The first thing the world learned about Kai Skyline was that he wasn't particularly strong.
I discovered this approximately eight seconds before everyone else.
"Again."
I stared at the machine.
The machine remained unimpressed.
A reinforced metal bar rested across my shoulders, connected to a resistance system beneath the platform. Numbers hovered on the display beside me while cameras surrounded the testing floor from nearly every possible angle.
Apparently somebody had decided humanity needed several close-ups of me struggling.
I adjusted my grip.
"How much?"
Dr. Vey answered from the observation station.
"Same resistance."
"That's disappointing."
"You haven't lifted it yet."
"Exactly."
A few people laughed somewhere in the gallery.
I bent my knees.
My ribs complained immediately.
The medical team had cleared me for controlled testing, but "cleared" apparently meant I was allowed to discover exactly which parts of my body still hurt.
I pushed upward.
The bar moved.
Slowly.
My legs shook as the resistance increased against me, and for one glorious second I thought I might actually complete the repetition.
Then my right knee dipped.
The machine stopped.
A red light appeared.
FAILED
I released the bar.
"Rude."
Dr. Vey looked down at her tablet.
"Peak output places you within the upper D to lower C physical-strength range."
The gallery became noticeably quieter.
I rolled my shoulder.
"Is that good?"
"No."
"Appreciate the honesty."
Dr. Vey didn't smile.
She'd developed impressive resistance to me.
Behind the observation barrier, hundreds of officials and heroes watched the results populate across enormous screens. Millions more were apparently watching through the public broadcast.
Yesterday, every Flag-Bearer had been assessed at B.
Today, the hero who supposedly drove away Ygros couldn't comfortably lift C-grade resistance.
I imagined the internet having a perfectly reasonable response.
It probably wasn't.
"Proceed to speed assessment."
I stepped off the platform.
As I moved toward the track, I caught sight of Bladeon in the gallery.
He wasn't laughing.
That somehow made things worse.
Maximus was.
I decided I disliked him.
The speed test was simple.
Run.
No sword.
No equipment.
No techniques.
Just my body.
I took my position.
The starting light turned red.
Then yellow.
Green.
I ran.
My first acceleration wasn't terrible, but I felt the difference immediately. My right shoulder pulled slightly with each stride, my ribs resisted deeper breaths, and the lingering weakness in my left side threw off my natural balance.
I crossed the finish line.
The result appeared.
D+
I stared at it.
"Oh, come on."
Dr. Vey's voice reached me.
"Your injury-adjusted projection is approximately C."
"Can we put that one on the screen instead?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because you ran D+."
The audience laughed again.
I looked toward her observation booth.
"I'm starting to think you enjoy this."
"I do not."
There was a pause.
"Much."
I pointed at her.
"I knew it."
Even she smiled that time.
The next several tests went about as well.
My reaction speed was better.
Solid C.
My balance scored unusually high even with the lingering injuries. Coordination was better still, especially when the tests involved unpredictable movement rather than pure athletic performance.
Durability?
C.
Endurance?
C.
Raw energy output without a weapon?
Barely measurable.
That one caused a reaction.
Dr. Vey repeated the test.
Then repeated it again.
I stood inside a circular scanner while energy sensors measured every detectable form of awakened output.
The display remained embarrassingly low.
A researcher leaned toward another.
"Recalibrate."
They did.
Same result.
Someone checked the machine.
Nothing wrong.
Dr. Vey looked at me.
"Produce your ability."
"I need a sword."
"We are measuring intrinsic output."
"I know."
"Your registered ability classification is weapon-based."
"Correct."
"Can you manifest any aspect of it without a weapon?"
"No."
"Energy projection?"
"No."
"Physical enhancement?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Summoning?"
"Depends what you mean."
She looked up.
I immediately regretted saying that.
"Explain."
"I can sometimes call a sword back to me."
That created conversation among the researchers.
Dr. Vey's eyes narrowed.
"From what distance?"
"Not sure."
"Maximum demonstrated?"
I thought about the ice sword ripping through the air toward me while Ygros crushed my body in its hand.
"Far."
"Define far."
"No."
Her expression flattened.
I smiled.
"Classified?"
"Sure."
She wrote something down.
Probably annoying.
The scanner finished.
INTRINSIC ENERGY OUTPUT: D
That one silenced even me.
D.
The broadcast displayed my preliminary metrics together.
PHYSICAL STRENGTH: C-
SPEED: D+ / PROJECTED C
REACTION: C
DURABILITY: C
ENDURANCE: C
INTRINSIC ENERGY OUTPUT: D
For several seconds, nobody seemed to know what to do with that information.
Then the gallery exploded into conversation.
I could practically hear every commentator on Earth rewriting their scripts.
Dr. Vey raised a hand.
"Quiet."
The room slowly settled.
A reporter in the approved media section called out, "Director, are these readings consistent with the recorded Ygros engagement?"
"No."
Another voice followed.
"Then are the tests inaccurate?"
"No."
"How can a D-output ability injure an Apocalypse?"
Dr. Vey looked toward me.
I shrugged.
She turned back toward the gallery.
"That is what we're here to determine."
The combat simulation went slightly better.
Slightly.
I entered an artificial city block with no weapon.
Five training constructs activated around me.
Their difficulty was set to C.
The first rushed me.
I stepped aside.
Its punch missed by inches.
I drove my elbow into the side of its neck.
Nothing.
Right.
Robot.
Bad choice.
It turned.
I ducked beneath the next swing and kicked the back of its knee. The joint buckled exactly where I expected.
