Breakfast—if that’s what you called the act of weeping into lukewarm porridge—finally ended.

  The senior cadets drifted out first, still wiping tears of mirth from their eyes. The mage healers limped out next, leaning on each other like survivors of a natural disaster. Slowly, the hall emptied until only the first-year Knight Cadets remained, looking like a collection of discarded marionettes.

  Ray sat slumped at his table, the spoon still trembling in his hand, his soul fractured in twenty-seven different places. Calen looked like a scarecrow someone had set on fire and then unsuccessfully tried to stomp out. Harel had given up on sitting upright entirely and lay face-down on the wood. Rian meditated through the pain, his expression a cracked mask that said: I regret every life choice that led me here.

  Then—CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

  Heavy, armored footsteps echoed through the Great Hall, striking the stone with the finality of a hammer.

  Captain Draevin marched up to the central podium. His broad shoulders were shaking. Not with anger. Not with authority. But with pure, unadulterated laughter. He slammed one gauntleted hand on the podium and bent forward, wheezing.

  “H—ha… HAHAHA! By the gods above and below… you children—” He wiped genuine tears from his scarred face. “—even if this happens every year, it never stops being funny!”

  Ray wanted to object. He wanted to raise a defiant fist, or at least a middle finger. But he couldn't even lift his arm. Around the hall, his classmates groaned in collective misery.

  Draevin finally caught his breath. He straightened with a grunt, and when he spoke again, the humor vanished like a snuffed flame. His voice dropped into something firm, resonant, and razor-sharp.

  “And THAT—” He swept an arm across the room, gesturing to the fallen bodies, the dazed faces, and the lingering scent of sweat and iron. “—is precisely why you needed yesterday.”

  The groans stopped. The air in the hall grew heavy. Draevin had shifted into full instructor mode—the tone that didn’t just command obedience, it forged it.

  “You think combat is clean. Controlled. Predictable. You think a duel, a spar, or a neat little practice sequence will prepare you for a real battlefield.” He shook his head once, slow and cold. “In the field, nothing is clean. Nothing is fair. And nothing waits for you to figure out how your power works.”

  His eyes narrowed. “There is no point in sitting around contemplating how your strength should feel. No amount of thinking will activate a sigil.”

  Several cadets swallowed hard. Draevin’s gaze swept across them—lingering on Ray, then Rowen, then the rest of the mauled survivors.

  “You learned more in one hour of chaos…” He paused for effect. “…than you would have in a month of drills. You learned what fear feels like. You learned what surprise feels like. You learned that instincts matter more than form. And most importantly—” His eyes hardened into flint. “—you learned that having a Vein means nothing if you don’t know how to use it.”

  Murmurs rippled through the survivors. Draevin lifted his chin.

  “You will not be handheld through your Foundation Vein. You will not be guided into your first technique. Your sigil awakens only under stress, danger, and desperate instinct. That free-for-all was your first taste.”

  Ray swallowed. He thought back to the moment he felt his bonus stats kick in—the moment he felt the edge.

  “Your journey begins now,” Draevin declared. “Not in three years. Not when you’re comfortable. Not when you feel ready. You will rest… for the next two days.”

  The entire hall exhaled in a collective, ragged sob of relief. It was like a dying army finally tasting water.

  “—and then,” Draevin added with a slow, wolfish grin, “you will do it again.”

  The hall exploded into horrified screams. “No—!” “Captain, PLEASE—!” “I haven't stopped bleeding since yesterday!”

  Draevin laughed—full, booming, and merciless. “DISMISSED! And hydrate! I don’t want fifty of you passing out before Round Two!”

  Ray’s forehead hit the table with a dull thunk. “Why,” he whispered to the wood, “must suffering be mandatory?”

  “Because we were chosen by the Knight Division,” Calen muttered, trembling like a leaf.

  Ray stared at the grain of the table, his spirit leaking out of his body. Two days from now… again. And again. And again.

  And yet, somewhere deep in his bruised ribs, behind the aches and the crushing humiliation, something flickered. A spark. A promise.

  Yes, this was hell. This was agony. But for the first time, Ray Melborne didn't feel like a spectator.

