The moment class ended, the training hall buzzed with conversation. Cadren's victory was the loudest topic, but Zayle could feel something else beneath the surface. Whispering tones. Wandering eyes. A mix of awe, confusion and jealousy.
He grabbed his bag, wincing slightly as the bruises on his ribs protested. Cadren had hit harder than expected, and although the duel ended cleanly, Zayle felt the pain deep inside each step. Still, he couldn't help a faint smile. Even in defeat, the system had rewarded him. His frame felt stronger, his senses sharper.
But the academy was never kind to someone who stood out.
He made his way through the long inner corridor. The evening sunlight cast long beams across the marble tiles, giving the place a deceptively peaceful glow. He almost reached the courtyard gate when a soft thud echoed from behind him.
Then another.
Footsteps.
Not friendly ones.
He stopped walking, letting the silence stretch. A faint breeze traveled down the hallway, but the tension in the air thickened like mist.
"You really think you can just walk away after all that?"A rough voice broke the quiet.
Zayle turned.
Three upperclassmen stepped out from the side hall, blocking the exit. Their jackets bore the crest of second-year combat students. Higher rank, stronger magic, and worse tempers.
"You embarrassed a lot of people today," the tallest one said, cracking his knuckles. "A first-year making that much noise? That's not how things work here."
Zayle blinked once, unimpressed. "So what? You want applause for jumping a tired student?"
The short-haired girl beside him scoffed. "No. We want you to understand your place."
She formed a small light rune in her palm. Magic energy flickered.
Zayle almost laughed. "If you wanted a fair fight, you should've come earlier. I'm sore as hell now."
The third student smirked. "Good. That makes it easier."
They closed in.
Zayle dropped his bag.
He didn't bother arguing. His body moved on instinct, shaped by years of being hunted, beaten, and forced to adapt.
The tall one lunged first with a heavy fist. Zayle swayed aside, letting momentum carry the attacker forward, then hit him hard in the side of the knee. The student stumbled with a curse.
But the girl's rune was already aimed at Zayle's back.
A burst of light shot through the air.
Zayle rolled forward, still sore from Cadren's fight. The light blast grazed his shoulder, sending a sharp sting through his bones. Not a lethal spell, but strong enough to bruise muscle.
He hissed through his teeth and stood again.
The third student circled around with a curved practice dagger, swinging for Zayle's ribs.
He ducked low, grabbed the student's wrist, twisted it, and kicked him backwards.
But Zayle was still outnumbered.
The tall one recovered and came at him again.
The girl fired a second blast.
Zayle blocked one, dodged another, but eventually a punch caught him on the side. Pain flashed through his abdomen. His breath caught.
Another hit grazed his jaw. He staggered.
Still, even cornered, Zayle's eyes sharpened like a predator who refused to die easily.
"You three…" He wiped the blood from his lip. "Are worse than the beasts outside the wall."
The girl snapped. "Keep running that mouth, and we'll shut it for you."
They attacked again.
Zayle fought back hard, but the earlier battle, the injuries, and the fatigue slowed him down. After a harsh exchange of blows, he managed to slip between them and break into a sprint toward the courtyard.
The three shouted and gave chase.
Zayle didn't head to the dorms. He moved through the side pathways, traversing the lesser-used corridors until he reached the eastern wing of the academy.
The abandoned training yard.
Nobody patrolled here. No classes used it. It was an old stone field overtaken by weeds, cracked wooden dummies, and rusted weapon racks. Most students didn't even remember it existed.
Perfect.
Zayle pushed open the creaking gate and stepped inside. The moonlight spilled across the broken training grounds. A place forgotten by the academy, but familiar to him.
He came here often.To fail in private.To suffer in silence.To grow when no one else believed he could.
He walked to the center and stretched his arms, ignoring the ache. Sweat still clung to his forehead. The sting from the earlier hits lingered across his ribs and jaw.
A normal student would rest.
But Zayle was not normal.
He stared at the cracked stone beneath his feet and muttered to himself. "If I don't get stronger now… someone will make sure I never get another chance."
As he assumed his stance, ready to begin another grueling round of training, the system's metallic tone cracked through the darkness.
System AlertHidden sub-task unlocked.
Zayle's fist froze mid-air.
"Now?" he muttered. "You have timing issues."
System Notification:Sub-task: Overcome Internal WeaknessObjective: Train your battered body under strain.Requirements:Complete 50 precision dodges.Complete 200 controlled strikes.Endure 10 minutes under reduced stamina flow.Rewards:Agility +2Strength +1Stamina +2Additional reward: Minor technique fragment.
Zayle stared at the floating translucent text.
"Reduced stamina flow… meaning you're making it harder on purpose."He snorted. "Fine. Let's see what you want."
Task requirements confirmed.Stamina flow reduced by 40 percent.
His breath immediately felt heavier. The weariness in his limbs doubled, like invisible weights shackled to his arms and legs.
He inhaled slowly.Exhaled.Drops of sweat rolled down his cheek.
Then he moved.
Dodges first.
He imagined the three upperclassmen charging him again. Dodging their fists, sliding away from the light runes, slipping past their blades. His feet scraped across the old stone floor as he practiced pivoting, leaning, rolling.
One dodge.Five.Ten.Twenty.
By the time he reached fifty, his heartbeat hammered like drums in his ears. The world tilted for a moment, but he steadied himself.
Next came controlled strikes.
He walked up to the half-broken wooden dummy and began punching rhythmically. Not too fast, not too wild, but controlled, precise, deliberate.
One hundred strikes.
His knuckles reddened and burned.
One hundred and fifty.
His arms trembled; his breath faltered.
Two hundred.
He dropped to one knee, panting like he had run across the city. But he forced himself up again.
Last part.Ten minutes under weakened stamina flow.
He sat cross-legged in the center of the yard, palms resting on his knees, maintaining a constant magic circulation through his body. It felt like trying to breathe through water, like a weight pressing down on his lungs.
One minute.
Five minutes.
By seven minutes, sweat dripped like rain. His vision blurred.
Eight minutes.
Nine.
Nine and thirty seconds.
Ten.
The moment he finished, the system chimed.
Task CompletedRewards applied.
Strength: 36 → 37Agility: 28 → 30Stamina: 19 → 21
Visible values:Strength: 21 → 22Agility: 17 → 18Stamina: 12 → 13
Bonus reward granted: Minor technique fragment obtained.
Zayle slumped back on the ground, staring up at the moon. His breath slowly evened out. The pain didn't fade, but something inside him felt steadier.
He raised a hand to the night sky, fingers trembling slightly.
"This academy…" he whispered, "wants to crush people like me."
He let his hand fall.
"But I'm not the same boy from my past life."
The wind rustled the tall grass nearby. The abandoned yard felt almost peaceful as he stood again, wiping sweat from his brow.
He grabbed his bag, adjusting the straps across his sore shoulder.
Tomorrow would bring new enemies. New problems. More unwanted attention.
But he had survived worse.And he would rise higher than any of them believed.
On his way out, he paused before leaving the dark, forgotten yard.
"I'll make this place my second home," he murmured.
The moonlight reflected in his eyes, sharp and unyielding.
Then he stepped out, walking slowly back toward the faint lights of the dormitory halls, unaware that someone far away had witnessed the system's sudden pulse in the abandoned field… and was already taking interest.