I was the last to arrive at the mess hall. Everyone stared as I searched for a place to sit and eat my meal. Luckily, I found an empty table in the back.
I sat and stared at the tray. A green, shapeless mass quivered on the plate. The smell didn't help. Maybe it was food… maybe a trap. I could hear them whispering.
"Are they talking about me?" I wondered, fork suspended in midair.
"I didn't know. Didn't really care. All I wanted was to eat that gelatinous thing and, with luck, survive the afternoon."
I finished in silence, washed my tray and utensils as the protocol demanded, and when I returned… the mess hall was empty.
I looked around. No sign of anyone. Only absolute silence.
"Damn, I'm late for the next class."
I ran to the training field. It was time for hand-to-hand combat class, once again with Instructor Grant.
There they were — two hundred and twenty-seven cadets — paired up, punching, blocking, moving in sync.
And me...
Alone.
"Now what?" I muttered, seeing everyone with a partner.
Then Instructor Grant approached.
"Tough luck, kid. What'll you do without a partner? Train with the wind?" he said, crossing his arms.
"I'll… I'll train alone."
He sighed and raised his guard. His right fist just below his chin, the left arm horizontally in front, slightly lower.
"Come on," he said. "I'll be your partner. So don't hold back."
I smiled, a bit nervous — I won't lie — but also excited. I mirrored his stance, locked eyes with him, and we began sparring.
I was on the offensive, striking the way he had taught in the hand-to-hand theory class. My punches started to take shape. To find rhythm. One, two, three — I pressed forward, strike after strike, until I felt his defense begin to shift.
"Damn…" he muttered, blocking with his forearms.
"If you're this good with your fists, why the hell do you insist on using a damn sword?" he asked, under pressure, as I launched a wave of perfect punches at him.
I landed a few that visibly unsettled him.
"You little rat," he growled, wiping the trickle of blood from his lip. "Alright then, I'll turn it up a notch."
Grant switched to offense and started punching like a storm. His strikes came fast — I could see them, but my body didn't respond fast enough. It was strange — like I was just one second behind the pain.
But then, my body began to tingle. First the shoulders, then the chest — as if it enjoyed this.
And the more I tingled, the more my body followed my eyes — with fluid, wave-like movements. I moved like a… snake.
His eyes widened when I blocked three strikes in a row with a smoothness bordering on arrogance.
And then, what had started as a simple training spar turned into a spectacle.
First a few cadets. Then more.
Soon, a crowd had gathered, watching. Whispering.
"That guy's not normal."
"He's fighting an instructor?"
"Where did he come from?"
That's what I could hear around me.
I gave a slight smile before landing a punch square on the instructor's nose.
The blow made him stumble back three steps, hand to his face.
"You… huff… damn snake." he said, now visibly winded. "Alright then. I won't hold back on this one."
I saw it in his eyes. He was serious now.
"Here it comes."
He charged at me, throwing a punch at my face.
I blocked by instinct — my mistake. He redirected the attack.
Now it came from below. An uppercut.
But before the blow landed, I saw a faint orange glow from his fist.
I didn't know exactly what it was, but if I had to guess…
"Is that Aura?" I thought — right before the punch hit me square in the chin.
I saw the sky.
I was airborne, launched several feet off the ground.
The sky was clear, the sun blazing. From its light, I saw a surreal figure smiling at me.
"Da...dad?" I muttered before darkness claimed my vision.
The next thing I remember was waking up in the infirmary.
My body ached all over. A metallic taste in my mouth. It was already night.
I blinked, trying to figure out where I was.
"What the hell happened…?"
I sat up with difficulty, every movement a symphony of pain.
I looked around. A quiet room dimly lit, filled with rows of cots and beds — some occupied.
I slipped out in silence, trying not to wake the others.
It must've been late — everything was dark and quiet.
I reached the stairs to the second floor and began descending slowly, step by agonizing step.
Then I saw a figure — a cloaked silhouette in the hallway ahead, carrying a magical lantern that lit just enough to see.
My hair stood on end. My heart skipped.
But then I recognized her.
Professor Mila Fontayne, of Magical Practices. She noticed me.
"Why are you wandering around at this hour, cadet?" she asked firmly, approaching.
Professor Mila Fontayne. Magic specialist. Instructor of Magical Practices.
Long hair, deep purple like rich wine, eyes that seemed to pierce your soul. Pale skin. A dark blue dress covering her completely — even on night patrol, she looked ready to teach a class.
I felt embarrassed, caught red-handed — but there was no hiding.
How does a two-meter-tall mastodon sneak around in the dark? Exactly. It doesn't.
"Well… I was in the infirmary, and I wanted to go back to my room," I said with an awkward smile, scratching the back of my head. "Didn't realize it was so late."
She narrowed her eyes. Pointed a finger at me like I was a ticking artifact.
"Even so, you know the rules, right?" she said, finger still in my face. "What's your number?"
"Ugh... I can't believe she's going to punish me over this" I thought.
"Cadet number 137, ma'am."
She wrote it down carefully on a clipboard, trying to balance it with the lamp in her other hand.
It would've been funny — if I wasn't terrified of being punished.
"Alright, Cadet 137, return to your room."
So I did.
Quick steps took me back to my dorm. Total silence.
My three roommates already seemed dead to the world, snoring like hibernating bears.
Sad and exhausted, I dropped onto the bed with a deep sigh.
"What a long day."
I closed my eyes, falling into deep relaxation.
Then...
Sniff.
"What... what the hell is that smell?"
My eyes shot open.
A sour, pungent stench. My uniform. My skin.
Sweat from the fight. Dried blood. Dust from the field. All mixed.
"Ugh! I need a shower first!" I said — a little too loud.
Thump!
Thunk!
Clang!
Pillows. Boots. An empty bowl.
All hurled at me by my now-awake, very angry roommates — like bears disturbed mid-hibernation.
"Shut up, damn it!" they shouted in unison.
And just as quickly, they went back to sleep.
The way people sleep here… it's sacred.
It really had been one hell of a day.