Dawn came too early.
King had spent another night not sleeping—he was starting to accept this might be permanent. Instead, he'd watched his roommates sleep.
Marcus muttered in his dreams, hands clenching like he was fighting something. Nero barely moved, breathing so quietly King had to check twice to make sure he was alive. Dante slept rigid, like even unconscious he was ready for attack.
They're all still fighting, King thought. Even when they rest.
A bell chimed at five in the morning. Marcus jolted awake with a gasp.
"What—where—" He looked around wildly, then relaxed. "Right. Academy. Not a dream."
"Good dream or bad dream?" King asked from his corner.
Marcus jumped. "How long have you been awake?"
"All night."
"That's not healthy."
"I don't think I can sleep," King admitted. "I've tried three nights now. Nothing happens."
Nero sat up, hair sticking in every direction. "Some people have insomnia. Maybe you have permanent insomnia."
"Is that bad?" King asked.
"It's weird. But you're weird, so it fits." Nero yawned. "What time is it?"
"Five-oh-seven," Dante said, already dressed. "Combat class starts at six. We should move."
They dressed quickly. The academy uniform felt strange to King—restrictive but also protective, like wearing identity.
---
The cafeteria was chaos. Three hundred students trying to get breakfast before classes. King followed his roommates through the crowd.
"There," Marcus pointed at an empty table in the corner.
They claimed it. Nero returned with trays of food—bread, eggs, something that might be meat.
"Eat fast," Dante said. "Combat class doesn't wait."
King bit into the bread. It was dry and tasteless.
Yesterday's bread was better, he thought. But at least this is food.
Around them, other students ate and talked. Most ignored the corner table with F-Rank students. A few stared at King, whispering.
"Word spread," Nero said quietly. "About yesterday. The duel."
"How can you tell?" Marcus asked.
"People are staring but not approaching. That means they're scared, curious, or both." Nero bit into his eggs. "Probably both."
"Let them stare," Dante said. "Actions matter more than rumors."
They finished eating and headed to the combat hall—a massive building that smelled like sweat and magic residue.
---
Inside, training rings were set up across the floor. Students were already gathering, separating by rank.
"First-years, line up!" a voice boomed.
The instructor stood at the front—a woman built like a wall, muscles visible even through her uniform. Scars crossed her arms and face. Her eyes scanned the students like she was evaluating prey.
"I'm Instructor Vera," she announced. "I teach combat. Not theory. Not philosophy. Combat. The kind that keeps you alive when someone wants you dead."
The room went silent.
"This class has one rule," Vera continued. "When I say fight, you fight. When I say stop, you stop. Break that rule, and you're expelled." She smiled without warmth. "Any questions?"
No one spoke.
"Good. We'll start with basics. Partner up. Closest person to you is your partner. You'll spar to assess current skill level."
Students scrambled to find partners. King found himself facing Marcus.
"Oh no," Marcus said. "I have to fight you?"
"We're partners," King said.
"You caught a golem with your bare hands!"
"I'll be gentle."
"You keep saying that," Marcus muttered. "I don't think you know what gentle means."
"BEGIN! " Vera shouted.
Around them, students started sparring. Some with weapons, others with magic, a few with bare hands.
Marcus raised his sword defensively. "Okay. Let's just... go easy?"
"I will," King promised.
Marcus lunged—a basic thrust, textbook form. King sidestepped.
Marcus swung horizontally. King leaned back.
"You're just dodging!" Marcus said.
"You told me to go easy," King pointed out.
"I meant—" Marcus attacked again, faster this time. A combination he'd clearly practiced. "I meant don't destroy me, not don't fight at all!"
King caught the sword with two fingers.
The blade stopped mid-swing, trapped between King's fingertips.
Marcus pulled. The sword didn't budge.
"How are you doing that?" Marcus asked.
"Just holding it," King said. He could feel the vibration in the steel, the force Marcus was applying. Roughly twelve pounds of pressure. Barely noticeable. "Should I let go?"
"Yes!"
King released the blade. Marcus stumbled backward from his own pulling force.
"HALT! " Instructor Vera's voice cut through the noise.
Everyone stopped. Vera was walking between the training rings, observing each pair.
She stopped at King and Marcus.
"You," she pointed at King. "You're not fighting."
"I'm defending," King said.
"Defense is part of fighting. But you're not even trying to attack." Vera looked at Marcus. "And you. You're telegraphing every move. Your opponent knew what you'd do before you did it."
