"Instructor," I called out softly without opening my eyes. My breath flowed regularly, creating a calm rhythm amidst the thunder in my chest. All the pain in my muscles seemed to fade, replaced by a sharpening spatial awareness.
Brook did not answer. Only a soft whirring sound was heard, slicing through the empty air. It was the sound of a leaf being thrown upward.
The leaf floated down, dancing as it was toyed with by the wind, as if mocking my chaotic gravity. Its movement was irregular, spiraling to the left then diving to the right, following invisible currents of air.
I opened my eyes.
The world around me appeared to slow down. Not because of time magic, but because my brain was now processing visual information at a speed far exceeding normal human capacity.
I could see the rotation of the leaf. I could see the brown fibers on its surface. I could even feel the wind current carrying it, as if the wind were whispering its trajectory to me.
I stepped forward. Not to slash the leaf, but to slash the fate that had been choking my neck all this time.
In the middle of the swing, the gravity in my gloves vanished completely. Zero percent. The sword felt as light as air, as if the hilt were made of cotton. A second later, without warning, the weight spiked drastically to one hundred and fifty percent. It weighed as much as a ship's anchor trying to drag me down to kiss the ground.
Usually, I would panic. Usually, my muscles would be shocked, my joints would scream, and my balance would crumble into a mess. But this time, my body moved on its own as if possessing a consciousness of its own. My cerebellum had mapped out thousands of failure possibilities and found one path to success.
When the sword became light, I did not blindly increase speed which would cause my swing to veer off course. Instead, I held back my muscles, performing micro-braking on my shoulder joints to keep the sword from flying wildly.
Then, when the sword became heavy, I did not fight it with brute force. I used my hips as a pivot point, borrowing that heavy momentum, and channeling it back into centrifugal cutting power.
Do not fight gravity, my mind whispered, repeating the mantra I discovered in suffering. Ride it. Make that chaos your fuel.
The Grizzly heart inside my chest no longer exploded wildly without direction. The organ beat in a steady and strong rhythm, channeling precise power into blood vessels that were now perfectly calibrated.
The longsword moved. There was no excessive wind noise. There was no foot stomping ruining the ground.
Only a single silver line that flashed firmly through the air. Silent, heavy, and deadly.
ZING.
My movement stopped completely.
I stood in a perfect final stance. My feet were firmly planted on the ground, back straight, and sword level with my eyes. There was no shaking or nausea that usually followed. My body was still like a stone statue, fully aligned with the weapon in my hand.
Time felt frozen for a moment. Silence blanketed the entire arena.
Slowly, the leaf in front of me split in two. The top piece floated for a moment before falling slowly to the ground, following the bottom piece.
The cut was not neat. The edges were jagged and rough as if sawed forcibly. The leaf fibers were torn, not sliced. It was far from a smooth "surgical cut" like the slash of an elegant and aesthetic sword master. It was a rough cut from a beginner relying on pure violence and iron will.
However, the leaf was split in the air without being blown away by the wind from the slash.
That meant I had succeeded in concentrating all that explosive power into a single point as thin as paper. I had successfully transferred that massive kinetic energy directly to the target without the slightest leak into the surrounding air.
"Hah..."
My breath exhaled long, forming white steam in the cold air.
I stared at my hands. The golden gloves were still blinking chaotically, their lights flashing purple irregularly. But I no longer cared. My cerebellum had evolved, creating a new balance system that could adapt to any chaos.
Reflexively, I raised my clenched fist into the air and screamed with all my might.
"YEAHHH!"
My shout echoed, breaking the silence of the arena, shooting up into the afternoon sky. The voice carried a massive sense of euphoria and satisfaction that soothed all the pain in my body.
Everything had paid off. The splitting headaches, the burning muscle pain, the shortness of breath, and the aching bones. Nothing remained of the negative emotions; there was only pure happiness over an achievement I once thought impossible.
"WOAHHH!"
From the edge of the arena, another explosion of sound responded. The students who had been watching me in silence erupted in the same euphoria. Their cheers boomed, creating a cacophony of joy that vibrated the air, as if they were celebrating my success as their own victory.
"CRAZY! HE ACTUALLY DID IT!"
"OH MY GOD! LOOK AT THAT! HE CUT THE LEAF IN MIDAIR!"
"THAT IS IT! I TOLD YOU ARIN COULD DO IT!"
"CONGRATS, BRO! YOU ARE INSANE!"
Shouts and cheers of joy were directed at me repeatedly. Some students were even hugging as if their favorite team had just won the world championship.
I was startled, looking around with wide eyes. I never expected to receive a reaction this positive, massive, and emotional.
They had witnessed my pain, my struggle, and my patience from the beginning of training until now. Cutting a leaf floating freely in the air with a heavy and unstable longsword was impossible in their minds.
But this time, they witnessed the destroyer of fate. A Class C student, a student without mana, a student mocked and underestimated by the entire academy, had succeeded in doing it right before their very eyes.
The students cheered happily not only because they were happy for my success. But also because hope had emerged.
The bad luck of being Class C had suppressed their mental state in this cruel Academy. They were resigned and felt inferior facing the upper-class students. They were used to bowing down, used to losing, used to being spectators to other people's glory. But today, a student from their own ranks had emerged bringing hope.
