The training floor buzzed with tension.
Amir stood at the center of the academy's underground simulation arena, sweat dripping from his jaw, chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. A glimmering interface on the wall lit up with new opponents—three holographic enemies, programmed with adaptive AI, each mimicking the essence styles of actual field operatives.
"Load Level 7 resistance," Amir muttered.
The system chirped: Acknowledged. Initiating scenario.
A sniper rifle rested on his back, mace in his right hand—Amir didn't look like a specialist. But anyone who'd seen him fight knew better. His stance was loose, unreadable. His footwork? Chaotic on purpose. Predictability was death.
The enemies came fast. One launched a barrage of wind-based essence strikes, another charged with heavy fists, and the third hovered mid-range, charging a precision beam.
Perfect.
Amir ducked left, fired a quick burst from his rifle—missed on purpose. The wind-user flinched anyway, disrupting the beam fighter's angle. In that half-second, Amir surged forward, mace spinning.
Crack.
One down.
He rolled, grabbed the first one's weapon mid-fall, and hurled it into the brawler's chest. A jolt of force sent the illusion staggering.
His vision blurred from exertion, but he smiled.
"You can't break me," he whispered.
Outside the sim room, whispers traveled fast.
"Isn't that the kid from Team One?"
"The one with no domain?"
"He's been in here every day this week…"
"Training like he's got something to prove."
He did.
To Ron.
To Zach.
To his family.
To himself.
Two Weeks Later
The academy courtyard buzzed with activity—students sharpening skills, mentors barking corrections, holographic essence fields flashing to life. But Amir wasn't here to train.
He was here to make a statement.
He stepped onto the designated sparring field, the same gear zone he'd been grinding merit points in every day for weeks. His eyes, tired but focused, swept across the mocking faces of Team Elric.
"You sure about this, Amir?" one of them sneered. "Not gonna get Ron and Zach to cry to their clans again? Or are you actually gonna fight this one solo?"
Amir adjusted the strap on his gear pack. The words sank in like lead—but they weren't just noise. They crossed a line.
"Say what you want about me," he said, voice flat. "But don't ever disrespect my people."
"You know we've been kicking your ass since we were ten. A whole decade of whoopings—and now that you got some clan backup, you think you're different?"
Their leader, Jayden Lunez, had a ugly expression to that that remark.
Jayden was broad-shouldered with flashy essence gauntlets he didn't deserve, and a mouth that'd been writing checks his squad couldn't cash for years. His team was average—standard team structure: one offensive type, one support, one tank who made even Zach look small. But none of them moved like killers.
"I can do this," Amir thought, remembering the beatdowns he'd endured from Zach and the strategy drills with Ron.
He cracked his neck and pulled out his first weapon—a heavy steel mace. No enhancements. No tricks. Just polished mass and raw execution.
The sparring field shimmered as match protocols locked into place.
"Begin."
They tried to swarm early—two flanks and their support firing essence-charged arrows.
Amir spun low, using the mace's weight to whip his body into a vicious arc. The blunt force cracked into one opponent's ribs, sending him gasping to the floor.
The second closed in fast—blades glowing with faint essence—but Amir stepped in, caught the arm, and brought the mace down like a gavel.
Crack.
The second dropped.
Amir used the body to block an incoming arrow and then dropped the mace, switching smoothly to his sniper rifle.
Team Elric regrouped, panicked. Their support prepped a light bomb while channeling healing essence.
Amir didn't flinch. He took a slow breath.
No scope. No tracking. Just intuition, angles, and hundreds of failed simulations seared into his muscles.
Boom.
One shot—clean through the bomb before it even left the caster's hand.
Boom.
Second shot—center mass. The tank crumpled.
Jayden tried to flee, but Amir calmly adjusted for wind, then fired.
The round slammed into the wall an inch from Jayden's ear.
"Match ends," the system announced. "Victor: Amir of Team One."
Silence fell across the courtyard.
Even his critics had nothing left to say.
Amir turned and walked off, sniper slung over his shoulder.
His point was proved. No need to linger.