Two days passed.

  Two glorious, blissful days of not being kicked, punched, bitten, elbowed, stepped on, or creatively maimed. It was the kind of peace that felt like a lie.

  And then—

  “GOOD MORNING, LITTLE FAILURES!”

  Captain Draevin’s voice exploded across the yard like a close-range thunderclap. Ray winced, his soul practically shriveling. It was time. Again.

  The Knight cadets dragged themselves onto the training grounds—a shivering, limping, sleep-deprived procession of teenagers who had begun to suspect they might never know peace again. The sand crunched beneath their boots like a cruel reminder of every bruise they still carried.

  Ray rubbed at a tender, yellowing spot on his jaw. “Round three,” he muttered. “This place is actually trying to erase us from existence.”

  When he turned, his breath caught. On the far side of the yard, the Water Mages stood in a shaky formation—pale, dark-eyed, and barely conscious. They clutched their staffs as if they were the only things keeping them vertical, yet they were ready to heal another hundred casualties.

  Poor bastards, Ray thought. They’re the only ones suffering more than us.

  Then his gaze slid past them—and snagged.

  Lucien D’Roselle. Standing with the senior squires.

  Ray’s brain simply stopped. What. What? Lucien wasn’t wearing the standard cadet cloak today. Instead, he stood with his sleeves rolled up, arms crossed over his chest, his storm-grey eyes sharp and unreadable as he surveyed the field. A squire’s emblem—a mark of rank and merit—was pinned to his shoulder.

  When did he get that? Ray wondered, a spike of jealousy and awe hitting him. Is he here to help? To judge? To count the bodies? Lucien didn’t look like he planned to help anyone. He looked like an apex predator watching a group of toddlers try to fight.

  “Well, whatever,” Ray muttered weakly, tearing his eyes away. “Not my business. Nope. Definitely not.”

  He turned back toward the line of cadets, and that’s when he felt it. A shift in the atmosphere. A pressure running through the group, subtle yet unmistakable—like the static in the air before lightning strikes. This wasn’t the same group of terrified children from Day One. This was an arena filling with fledgling monsters.

  And he—still unawakened—stood among them.

  The divide in the yard was now a physical chasm. On one side stood The Awakened.

  Rian and Calen were at the front of that pack. They stood taller, straighter, and carried a confidence that was frankly annoying. Rian rolled his shoulders, and the faint stone-layered bumps shimmered under his skin like hidden armor. Calen stretched lazily, a localized breeze curling around him and ruffling his hair as if the wind itself were his personal stylist. A dozen others showed similar signs—faint heat distortions, drifting dust motes, tiny static sparks.

  They felt alive.

  And then… there was the other group. The Unawakened.

  Harel looked like he’d aged twenty years in a week. Rowen was scowling hard enough to crack his own molars. A few cadets were clutching their stomachs, already anticipating the nausea of getting pummeled. Ray himself? He felt like a guy showing up to a gunfight with a soup spoon.

  Captain Draevin strutted before them, his arms crossed proudly. “LOOK AT YOU!” he boomed. “Half my cadets finally learned what pain is! The other half are about to learn it… again!”

  A nervous ripple traveled through the unawakened group. Ray leaned toward Harel. “…If I die today, bury me under that tree. The one that looks peaceful and far away from this man.”

  Harel nodded grimly. “I’ll be right next to you.”

  Calen floated by, his feet barely touching the sand, smirking with wind-enhanced smugness. “Try not to get knocked out in the first ten seconds this time, Ray. It’s embarrassing for the dorm.”

  Ray glared. “Don’t make me climb up there and hit you.”

  “You can’t climb,” Calen said simply, drifting an inch higher.

  “…Fair.”

  Rian thumped his chest once, the sound muffled by his stone plates. “You’ll awaken soon, Ray,” he assured him, though his voice was a bit too pitying for Ray’s taste. “Just… try to get hit a little harder this time. Really lean into the desperation.”

  “That is the opposite of reassuring, Rian!”

  Before Ray could continue his protest, Draevin raised a gauntleted hand. The yard fell into a sudden, suffocating silence. The "monsters" braced themselves. The "failures" prayed.