I, Arin, had unconsciously become a symbol of struggle for these cheering students. A symbol affirming that even without talent, with hard work and strong determination, someone could break through the limits set by geniuses.
The students ran toward me, breaking through the arena barrier. Their faces were full of genuine admiration, their eyes wet and shining. They swarmed me, patting my back and shoulders; some even shook my body out of sheer excitement.
"Arin, you were amazing! I swear, I got goosebumps seeing that slash!" exclaimed a curly-haired student with a trembling voice.
"Hey, Man! How did you do it? Even Class S might not be able to pull off control that crazy!" asked another student with eyes sparkling in curiosity.
"Can you teach me? I want to be like you too. I am tired of constantly losing during sparring," begged a thin student with a hopeful tone, as if I were a grand sword master.
"Damn it! You really are cool, Arin. Forgive me for underestimating you before and calling you a madman."
I was confused, standing stiffly in the middle of this sea of people. Getting attention that was previously unimaginable made my tongue numb. Suddenly, the student who had once offered me a drink at the start of training pushed forward through the crowd.
He held up his fist toward me while smiling broadly.
"Congrats, Bro! Your efforts did not betray the results! You proved us all wrong!"
I looked at that fist, confused about how to respond. I looked around me; the students were beaming at me. I glanced at Brook in the distance. The fierce instructor grinned, then nodded slowly to reassure me.
I looked back at the student holding out his fist. He smiled. Not a smile of mockery or condescension, but a sincere smile, a smile of friendship that I had never received since entering the academy.
It seemed I had been overthinking and closing myself off from them all this time. A smile slowly curled on my lips.
Returning the students' sincere smiles, my hand clenched into a fist and I bumped it gently against that student's fist.
Bump.
The sound of the fists meeting was soft, but the resonance felt strong in my heart.
"Thank you," I replied sincerely. My voice was a little hoarse from held-back emotion.
The students cheered boisterously again. Receiving this attention, recognition, and support... it did not feel bad.
Instructor Brook walked through the crowd with heavy steps. The students automatically moved aside, making way for the teacher whose aura remained intimidating even when smiling. Brook bent down, picking up the two pieces of the leaf from the ground with his rough fingers.
"An ugly cut," Brook commented honestly while observing the leaf under the afternoon sunlight. He turned the leaf, showing its damaged edges to everyone. "Visible, jagged, and not aesthetic at all. If this were a noble's sword art exam, your score would be a big zero."
He tossed the leaf pieces back at me. The leaf floated down onto my shoulder.
"But," continued Brook, his wide grin expanding to reveal his canine teeth, "that was a killing cut. You did not cut it with the sharpness of the sword, Arin. You cut it with the speed and density of your swing. You tore its atomic structure with pure force."
Brook patted my shoulder hard. Thud!
The pat was very hard, enough to make an ordinary person cough. But for the first time, my body did not stagger in the slightest. My feet were rooted firmly to the earth, my back muscles withstanding the impact with natural reflexes. I stood solid like an old tree with deep roots.
"That was a killer's slash. A slash that does not care how thick your enemy's armor is; you will crush it along with the bones inside," said Brook, his tone full of a pride he rarely showed. "You are ready, kid. Your body is no longer a stiff stone that cracks easily. You are now a gallant and firm knight."
I sheathed my sword back onto my back. The click of metal sounded very satisfying to the ears, closing this hellish training session perfectly.
The pain all over my body was still there, but it felt distant, as if belonging to someone else. What I felt now was only control. Absolute control over every inch of flesh, bone, and breath.
I turned toward the academy bell tower towering in the distance. The sun began to set behind it, creating a dramatic silhouette, painting the sky blood red, the color of warning for the battle to come.
The day after tomorrow was the Final Semester Exam. Karl Benzzi, Elian Delphine, and all their lackeys had surely prepared a stage of death for me in that forest.
My lips curled into a thin smile. A smile containing danger.
They hoped to see Arin the Cripple explode on his own because of his uncontrollable power. They hoped to see me trip over my own feet, panic, and beg for mercy beneath their feet.
Sorry to disappoint you all. That Arin died on this training field, buried along with thousands of failed sword swings.
"Thank you for the guidance, Instructor," I said while bowing respectfully to Brook.
Then I turned, facing the students who still surrounded me with hopeful gazes. They waited for me to speak, waited for me to lead.
"Thank you for your support as well," I said loudly, meeting their eyes one by one. "Let us show them who we really are."
"Of course, Arin! Crush those arrogant nobles!" shouted a student while pumping a fist into the air.
"Beat them, Arin! Show them that Class C can bite too!" added another with fiery spirit.
"Make them regret looking down on us! We will seize that podium!"
Various supports propped me up this time. Their voices became new fuel for my soul. Somehow, the determination in my heart burned even stronger. As if I had stepped one stride closer to becoming the knight of my dreams.
I was no longer fighting alone just to survive. I was fighting carrying their hopes.
I turned around, walking away from the training field with a straight back. My steps were light, steady, and dangerous. Every foothold felt certain, ready to face any storm.