The infirmary smelled faintly of medicine and warm herbs. Aren sat on the edge of the bed while a healer applied a cooling salve across the burn on his ribs. The sting faded little by little, replaced by a clean, numb sensation.
"You're lucky," the healer said. "A few centimeters deeper, and the claws would've crushed your ribs."
Aren nodded. "I'll be careful."
"You won't," the man muttered. "But try anyway."
Aren didn't argue.
When the healer stepped away, Aren stood. His body was still sore, but his steps felt steadier. His level-up had restored enough strength that the pain wasn't overwhelming.
As he walked out of the infirmary, the corridor was quieter than usual. Students had been ordered to remain in their dorms until the Academy confirmed the breach was sealed.
A few glanced at him through half-open doors.
Some with awe.
Some with fear.
Most with confusion.
Aren didn't meet their eyes.
He turned toward Training Hall Two.
He found Kane already there, standing in the empty hall with his arms crossed. Light filtered through the narrow windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor.
Kane glanced at Aren briefly.
"You're ten minutes early," he said.
"I didn't want to waste time," Aren replied.
Kane gave a small nod. "Good."
He walked closer, studying Aren again—not as a teacher judging a student, but as a warrior assessing another.
"You killed a C-rank demonhound," Kane said calmly. "And you did it while underleveled, undertrained, and injured."
Aren stayed silent.
"I watched the end of the fight," Kane continued. "Your movements were unstable, but you adapted quickly. And your arrows… they bent space more naturally than they should."
Aren lowered his head slightly. "I only followed instinct."
"Instinct isn't enough to survive," Kane said. "Not long-term."
A pause.
Then Kane spoke the words Aren didn't expect:
"I'll train you myself."
Aren blinked. "…Why?"
Kane didn't hesitate. "Because wasting talent is unacceptable. And because your potential exceeds most students here."
Aren absorbed the words quietly.
Kane stepped back and motioned toward the center of the hall.
"Show me your basic stance with the bow."
Aren took position, drawing the bowstring slowly. His muscles were still tight from the burns, but his form held.
Kane circled him once, eyes sharp.
"You rely too heavily on instinct. That's good early on," Kane said, "but eventually instinct won't be enough. You need foundation."
Aren lowered the bow. "Teach me."
"I intend to."
Kane stood in front of him.
"First rule: control. Don't let the void guide your body. You guide it. If your ability is truly unique, losing control even once could cripple you."
Aren nodded.
"Second rule: precision. A curved arrow must hit with intention, not luck. Every bend should serve a purpose."
Another nod.
"Third rule," Kane said, tone firmer, "you do not chase strength blindly. You train step by step."
Aren raised his head. "Yes."
Kane looked satisfied.
"Good. Let's begin."
He tossed a small iron sphere into the air.
"Hit it."
Aren fired.
The arrow curved—cleanly, smoothly—
and sliced the sphere in midair.
Kane caught the falling pieces with one hand.
"Again."
A new sphere.
Aren shot.
Hit.
Another.
Shot.
Hit.
Kane's expression didn't change, but a faint approval flashed in his eyes.
He tossed two spheres at once.
Aren inhaled—
Fired.
Two arrows curved and snapped through the air, striking both spheres.
Kane exhaled slowly.
"Your accuracy is good," he said, "but your body isn't aligned with your power yet."
He stepped closer.
"Your void power is too raw. It will burn you if you overuse it."
Aren remembered the recoil during the fight—the tearing sensation, the stinging nerves.
"…I know."
Kane nodded. "Good. Awareness is the first step."
He tapped the ground with his foot.
"Starting today, you will train with me every evening. Foundation first, void control second, real combat later."
Aren's eyes sharpened. "Understood."
Kane turned slightly.
"You'll grow faster than others," he said. "But speed means nothing without direction."
Aren nodded firmly.
Kane made a thoughtful sound. "One more thing."
Aren looked up.
"Tomorrow morning, the Academy will release the results of the trial. Your performance will attract attention."
Aren frowned. "Is that bad?"
"No."
Kane shook his head.
"But people talk. Make sure you stay calm."
Aren didn't bother responding—he already intended to.
Kane pointed toward the targets lined along the wall.
"Keep practicing. Slow, controlled shots. I'll return in twenty minutes."
Aren nodded. "Yes, instructor."
Kane paused at the door.
"And Aren…"
Aren looked over.
"You did well today. Don't downplay that."
Aren exhaled softly.
"…Thank you."
Kane left without another word.
Aren turned toward the targets, raised his bow, and drew a slow breath.
The demon fight had been luck.
Surviving it had been instinct.
Improving from it—that was on him.
He steadied his grip.
And fired.