  The hand dropped.

  “ROUND THREE!” Draevin roared, his grin gleaming like a polished weapon. “SHOW ME WHAT YOU’VE GOT!”

  Like wolves released into a pit, the awakened cadets surged forward. The unawakened? They braced for impact. Ray exhaled a shaky breath, his knuckles whitening as he curled his fists. Here we go again. Either I awaken today… or I die trying.

  Unlike the other cadets, Ray was actually holding his ground. His bonus stats were doing the heavy lifting now; his reflexes were sharper, his balance steadier. His punches actually had weight behind them—not enough to end a fight, but enough to make people think twice about charging him.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Around him, the unawakened were being beaten with the grace of swans with broken wings—flailing, crashing, and collapsing in tragic arcs. Ray winced as one boy somersaulted into the dirt with an elegance that looked almost artistic.

  At least I’m not him, Ray thought.

  His only saving grace was that his roommates weren’t targeting him. Calen was busy being a high-speed wind-gremlin, and Rian was tanking hits like a mountain with a bad attitude. And Harel—

  SPLASH.

  Ray jerked around. A sudden burst of water—bright, shimmering, and impossibly fast—exploded outward like a ruptured high-pressure valve. Harel stood at the center of the deluge. His eyes were wide, his hands trembling. A swirling ribbon of liquid lifted itself from the ground, coiling protectively around him like a serpent made of glass.

  Ray’s jaw dropped. Harel had awakened.

  The timid boy—the one who apologized when people punched him—was now encased in flowing water, his aura cool and sharp.

  “Harel…?” Ray breathed.

  His roommate looked at his own hands, stunned. “I—I don’t know what I did,” Harel whispered. “Someone punched me, and then someone kicked me, and I thought I was going to die and—”

  WHOOSH.

  A wave of water lashed outward, sending three charging cadets flying like discarded dolls. Harel froze. “Oh gods,” he squeaked. “I think I’m allergic to violence!”

  Ray couldn’t help it. He grinned—wild and proud. “That’s it, Harel! You—”

  A fist slammed into the side of Ray’s head so hard he saw constellations. He staggered, his ears ringing.

  “—Ow.”

  Rowen stood there, smirking. “Stay focused, loser.”

  Ray spat out a mouthful of grit. “Oh, shut—”

  BOOM.

  A blast of high-pressure water hit Rowen square in the chest, launching him ten feet backward. Harel clapped both hands over his mouth, looking horrified. “I-I didn't mean to do that!”

  Ray wiped his face, dazed. “Harel,” he said softly. “I love you.”

  Then—FWOOOM.

  A burst of flame erupted from the sand where Rowen had landed. The air rippled with scorching heat. Sand hissed as it turned to glass. Rowen stood in the center of the scorched patch, his chest heaving. A deranged grin stretched across his bruised, swollen face.

  His fists were engulfed in fire—his feet were blazing like torches. He’d awakened. Finally.

  And the first thing he did? He didn't turn to Harel, who had just punted him across the yard. He didn't turn to the instructors. He turned straight toward Ray.

  Ray blinked. “…What is wrong with this man?”

  Rowen’s grin widened, flames crackling along his knuckles. Oh, come ON, Ray thought. What did I ever do to him? Why is his entire life goal beating my ass?

  Rowen’s foot ignited. He crouched low. He charged—a flaming missile aimed directly at Ray’s soul. Ray had enough time for one coherent thought: I am dead.

  But then—SPLASH.

  Harel threw himself into the path, raising a shield of swirling water. Both boys were new to their powers. Both were unstable. But Rowen was aggressive. Rowen was furious. Rowen had been waiting years to punch Ray with magical fire.

  The two collided in a chaotic explosion of steam and fists. Harel tried—he really did—but Rowen powered through him like a wildfire. Finally, Harel was thrown sideways, skidding across the sand like a soggy ragdoll.

  Rowen didn't even look back at him. He jumped—straight at Ray.