Marcus deflated slightly.
"Switch partners," Vera commanded. "You." She pointed at King. "Fight me."
The room went silent again.
Oh, King thought. This is a teaching moment. She wants to demonstrate something.
"Okay," King said.
---
They moved to the center ring. Students gathered around to watch.
Vera cracked her knuckles. "I'm going to attack. You're going to defend. Don't try to hit back—you won't succeed. Just survive thirty seconds without getting knocked down."
"Understood," King said.
"BEGIN! "
Vera moved fast—faster than Marcus, faster than the bullies from the first day. Her fist shot toward King's face with enough force to break bone.
King tilted his head. The fist passed by his ear.
Vera's other hand came up in an uppercut. King stepped to the side.
A kick aimed at his ribs. King shifted his weight, and it missed by inches.
She's skilled, King observed. Every movement efficient. No wasted energy. This is someone who's fought for real.
Vera increased her speed. Punches, kicks, elbow strikes—a flurry of attacks that would overwhelm most students.
King dodged everything. Not flashy movements, just the minimum required. A tilt here, a step there.
"Stop moving!" Vera said, frustration creeping into her voice.
"You told me to survive," King said. "I'm surviving."
Vera threw a punch with her full strength—the kind that would crater stone.
King caught it.
Just like with Marcus's sword. One hand, stopping the momentum completely.
Vera's eyes widened. She tried to pull back. Couldn't.
"Your technique is very good," King said. "I've learned a lot watching you."
"Let. Go." Vera's voice was controlled but tense.
King released her hand. "Sorry. Was I supposed to dodge that one too?"
Vera stepped back, flexing her fingers. She looked at her hand, then at King, then at her hand again.
"What's your strength rating?" she asked.
"F-Rank," King said.
"No. Your actual strength. Not your rank."
"I don't know," King admitted. "I've never measured it."
Vera walked to the edge of the ring and picked up a training weight—a solid iron ball marked "500 lbs."
She rolled it to King. "Lift that."
King picked it up with one hand. It was heavy, he supposed. Like holding a large book.
"With one hand," someone whispered.
"The five-hundred-pound weight," another student added.
Vera brought over a larger weight. "1000 lbs. Try this one."
King lifted it. Still manageable.
Vera's expression was unreadable. "Both at once."
King held both weights, one in each hand. His arms didn't shake. His posture didn't change.
Am I supposed to struggle? King wondered. These don't feel that heavy.
"Put them down," Vera said quietly.
King set the weights down carefully. They thudded against the floor.
"Class dismissed early," Vera announced. "Everyone out. Except you." She pointed at King.
---
Students filed out, whispering excitedly. Marcus gave King a worried look before leaving with Dante and Nero.
Once they were alone, Vera sat on the edge of the ring.
"I've been teaching combat for fifteen years," she said. "Trained knights, adventurers, even a few who went on to become S-Rank heroes." She looked at King. "I've never seen anyone move like you do."
"Is that bad?" King asked.
"It's impossible. You don't use techniques. You don't activate talents. You just... exist in the right place at the right time." Vera stood. "And your strength. F-Rank students struggle with fifty-pound weights. You lifted half a ton like it was nothing."
"Should I have struggled more?" King asked.
"You should be physically incapable of what you just did." Vera walked closer. "So I'm going to ask once, and I want the truth. What are you?"
King considered lying. But Vera had kind eyes beneath the hardness. Eyes that had seen suffering and still chose to teach.
"Someone trying to learn," King said. "That's the truth."
"Learn what?"
"How to be human."
Vera studied him for a long moment. "That's either the strangest answer I've heard or the most honest." She sighed. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But in my class, you'll learn combat properly. No more just dodging. No more catching attacks. I want you to actually fight."
"Even if I might hurt someone?" King asked.
"You won't. You're too careful." Vera smiled slightly. "I've been hitting people for fifteen years. I can tell when someone's holding back. You're not just holding back—you're holding back your holding back."
She noticed, King thought. Of course she did. She's an expert.
"I'll try to fight properly," King said.
"Good. Now get out of here. You've got other classes." Vera paused. "And King? Don't demonstrate strength like that again in public. You're making yourself a bigger target every time you do something impossible."
"Instructor Gray said the same thing."
"Because it's true. This academy runs on hierarchy. You're disrupting it." Vera picked up her training weights. "That makes you either very brave or very stupid."
"Can't I be both?" King asked.
Vera laughed—a real laugh this time. "Get out of my class, Von Deluxh."
