Wesley stood still, arms folded and back against the stone wall of the arena, watching through narrowed eyes as the scene before him unfolded.
The students lining the upper levels of the arena were frozen, some halfway through a breath, others with mouths wide open, unable to comprehend what they had just seen.
A few blinked repeatedly, as if trying to scrub the image from their minds, unable to accept that Gabe—the same awkward, average classmate they had sparred with in drills—had just gone toe-to-toe with a Level Five dungeon creature and came out unscathed.
Then came the wave.
A ripple of noise that started from a single gasp and rolled outward like a storm cresting over the sea. Murmurs turned into shouts, gasps turned into stammered declarations.
"He really deflected that tail?!"
"That tail could pierce steel! I saw it impale a Dungeon Hound last year!"
"What is going on?! Was he hiding this strength all along?"
"Am I dreaming? Did Gabe really just dance around the Spearopion like it was nothing?"
"Who even is he?!"
"It didn't even touch him! Not once!"
"He didn't even break a sweat!"
"No way, that was Gabe?"
Even the senior students—older, cockier, those who had looked down on Gabe like a minor obstacle—stood silent, their pride wilting under the sheer impossibility of what they'd witnessed.
But none were more shaken than the girls who had often giggled behind their hands at Gabe's clumsy footwork or hesitant sword swings during practice.
Now they were clutching the railings, eyes wide, some with their cheeks flushed as if the sheer adrenaline of the moment had found its way into their veins.
Instructor Heiron, for a moment, looked as stunned as everyone else. But unlike the students, he was quicker to recover.
Adjusting his robes with a clearing of the throat, he strode a few paces forward and then addressed Gabe directly.
"I mean," he said, trying to keep his voice even, "compared to the last time I saw you spar, you've improved a great deal."
Gabe, still holding his shield, gave a small smile. "It's thanks to the Janitor."
Wesley froze.
For a moment, you could hear a pin drop.
Then—
"WHAT?!" one of the girls screamed.
Another followed. "THE JANITOR?!"
"Our Janitor?!"
"That Janitor?! The one that smells like soap and walks around with a bucket?"
"That grumpy guy who never talks to anyone?!"
"Wait, he trained you?!"
Then came the chants. Loud, shameless, echoing across the arena stands like a wave of wild, giddy frenzy.
"JANITOR, TRAIN US TOO!"
"TRAIN US!"
"JANITOR-SENSEI!"
"WE WANT TO BE CLEANED!"
"NO, I MEAN TRAINED—TRAINED!"
"I DON'T CARE, I'LL GET MOPPED IF IT MEANS I CAN DODGE A SPEAROPION!"
Girls were practically leaning over the railing now, waving their hands at Wesley with desperate enthusiasm.
Some of them were practically glowing with newfound admiration, shouting things like, "I'll scrub the dungeon floors if that's what it takes!" and "He trained Gabe, so there must be a special method!" One even called out, "JANITOR! I VOLUNTEER AS YOUR MOP!"
Wesley blinked, mouth twitching at the corners. What in the—
He tried to act oblivious, raising an eyebrow and scratching the back of his neck as if confused.
He even looked around, pretending the girls might be referring to some other Janitor in the arena.
There wasn't.
There was only him.
However, he knew why. Although he is a janitor, he is handsome and noble.
He has a handsome face with long, curly blonde hair that makes him look like an angel.
This face only comes from a noble family that kicked him out for having low talent, but he inherited their good looks.
It's probably because of this that common girls adore him.
But Heiron's gaze was sharper than it appeared.
The instructor turned to Wesley, narrowing his eyes as he approached slowly, hands behind his back.
"You're the new Janitor, aren't you?" he asked flatly.
Wesley didn't respond, but the way his eyes stiffened gave it away.
Heiron sniffed. "Your posture is lazy. Your shoulders slump. Your boots are half-polished. Classic signs of someone who shirks responsibility."