  Ray’s heart dropped into his stomach. This is it. This is the moment. I am absolutely, undeniably, profoundly screwed.

  As Rowan’s flaming heel descended toward his skull, Ray’s mind fled. Not into courage or strategy, but into a memory. A stupid, wonderful memory of being seven years old, sitting cross-legged in front of a flickering TV. Beside him was Nathan in dinosaur pajamas, and behind them was Shinji, the "cool" nine-year-old, whispering the secret to the universe: “Ray. The best way to unleash all your power… is to shout your attack name.”

  Back in the present, the world slowed. Smoke curled around Ray’s lungs. His pulse thundered like a war drum.

  Shout your attack name.

  Ray clenched his fist, fueled by every ounce of desperation and shōnen-hero delusion in his soul. He roared, the name ripping out of him like a battle cry from a forgotten god:

  煙拳?バリアントストライク！！ ? “ENKEN: BARIANTO SUTORAIKU!!”

  (Smoke Fist Valiant Strike)

  For one impossible heartbeat, the air shuddered. A ripple—faint, grey, and barely real—trembled outward from Ray’s fist. It wasn't fire or wind. It was a pulse of heatless smoke, swirling off his knuckles like a dying ember suddenly remembering how to burn.

  Rowan’s eyes widened. His kick connected, blasting Ray off his feet, but Rowan stumbled. His flames flickered and died. His footing broke as if the smoke had sucked the very momentum from his body. Both boys crashed in opposite directions.

  Ray hit the ground with a wheeze, dizzy and half-conscious. He lifted his head, whispering to the dirt: “…holy crap… did I just… do an anime move?”

  He blinked blearily across the field. There, sprawled face-down, was Rowan—unconscious and extinguished. Ray managed a smug, bloody grin. “That’s what you get.”

  Then, a chill crawled up Ray’s spine. It was slow, primal, and freezing.

  He turned—and Lucien D’Roselle’s face was inches from his own.

  Storm-grey eyes locked onto him with a cold, hungry murder intent. Lightning crackled violently along Lucien’s arm, gathering in his palm until the air smelled like ozone and burnt hair. Lucien wasn't there to warn him. He wasn't there to help.

  The lightning in Lucien’s hand screamed, doubling in brightness, electric white veins tearing through the atmosphere—and then—

  BOOM.

  Captain Draevin appeared between them like a falling mountain. Obsidian stone erupted across his arms, forging armor from the earth itself. He slammed his hand down, tearing a massive slab of black stone from the ground to raise a wall between Ray and a static-charged death.

  Lucien’s strike hit. The entire yard shook. Lightning exploded outward, carving a massive crater into the obsidian and leaving a molten dent deeper than any cadet should ever be capable of making.

  But Lucien didn’t stop. His fingers twitched, and the lightning bent. Ten searing darts of electricity curved around the wall, arcing straight for Ray’s exposed flank. Ray only had time to gasp.

  CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

  Captain Draevin didn't dodge. He took all ten bolts directly to his body. The lightning ripped across his armor, burning through cloth and leaving smoke rolling off his frame. He didn't flinch.

  “ENOUGH!” Draevin’s roar shook the very foundation of the Academy.

  Ten squires landed around Lucien in a perfect, practiced formation, weapons drawn and ready to restrain a monster in the shape of a boy. Lucien didn’t even look at them. He glared past Draevin, past the wall, straight at Ray—as if Ray’s very existence was an unforgivable sin.

  Draevin seized Lucien’s forearm, the obsidian reinforcement cracking under the sheer pressure of Lucien’s remaining static. He forced the boy’s hand down.

  “CADET D’ROSELLE—STAND DOWN!”

  Lucien’s jaw tightened. The air hummed with a tension that threatened to snap. For a second, Ray was certain Lucien would kill them all. Then, the storm flickered. Lucien exhaled, a cold and controlled breath, and pulled his fangs back. The lightning died.

  Draevin tightened his grip, fury rippling through his voice. “Lucien,” he growled, “explain to me why you just tried to KILL another student.”

  Ray, still sprawled in the dirt, whispered weakly: “…Wh-why is it always me?”