred, and then Jorvan barked.
"Begin!"
The sparring session started without hesitation.
Kairo moved first, his stance low, fists up.
Mira was faster though, wind kissing her feet as she glided effortlessly, testing him with sharp jabs. He absorbed the blows on his arms, rolling with her momentum instead of trying to meet it head-on.
"Not bad," Mira teased, pivoting before launching a hook kick.
Kairo caught her ankle.
For a second, he grinned, but then. "Got you!"
WHAM!
Her other leg scythed across his chest, flipping him backward. Kairo slammed into the mat, breath leaving his lungs in a grunt.
Mira laughed. "Slumrat reflexes don’t mean much against training, huh?"
But Kairo didn’t stay down.
With a grin, he acknowledged the challenge as he rolled and came up crouched, eyes narrowing in seriousness.
The muscles in his legs bunched and he lunged, shoulder driving into her midsection, tackling her to the ground. They grappled, Mira straining to keep his arms from pinning her.
Their laughter turned to growls as instinct kicked in, survival instinct. Neither was willing to concede easily.
Around them, other duels raged.
A noble boy with flame-coated fists pummeled a commoner until Jorvan’s bark forced him to stop before the boy’s ribs shattered.
Selene toyed with her opponent, ghostly afterimages trailing every step. Adrian, calm as ever, dismantled his sparring partner with surgical precision, every strike controlled, every counter absolute.
Valek? He brutalized his opponent, drawing blood with every blow, eyes dark with something unhinged since last night’s humiliation.
The other boy collapsed, choking, while Valek stood over him, chest heaving.
"Enough!"
Jorvan’s voice cut through the hall like a blade.
Students froze, sweat dripping, bodies bruised.
"You think this is combat?" He shook his head.
"This is play!"
"In war, you don’t get to stop when you’re tired. In war, your opponent doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath. You go again and again, harder than before, till you can’t go anymore. And even then, you go some more, understood?"
"Yes Professor!"
"Good," he nodded, satisfied.
...
By afternoon, it was time for the freshers’ first Endurance Training.
If the sparring hall tested their skill, the training grounds outside tested their souls.
Rows of weighted logs lined the field, ropes hung across tall wooden frames, and obstacle courses bristled like torture devices. The midday sun turned the ground to fire, and the air to molten breath.
"In this academy," Jorvan thundered, "weak legs mean a weak warrior. Weak lungs mean a dead one. Now, run!"
And they ran.
One lap, two laps, three laps...
Sweat soaked their uniforms, breaths becoming ragged. Nobles gasped in disbelief; they had trained before, yes, but never like this. The commoners gritted their teeth, their stubbornness carrying them.
Kairo’s legs felt like lead by the fifth lap.
His stomach clawed at itself, every step a knife. But his fists clenched. All he could think of was her... Leora. ’I’m not stopping here!’
"Move, Vale!" Mira shouted, grabbing his wrist when he nearly stumbled. Together, they forced themselves forward.
By the tenth lap, half the class had collapsed.
By the fifteenth, even the prodigies faltered. Adrian still ran, calm but sweating rivers. Selene glided, ethereal but flushed. Valek’s pride alone dragged his body forward, his lips bleeding from biting too hard.
Kairo? He snarled, every breath a growl, his body shriveled but his will unyielding as he pushed forward.
When he finally stumbled across the finish line on lap twenty, collapsing on all fours, the system pinged faintly in his vision.
DING!
~----~
[Endurance Test Survived.]
[+1% Pain Threshold Adaptation.]
~----~
He spat blood, then laughed bitterly. "Not... dead yet."
The field smelled of sweat, blood, and burning determination. Jorvan surveyed the wreckage of 160 battered students, nodding once.
"This," he growled, "was just the warm-up."
The groans that followed shook the grounds.