Better.
A second construct approached from behind.
I saw its shadow.
Dropped.
Its fist passed overhead.
The first construct tried to grab me, so I redirected its arm and sent it into the second.
That part felt natural.
I couldn't overpower them.
Didn't need to.
For the first minute, I did well.
Then the third joined.
Then the fourth.
My breathing became heavier.
Without a sword, every opening I saw felt incomplete.
I knew where to move.
I knew where to strike.
I understood balance, timing and distance.
But my body had to actually execute all of it.
One construct caught my injured shoulder.
Pain flashed down my arm.
I twisted free.
Too slow.
Another hit me in the ribs.
The world tilted.
I stumbled backward and barely avoided the next strike.
"Continue?" Dr. Vey asked.
I straightened.
"Obviously."
The fifth construct activated.
"That wasn't permission."
Apparently it was.
I spent the next thirty seconds being reminded why confidence was not armor.
Still, something strange happened.
The longer the fight continued, the less often they hit me.
I couldn't overpower them, but I started understanding them.
The first favored its right side.
The second paused slightly before changing direction.
The third adjusted its feet before lunging.
Machines weren't swords.
Patterns were patterns.
I moved between them.
One attacked.
I redirected it.
Another missed.
I used its momentum against the third.
The fourth tried grabbing me, and I stepped inside its reach before sweeping the leg.
The fifth hit me anyway.
Hard.
I rolled across the ground.
"Okay."
I stayed there for a second.
"That one was personal."
The simulation ended.
Medical staff immediately entered.
I waved them away until one threatened to remove me from the assessment entirely.
Fine.
They checked my ribs.
Nothing newly broken.
Wonderful standard.
Dr. Vey reviewed the results.
"Your unarmed combat performance is unusual."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't praise."
"You've got to work on your delivery."
She ignored me.
"Your technical decision-making exceeds your physical metrics considerably. You adapted to all five constructs despite lacking sufficient strength to reliably disable them."
"Sounds like praise."
"It is an observation."
"I'll take it."
A new result appeared.
UNARMED COMBAT EFFECTIVENESS: C
I nodded.
Fair.
Then the overall preliminary grade appeared.
CURRENT PERFORMANCE RANGE: C
The room erupted again.
This time I watched the reactions.
Some people looked confused.
Others disappointed.
A few looked vindicated.
I wondered how many people had spent the last week insisting I was secretly the strongest teenager alive.
Sorry.
Maximus leaned toward Bladeon in the gallery and said something.
Bladeon never looked away from me.
That bothered me.
Dr. Vey approached the edge of the testing area.
"Mr. Skyline."
"Doctor."
"Do you understand what these results indicate?"
"That I should exercise more?"
"They indicate that your repeatable baseline capability is consistent with C-grade operations."
There it was.
Not official yet.
Close enough.
A reporter shouted from above.
"Then why did he survive Ygros?"
Another followed.
"Are you saying Ygros was weaker than initially believed?"
That made me look up.
"No."
The word left my mouth before Dr. Vey could answer.
The gallery quieted.
I hadn't planned on speaking.
Too late.
I looked toward the media section.
"Ygros wasn't weak."
Nobody interrupted.
"It could've killed me."
The sentence settled over the room.
I kept my voice even.
"I'm alive because I survived the fight. That's all."
A reporter stood.
"But the footage shows you freezing its arm."
"Yeah."
"That's far beyond the output we're seeing today."
"I know."
"Then how?"
I looked toward my left hand.
The fingertips still didn't feel completely normal.
"By doing something my body couldn't afford."
That shut them up.
Dr. Vey watched me for a moment before turning toward the audience.
"This is precisely why Current Grade measures repeatable operational capability rather than maximum recorded output. A technique that incapacitates its own user cannot represent that user's standard deployment level."
Good.
Someone understood.
She looked back at me.
"Your physical assessment is complete."
"Finally."
"Your technical assessment begins after medical clearance."
I started walking toward the exit.
Then stopped.
"Technical?"
Dr. Vey nodded.
The floor opened.
A platform rose from beneath the arena.
There were weapons on it.
A lot of weapons.
Longswords.
Sabers.
Rapiers.
Katanas.
Greatswords.
Short swords.
Weapons from countries and periods I recognized, and several I didn't.
My exhaustion disappeared.
"Oh."
Dr. Vey noticed.
So did Bladeon.
"These are standardized assessment weapons," she explained. "No abilities. No enhancements. No bonded effects."
I approached the platform.
My eyes moved across the collection.
Different balances.
Different grips.
Different lengths.
Different purposes.
Something inside my head became very quiet.
For the first time all day, I forgot about the cameras.
I reached toward the nearest sword.
Then stopped.
"Am I allowed?"
Dr. Vey looked confused by the question.
"Yes."
I picked it up.
European longsword.
Slightly forward-weighted.
Training edge.
The grip was built for two hands, but the balance allowed controlled one-handed transitions.
I turned it once.
Everything made sense.
Not gradually.
Immediately.
Behind the barrier, Bladeon leaned forward.
Dr. Vey looked down at her tablet.
"Mr. Skyline?"
"Yeah?"
"Have you trained with this weapon before?"
"No."
"You're certain?"
I moved the blade through a basic guard.
Then another.
The sword felt familiar despite being completely unfamiliar.
"I'm certain."
She exchanged a glance with one of the researchers.
"Very well."
Targets rose across the arena.
I smiled.
Finally.
"Begin technical assessment."
I stepped forward.
For the first time all day, I wasn't worried about my grade.