The morning sun filtered through the grimy windows of the Academy's meditation hall, casting long shadows over the peeling paint and chipped floor tiles. Somewhere in the distance, the faint buzz of the Focus Fans—ancient devices designed to cool the mind but mostly just humming annoyingly—added a steady soundtrack to the otherwise sacred silence.
I sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, fingers tapping an invisible rhythm on my knees, pretending to meditate. In reality, my mind was spinning faster than a carousel on steroids. The note from yesterday haunted me like a bad pop song stuck in my head.
"They're watching you now. Tread carefully, or you'll end up like your father."A friend? A spy? Or just a creepy stalker with an overly dramatic flair for handwriting?
The question twisted in my gut as I replayed the last week's events: the Purity Duel, the mysterious fire in the Archives, Victor's exile, and now this cryptic warning. The Academy was more like a powder keg soaked in scandal and frustration, just waiting for someone to light a match.
Guess that someone is me. Lucky me.
I pushed myself to my feet, the cold floor sending a shiver up my spine. As I walked toward the exit, my robe catching on a loose floorboard, I bumped into Luna—the quiet library girl who seemed to know more about the Academy's secrets than any official scroll.
She gave me a sideways glance, eyebrow raised. "Thinking too much again?"
I smirked. "That's my specialty."
She pulled a thin, leather-bound book from her satchel—the kind with a lock so complex it might as well be a fortress. "I found something you might want to see."
I raised an eyebrow. "A secret Gooner manual? A recipe for the perfect Focus Tea? The forbidden technique to summon eternal patience?"
Luna's lips twitched but didn't smile. "Closer. It's about the Velvet Hand."
The name hit me like a sucker punch from a clenched fist. The Velvet Hand: legendary Gooners rumored to have mastered the impossible art of Eternal Edge—a technique where practitioners could maintain peak focus and power without ever succumbing to distraction or exhaustion. Basically, the martial arts equivalent of a software update that never needed rebooting.
We slipped into a shadowed alcove near the back of the library, where piles of dusty tomes formed a maze of forgotten knowledge. Luna flipped open the book carefully, revealing faded script and elaborate diagrams of intricate hand movements and energy flows.
"This," she whispered, "is the Codex of Perpetual Restraint. It's said only a handful of Velvet Hand members have ever possessed the full knowledge."
I leaned in closer, skimming the pages. The text was dense, filled with metaphor and cryptic references to "the undying flame" and "the circle of endless tension."
Poetic, but I'm pretty sure Grandpa's 'circle of endless tension' involved less poetry and more screaming.
One diagram caught my eye: a spiral swirling around a clenched fist, energy radiating outward like ripples on a pond. Beneath it, a note read:
"To master the Eternal Edge, one must embrace the paradox: to hold on, yet never hold too tight."
I swallowed hard. This was it. The missing link to my training, the secret to outlasting every Gooner who'd ever crossed me.
"Why show me this now?" I asked Luna, eyes narrowing.
She hesitated. "Because they're already hunting you. The Velvet Hand isn't just a myth—they're an organization. Ruthless, efficient, and very interested in keeping their secrets."
I chuckled dryly. "Great. So I'm on a hit list for knowing too much. Just like Dad."
Her gaze softened. "Exactly."
Well, at least now the universe is consistent.
Back in my dorm, the weight of the book felt heavier than the combined guilt of every awkward school assembly I'd ever endured. I flipped through the pages again, reading aloud the rituals and meditations required to cultivate the Eternal Edge.
It wasn't just about physical endurance or stamina. It was mental, spiritual, and something else… something that felt oddly familiar.
Could this be why Grandpa always told me to 'stay in control, no matter what?'
I looked at the dusty stopwatch Grandpa had given me on my first day. It ticked steadily, measuring moments that stretched into eternity.
The technique demanded a singular focus that no ordinary person could maintain: an ability to edge energy, to hold it in balance without release, channeling raw power like a dam holding back a river.
Kind of like how I've been doing it, but with better branding.
Later that night, under the flickering neon lights of the dormitory hallway, I found myself cornered by none other than Derrick "Flex" Carlton, the Academy's resident snob and musclehead extraordinaire.
Flex towered over me, arms crossed like he owned the place—which, considering he was captain of the Discipline Squad, wasn't far from the truth.
"Thought you'd be nursing bruises from the duel, Dover," he sneered. "But you looked surprisingly… calm."
I shrugged. "I'm an emotional iceberg. What you see is just the tip of my laziness."
He smirked. "Careful. You might end up like Victor. Wasn't cut out for this place."
I glanced at the stopwatch on my wrist. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just playing the long game."
Flex leaned closer, voice low and mocking. "Long game? You're just stalling, trying to hide how weak you really are."
I tilted my head, flashing my best innocent grin. "I prefer to think of it as strategic patience. You know, like a master of Gooner poker."
Flex barked a laugh and turned away, leaving me smirking.
Another pawn on the board, unaware he's about to get checkmated.
As the days passed, I doubled down on the Codex's teachings. Spiral breathing, meditation at the edge of exhaustion, pushing the boundaries of restraint.
Grandpa watched me with a knowing look. "You're tapping into something ancient, boy. The kind of power that changes the game."
I grinned. "If only it changed my luck with the Academy's cafeteria food."
He laughed. "Patience, Ben. Master the Eternal Edge, and you'll never have to rely on luck again."
The idea was intoxicating. To harness a power that let me stay strong indefinitely, to outlast and outwit every Gooner who stood between me and revenge.
But the Academy wasn't just a training ground—it was a battlefield of politics, power plays, and secrets.
That same week, whispers of the Velvet Hand grew louder. Someone in the shadows was pulling strings, sabotaging rivals and eliminating threats with surgical precision.
I couldn't tell if they were watching me because I was the next target, or because I was the key to something far bigger.
Either way, the stakes were clear.
Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and your secrets closest of all.
One late evening, as I practiced the spiral breath technique in the courtyard, a soft voice called my name.
I turned to see Luna stepping out of the shadows, her eyes shining with determination.
"We need to talk," she said.
I raised an eyebrow. "Is this going to involve more mysterious books, cryptic warnings, or a really awkward invitation to the next Purity Duel?"
She smiled faintly. "All of the above."
And just like that, the quiet storm swirling around the Academy grew into a tempest I couldn't ignore.