---
King found his roommates waiting outside.
"Well?" Nero asked immediately.
"Instructor Vera wants me to fight properly," King said.
"That's it?" Marcus said. "No lecture? No detention? No investigation?"
"She told me to keep my secrets."
"I like her already," Dante said.
They walked toward their next class—magical theory, according to their schedules.
"You lifted a thousand pounds like it was air," Marcus said. "With one hand. How is that possible?"
"I don't know," King said honestly. "It just didn't feel heavy."
"Nothing feels heavy to you, does it?" Nero asked.
King thought about it. "Not physically, no. But other things feel heavy."
"Like what?" Marcus asked.
"Expectations. Watching you all try so hard. Knowing I'm different and not understanding how to fix it." King looked at the sky. "Those things feel heavy."
His roommates exchanged glances.
"You're weird," Nero said finally. "But that was kind of profound."
"Was it?" King asked.
"Little bit, yeah."
---
They reached the magical theory building—a tower covered in floating runes and geometric patterns that hurt to look at directly.
Inside, students were taking seats in a circular classroom. The professor stood at the center—an elderly man with a beard that defied gravity.
"Welcome, welcome," he said cheerfully. "I'm Professor Aldric. I teach magical theory. Today, we'll discuss the fundamental principles of mana manipulation."
Mana, King thought. The energy mortals use to reshape reality. I wonder how they perceive it.
"Mana exists in all living things," Professor Aldric began. "Your talent determines how efficiently you can convert mana into effects. Higher ranks mean higher efficiency. Lower ranks mean..." He glanced at King and Marcus. "Well. You work with what you have."
"Encouraging," Marcus muttered.
"Now then, let's test your mana capacity." Professor Aldric produced glass spheres, handing one to each student. "Channel your mana into the sphere. It will measure your reserves and display the result."
Students began concentrating. The spheres glowed with varying intensities.
Professor Aldric walked around, making notes. "Good. Adequate. Impressive. Oh my, that's quite large."
He reached King.
King held the sphere, unsure what to do.
"Just channel your mana," the professor said. "Let it flow naturally."
King tried. What did mortals call mana? The energy inside them? He had infinite energy, but that was his divine power. Did his mortal form have mana?
He focused on the smallest possible fragment of power. The absolute minimum.
The sphere began to glow.
Then it glowed brighter.
Then brighter still.
"That's sufficient," Professor Aldric said.
King tried to stop. The sphere kept glowing.
The light became painful to look at. Students shielded their eyes.
"Stop channeling!" Professor Aldric said urgently.
"I'm trying!" King said.
The sphere cracked.
"Drop it!" the professor shouted.
King dropped it. The sphere shattered on the floor, light dissipating harmlessly.
Silence filled the classroom.
Professor Aldric stared at the shattered pieces. "In forty years of teaching, I've never seen a student break a measurement sphere."
"I'm sorry," King said. "I didn't mean to—"
"Your mana reserves are..." The professor paused. "Uncategorizable. Either impossibly vast or completely unstable. Possibly both." He made a note in his book. "We'll discuss this after class."
Another investigation, King thought. I'm collecting them.
The class continued, but students kept glancing at King. Whispering. Wondering.
By the time class ended, King had caused his fourth incident of the week.
---
"You have a gift," Nero said as they left the classroom. "A gift for making everything complicated."
"I don't mean to," King said.
"We know," Marcus said. "That's what makes it worse. You're accidentally breaking everything."
"Maybe I should try being less helpful," King suggested.
"Too late for that," Dante said. "You've already helped too much. Now everyone knows about you."
They walked back toward the dormitory for lunch. Behind them, the academy buzzed with new rumors about the mysterious F-Rank student.
King looked at his hand—the one that had held the weights, caught Vera's punch, shattered the measurement sphere.
I'm trying to fit in, he thought. But everything I do makes me stand out more.
Maybe that was the problem. Maybe trying to be normal was impossible when you were fundamentally different.
Or maybe, King realized, he just needed to accept being different and find people who didn't mind.
He looked at his three roommates, walking beside him despite all the attention he attracted.
I found them, King thought. That's enough.
"Race you back," Nero said suddenly.
"You'll lose," Dante replied.
"Willing to bet on that?"
They took off running. Marcus laughed and chased after them.
King followed at a walk, smiling.
Tomorrow would bring more classes. More incidents, probably. More confusion.
But tonight, he had friends who chose him anyway.
And that made everything else bearable.