"You think about today's match?" The teacher's voice cut through the noise outside the training yard, steady and deep, full of reserve.
John wiped sweat and squinted. His hair was plastered to his forehead. Dark circles dug in, the marks of brutal nights in the cultivation chamber. He answered, half serious, half lazy:
"It was okay, teacher. The opponent was too weak, he went down before his moves even warmed up. Kinda boring."
The teacher lifted an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching like a smile that wasn't a smile.
"You look down on the battlefield? Finishing it quick and clean isn't the result you've always chased?"
John gave a short laugh.
"I wanted to have fun for once. Been ages since I went all out."
The light comment settled a shade heavier between them. Outside, the late sun poured through the training room windows, catching on a row of scorched energy targets. The air smelled faintly of ozone, that leftover scent after every clash of power.
"Alright, follow me." The teacher stood, his training coat flapping. He strode toward the east corridor, the area reserved for faculty.
John shrugged, slung his bag over his shoulder, and sauntered after. His footsteps clacked on the cold tile. They walked in silence, only the ventilation fan whining and the fluorescent lights flickering like they were dying.
The faculty room door opened to reveal an old wooden table, a rickety metal shelf, and a cup of tea still steaming faintly. The teacher was already seated, hands folded, his gaze half-closed as if calculating something deep.
"Sit."
John pulled out a chair, eyes wandering around the room. A few old achievement plaques hung on the wall, their bronze edges dulled by time. One read plainly, "North SuppressionCampaign – Level 3 Ability User"
"Teacher," John said with a small smile, "you really fought on the front lines? Doesn't look like it. Desk work suits you better."
The teacher glanced at him, neither angry nor amused, and answered calmly.
"On the battlefield, those whose mouth moves faster than their brain only end up dead sooner."
Silence held for a few seconds. Then he opened a drawer, a quiet creak. He carefully took out a silver-gray breastplate and three vials of Level 1 energy solution.
The light flashed off the metal so brightly it lit the room for a moment. The teacher stroked the armor gently, a look of nostalgia in his eyes, not sorrow but the feeling of someone who once entrusted his life to every joint and scratch.
"You know what this is?"
John propped his chin and studied it closely.
"Old light armor. Outer shell made of second-generation nano alloy. No energy diffusion system, but it's very flexible."
"Good. I remember when you first joined class, you couldn't even tell the energy core from a stabilizer."
"Now I can." John tilted his mouth. "All thanks to your teaching, of course."
The teacher nodded lightly and pushed the armor and three vials toward him.
"John Markus. Two weeks until the university exam. You know it can decide the rest of your life."
John didn't answer right away. He touched a faint scratch on the armor's surface, feeling the cold bite through his skin.
"I don't need reminding. The whole damn world lives for that exam."
"And you're part of it too."
"Probably." John replied softly. "But I don't want to live waiting to be chosen. I want to be the one who makes others choose me."
A faint smile passed over the teacher's weathered face.
"Good. With that ambition, this is worth giving."
John looked up.
"You called me in just to hand over this stuff? Or is there more?"
"Think of this as my investment in you." The teacher's voice deepened, carrying a weight that couldn't be taken lightly.
John raised an eyebrow.
"Investment? Sounds like buying shares."
"Exactly. I don't believe in luck, I believe in accumulation. There's something in you that other students don't have, not more energy, but control."
"You said that before." John leaned back, eyes brightening. "The truly strong can use 98 points of energy and hit like 120."
"And you're about to reach that threshold."
Silence fell again. Both of them looked at the armor on the table, as if it were an unspoken promise.
"What do you want me to do?" John asked, his voice hoarse with fatigue.
"Nothing. Just take the exam. Then survive. If you can, climb higher than even I could reach."
John laughed and stood.
"Sounds like a challenge."
"It is a challenge."
He lifted the armor and twirled his wrist to feel the weight. Lighter than he expected, it fit his shoulders perfectly.
"Teacher, has this armor ever saved anyone?"
"It has."
"And now it's my turn?"
The teacher nodded.
"I hope you never have to use it. But if you do, wear it like someone who owes their life to a suit of armor."
Outside, the school bell rang. Students poured from the rooms, footsteps like waves.
John strapped the armor on. It felt like he was being charged.
"I'm going to train more. Can't waste these next two weeks."
"Go. And remember,"
John turned, a crooked smile under the white light.
", I know. Don't die on the way."
The teacher watched him disappear down the hall and sighed softly. On the table, the tea had cooled, reflecting the empty space where the armor had been. The flickering light played over an old plaque on the wall, where the faded words read, "For the next generation."
In the corridor, John clenched his fist. Energy surged through him, boiling. 98 points.
Two weeks to reach 100.
And the university exam, the life and death war of the whole world, counted down hour by hour.