  This was the beginning.

  They limped back to their dorm like survivors of a natural disaster. Ray dragged himself through the doorway, stared up at the ladder to his bunk, and felt his soul exit his body.

  “…I regret everything,” he whispered.

  Calen collapsed onto the bottom bunk, face-first. “You chose the top bunk because it felt more protagonist-like,’ remember?”

  Ray whimpered. “Protagonists don’t have shattered spines, Calen.”

  Harel crawled into the room—literally on his hands and knees—and flopped against the wall. “I can’t lift my arms… or legs… or anything. Someone roll me to my bed.”

  Rian stood in the doorway, gripping the frame like it was the only thing keeping him vertical. He looked like a statue dedicated to the concept of pain. Ray stared mournfully at the ladder again. Every rung looked like a personal enemy.

  With a noise somewhere between a groan and a dying animal, he tried to climb. One step. Two. His arm trembled, his leg seized, and he fell backward, landing in a heap on the floor.

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  Calen didn't even look over. “You okay?”

  “NO,” Ray wheezed. “THIS IS MY GREATEST DEFEAT.”

  For a long moment, the four of them sprawled around the dorm like corpses in an artistic display. Then Calen groaned into his pillow. “…I can’t believe that counted as training.”

  Harel lifted a shaking hand. “I bit someone.”

  Everyone stared. “…What?” Ray croaked.

  “I—I don’t even know who it was. A giant fist came at me and suddenly my mouth was involved.” He buried his face in his hands. “I think I tasted blood.”

  Calen snorted. “I kicked a guy so hard in the shin my foot went numb for ten minutes.”

  Rian spoke up in a small, hollow voice: “I punched a girl.”

  All three turned toward him in horror. Rian held up both hands. “SHE JUMPED ON MY BACK LIKE A SPIDER! I panicked!”

  Ray let out a weak laugh that turned into a cough. “You know what I did? I went for a classic dramatic anime uppercut—”

  Calen groaned. “Oh gods, no.”

  “—missed completely, spun around, and smacked myself in the ear with my own elbow.” Ray’s wounded dignity dripped from every word. “And THEN Rowen punched me. Multiple times. In places punches should never go.”

  Calen rolled onto his back and lifted his shirt to reveal a massive purple bruise. “Some dude drop-kicked me while screaming. Who drop-kicks in a street fight?! Who does that?!”

  Rian raised a finger. “…I kicked someone. In the face.”

  Ray blinked. “…You’re the problem, aren't you?”

  “You know what got me?” Harel added, indignant. “Someone tried to strangle me with their coat. Their coat, Ray! I almost respected them while I was dying.”

  Calen pointed at Ray. “You went feral too. You threw sand in Rowen’s eyes.”

  “That was tactical!”

  “You BARKED while doing it.”

  Ray covered his face. “I was in the zone.”

  Rian rubbed his shoulder, grimacing. “I got elbowed so hard I saw my ancestors.”

  “By who?” Calen asked.

  Rian pointed at Ray.

  Ray looked devastated. “I’m so sorry—”

  “No, honestly,” Rian muttered, “compared to everything else, that was the least painful thing that happened to me.”

  The room fell silent. Then Calen said: “…Guys. I think we all fought like complete animals.”

  Ray nodded solemnly. “We absolutely did.”

  “My noble ancestors are crying,” Harel sighed.

  Ray exhaled deeply. “…At least next time, we’ll be more prepared.”

  Silence. Then Calen: “…Next time???”

  All four groaned in a perfect, miserable harmony. After a moment, Ray lifted his head, a small, satisfied smirk tugging at his swollen lip. “…But I did do one good thing.”

  Harel rolled his eyes. “What, Ray? What could possibly count as a win today?”

  Ray puffed out his chest—as much as he could without screaming—and pointed to his fist. “I gave Rowen one of his black eyes. Right hook. Perfect form. A moment of beauty in a hellscape.”

  Harel sat up despite the pain. “Wait—you actually got him?”

  Ray nodded with solemn pride. “Yep. Delivered justice. Delivered it right to his face.”

  Rian blinked. “But didn’t you get punched unconscious three seconds later?”

