Morning arrived before the academy's bells rang. The sky over Silverbrook was still a pale gray, mist curling over the training grounds like drifting spirits. The air smelled of damp earth and metal—a familiar scent to anyone who grew up around the academy, but today it felt sharper. Anticipatory. Unsettled.
Leon Gray stepped onto the training field with the same calm he carried everywhere. His footsteps were steady. His expression unchanged. The only difference was the faint hum under his skin—his newly awakened mana responding to the world more naturally, settling into its flow.
His Luck talent pulsed in the background, quiet and invisible, yet Leon could feel that things around him moved slightly smoother than before. Even his breathing tempo felt synchronized with the crisp morning cold.
Damian Crest, on the other hand, stumbled out of the dormitory like a dying animal, hair sticking up in seven directions, one boot on and one in his hand.
"Leon… why… do you wake up… at dawn?" Damian gasped.
"It's the scheduled time."
"No, no it's not. It's torture. Please… five more minutes…"
Leon didn't answer. He walked toward the weapon racks.
Damian groaned dramatically and limped after him. "I awakened S-rank yesterday. You'd think I earned the right to sleep in."
"You didn't," Leon said.
"I did! I absolutely did!"
Leon reached the rack and picked up two wooden daggers—the same training tools he had used since childhood. They felt slightly lighter now, or perhaps he was simply stronger. His attributes had improved. His grip tightened naturally. Even his stance shifted without conscious thought.
Luck wasn't visible, but its influence was real.
Instructor Hale came onto the field with a clipboard under his arm. His eyes were tired—clearly he hadn't slept—but his voice was steady. "Good. You're both early. As expected."
Damian pointed a shaky finger at Leon. "Him. He dragged me out of bed with psychic pressure."
"I knocked on your door," Leon said.
"It felt like psychic pressure."
Hale rubbed his forehead. "Let's begin before Damian invents more nonsense. Today's training will assess your new attributes after awakening. We'll measure stamina, mana flow, reflexes, combat aptitude, and compatibility with weapons."
Damian perked up. "Weapons? Finally!"
Leon selected his stance without hesitation, daggers held loosely at his sides. Damian grabbed a wooden training sword—the closest thing to a real blade he could legally use at Level 1.
Hale raised his hand. "We'll start with basic movement. Leon, you first."
Leon stepped forward.
"Run the field. Full lap. No holding back."
Leon nodded once and shot forward.
His body responded instantly—faster, smoother, more controlled than the day before. His feet struck the ground in perfect rhythm. The wind cut around him. Every movement felt aligned.
He wasn't faster because of luck. That wasn't how the talent worked.
But everything—from the ground's firmness to the slight incline of the track—seemed to work with him, not against him. His body flowed naturally into efficiency.
When he completed the lap, Hale raised his eyebrows. "You improved by nearly twenty percent from yesterday."
Damian's jaw dropped. "TWENTY?! How?! You didn't train overnight! Did luck hack your muscles?!"
Leon shook his head. "It's not luck. I'm adjusting faster."
"That IS luck!" Damian shouted.
"Stop shouting," Leon said.
"NO!"
Hale cleared his throat. "Damian, you're next."
Damian started running. He took three steps, tripped over his own foot, rolled, stood up again, and continued limping heroically as though nothing happened.
"Smooth," Leon said.
"SHUT UP!"
Hale ignored them. "Leon, mana flow next. Show me basic channeling."
Leon extended his hand. Mana surged instantly—quicker and clearer than before—forming a faint ripple of light above his palm. A simple manifestation, but stable.
Hale's eyes narrowed. "Your mana control improved too. But you've never had a magic-related talent. This is… unusual."
"His luck is doing it," Damian said. "Leon is destined to be the ultimate cheat, I swear."
Leon closed his hand, dispersing the mana. "Not a cheat."
"Cheat!" Damian insisted.
Hale sighed again and flipped the page on his clipboard. "Enough talking. Combat test. Damian, you spar with Leon."
"Eh—what—why?!" Damian panicked. "H-He just awakened EX rank!"
"He is Level 1," Hale said. "Same as you. Fight."
Damian turned to Leon with a terrified expression. "Please don't kill me."
"I won't."
"You said that yesterday when we sparred and I nearly died!"
"You tripped."
"You PUSHED me!"
"It was an accident."
Hale raised a hand. "Begin!"
Damian didn't hesitate—he charged forward with more speed than he had ever shown before awakening. His sword whistled through the air, aiming directly for Leon's shoulder.
Leon moved.
Not by dodging with exaggerated flair. Not by leaping aside. He simply stepped left—one clean, precise shift of his weight—and Damian's blade cut nothing but air.
Damian spun, slashing again, and Leon ducked. The sword passed over his head, missing by a whisper.
Leon wasn't faster. He wasn't physically overwhelming.
He simply chose the correct movement every time. His instincts were clean. His footing stable. His path of evasion efficient.
Luck didn't decide battles alone. But luck sharpened choices. Luck smoothed movements. Luck guided reactions toward favorable outcomes.
Damian thrust forward again. Leon twisted aside and gently tapped Damian's stomach with his dagger.
Hale raised a hand. "Point. Leon wins."
Damian froze, staring down at the dagger touching his ribs. "…How did you do that? HOW? This isn't fair! I have Sword Heart!"
"You're still Level 1," Leon said.
"I don't care! I should've at least hit you once!"
"You tripped twice," Leon corrected.
Damian groaned and flopped onto the dirt. "I want a refund on my Awakening…"
Hale shook his head. "Leon, your instincts are sharper than before. You're positioning yourself correctly before Damian even finishes his swing."
Leon nodded. "It felt natural."
"That is what concerns me," Hale muttered.
Their instructor dismissed them only after several more rounds of testing—stamina, balance, basic spell guidance, weapon precision, and reactive drills. Through it all, Leon's performance rose steadily.
Not explosively.
Not dramatically.
But consistently.
Every movement slightly better.
Every decision slightly cleaner.
Every result slightly higher.
Luck was subtle.
But dangerous.
When training ended, Damian fell to the ground with a dramatic sigh. "Leon… you're going to surpass me in like three weeks. I hate it here."
"You won't fall behind," Leon said.
Damian stared at him. "THAT'S NOT EVEN TRUE AND YOU KNOW IT!"
Leon picked up his daggers and dusted them off. "We train again tomorrow."
Damian groaned in agony. "Life is pain."
Leon didn't argue.
The day had only begun.