Wesley's brow twitched.
The words cut, not because they were true—but because they weren't. He had worked harder than anyone here could imagine. Still, he bit his tongue and kept his expression neutral.
But Heiron, for all his sharpness, muttered to himself, half in thought, pacing in circles.
"No... no, it can't be. The Janitor couldn't be the reason. That's absurd. This kind of improvement... even with unorthodox training methods... no. It must be—yes—it must be the Mana Suppression method."
Wesley exhaled slowly. That sigh wasn't just relief. It was the breath of a man barely dodging a truth that could expose everything.
Instructor Heiron stood tall and cleared his throat.
"For those of you unfamiliar," he said to the watching crowd, "Mana Suppression training is a rarely practiced, but potent method. The basic principle is simple: an individual is trained while under an environment or pressure that suppresses their innate magic. This forces their body and mind to compensate, often unlocking untapped reserves of strength."
Wesley stayed quiet, letting the instructor talk, watching Gabe closely as the boy tilted his head thoughtfully.
Heiron continued, gesturing with precision. "When magic flow is restricted, the body learns to move efficiently. When strength is restrained, technique flourishes. When instincts are dulled by suppression, the mind sharpens. It's dangerous. It's rarely successful. But it can lead to massive leaps in performance—if the student survives the strain."
Gabe's thoughts drifted back.
He had mopped alongside the Janitor. His legs had trembled. His arms had gone numb. But it wasn't just the physical exhaustion—Wesley had pressured him. Every mop swing was a feint, every movement filled with purpose. Every time Gabe had tried to block it, he'd felt something. Something unnatural. Overwhelming. Like the mop had weight far beyond what it should.
That was Mana Suppression, wasn't it?
Even if Wesley hadn't said the words.
Even if he hadn't explained the method.
It was the same.
The aura. The precision. The pressure.
"I see," Gabe whispered to himself. "So that's what you were doing… you weren't just cleaning. You were training me the entire time."
The realization lit something inside him. A fire of understanding.
"Oh, that's what it is," one of the students murmured.
"Mana Suppression Training... not the Janitor after all."
"That explains everything…"
"I mean, yeah… a Janitor couldn't—"
"Still," one girl interrupted, shouting toward Wesley again, "JANITOR! EVEN IF IT'S NOT MANA SUPPRESSION, TRAIN ME ANYWAY!"
"TRAIN US!"
"PLEASE!"
Wesley kept his arms folded, trying not to roll his eyes as a second wave of desperate pleas crashed around him.
Instructor Heiron lifted his wand again.
"Gabe," he said, his voice sharper now, back in command. "Let's see if that improvement holds."
The vines restraining the Spearopion twitched—then unraveled.
The creature screeched, its limbs crashing into the ground. Its tail curled high and sharp, already glowing with poison. Its barbed legs scraped the arena floor, cracking the stone beneath it.
And then—it attacked.
Again.
But this time, it was faster. Stronger. Smarter. It remembered Gabe's movements. It learned.
Wesley leaned forward, arms now uncrossed, heart steady.
This battle wasn't short. It was a war of motions.
Strike after strike, Gabe countered. The tail extended mid-swing, and Gabe dodged with a twist. The claws came in, and Gabe pivoted, redirecting the beast's own weight against itself. Poison dripped from a near-miss that sliced the edge of his cloak. Gabe responded with a sharp shield bash that slammed into the creature's forelimb, throwing off its balance.
And again.
And again.
Each dodge was closer. Each redirection more difficult. But Gabe endured. He didn't step back. He stepped through.
Even the students had stopped cheering. Their mouths hung open, watching what looked less like a student battling a monster and more like a seasoned warrior dancing with death.
Instructor Heiron's eyes were wide. He was silent, for once.
And then, after what felt like an eternity of exchanged blows and furious motions, the Instructor finally lifted his wand and shouted:
"GABE—IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO ATTACK!"