  Ray shrugged. “Greatness requires sacrifice.”

  Calen threw a pillow at him. “You absolute idiot.”

  Ray caught it and hugged it to his face. “Worth it.”

  Calen paused, his arm frozen mid-reach. He squinted at Ray through his one good eye.

  “Wait. What exactly is an ‘anime uppercut’? Is that some secret technique from your family’s estate?”

  Ray’s heart performed a synchronized backflip with his stomach. The room went silent. Even Harel stopped groaning to listen. Ray felt a cold bead of sweat roll down his temple, mingling with the dirt and dried blood.

  Crap. Think, Ray. Think like a local.

  “Uh… the Anime Uppercut?” Ray squeaked, his voice jumping an entire octave. He scrambled for a lie, his brain frantically searching for a way to explain a 2D trope to people living in a 3D reality.

  “It’s, uh… it’s a very ancient, very specific school of combat from the… Far, Far East. Beyond the Great Fog.”

  “The Far East?” Rian muttered, tilting his head. “I’ve studied the maps. There’s just ocean.”

  “Exactly!” Ray shouted, pointing a shaky finger at Rian. “The Ocean School of Combat! The key to the Anime Uppercut is… internal monologue speed. You have to think about your tragic backstory for at least three minutes while your fist is traveling upward. It creates a—uh—gravitational pocket of drama. If you do it right, the opponent is paralyzed by the sheer narrative weight of your struggle.”

  Harel blinked slowly. “So… you just stand there thinking about your sad childhood while someone is trying to cave your ribs in?”

  “It’s about the vibe, Harel!” Ray insisted, waving his hands frantically. “If executed correctly, your hair is supposed to defy gravity and a glowing aura appears behind you. The punch doesn't just hit their jaw; it hits their soul. The only reason I missed is because I accidentally thought about what I wanted for breakfast instead of my tragic past. The resonance was off.”

  Calen stared at him for a long, agonizing moment.

  “Ray,” Calen said softly. “I think you have more brain damage than we realized.”

  “It’s a real thing!” Ray muffled his face into his pillow, his ears burning a bright, shameful red.

  The room fell quiet again as the weight of the day settled. Then Rian’s fingers curled slightly, as if digging into soil only he could feel.

  “Just for a second…” Rian whispered, “I felt something huge. A steady presence keeping me on my feet.”

  Harel sat up, ignoring the audible crack in his spine. “…Like what?”

  Rian shook his head. “I don’t know. Warm. Heavy. Solid. Like the ground was… responding to me.”

  Ray blinked up from the floor, cheek squished against his pillow. “You’re telling me that while we were all getting folded like laundry… you touched enlightenment?”

  Rian flushed. “I—I’m not saying that! It just… reacted.”

  Harel whistled low. “Damn. Earth Vein resonance? That’s rare.”

  Ray sat up, face dead serious. “Rian. If you awaken your Foundation Technique before me, I’m throwing you out the window.”

  Rian snorted. “You can try.”

  Ray attempted to push himself up. His body made a noise like a dying accordion, and he collapsed immediately. Rian deadpanned, “Terrifying.”

  But the tension didn't leave. Calen exhaled slowly, rubbing his chest. “…I felt something too. When the shouting started, the wind began moving differently. It felt like every draft in the arena was connected to my chest. I took a swing, and the wind followed my arm. Like a second motion.”

  Ray slowly lay back down on the floor, the humor draining out of him.

  So let me get this straight, he thought bitterly. In one day of chaos, Rian felt the earth answer him. Calen felt the wind dance with him. And I… I felt the ground hit me. Several times. Very hard.

  Harel patted his shoulder sympathetically. “To be fair, Ray, the ground has always liked you.”

  Ray didn't laugh. He lay back down, staring at the ceiling as the others murmured excitedly about their experiences. A knot twisted in his stomach—jealousy, fear, and a hollow sort of dread.

  Everyone was moving forward. Everyone was waking up.

  And he was still just a boy with an unstable circuit and a black eye, watching the real protagonists begin their journey while he lay flat on his face.

  Great, he thought, closing his eyes. Two more pulling ahead. I’m becoming the sidekick in my own story.