The countdown ticked in the corner of my vision like a guillotine's shadow.
48:00:00.
Every time I blinked, the digits burned there, a reminder that survival had turned into a deadline.
The system was merciless.
NEXT BENCHMARK: COMPETENCY TRIAL (PUBLIC).
REQUIRED: DISPLAY OF IMPROVED COMBAT CAPABILITY.
FAILURE: REMEDIAL ACTION.
I lay on my dorm bed staring at the ceiling, bruises polka-dotting my ribs from last night's "training." Jay snored across the room, blissfully unaware. Lucky bastard.
The HUD chimed.
SLEEP MODE TERMINATED. TRAINING CONTINUES.
"Wait, what—"
The world folded. Sheets, dorm, snoring roommate—all gone. I fell into the void again, that endless black arena crisscrossed with neon grids. My body landed hard on a platform that wasn't there a heartbeat before.
"God, not again," I groaned.
PHASE THREE: ADVANCED SKILL MODULE. OBJECTIVE: BLOCK AND COUNTER.
A mannequin appeared. Not chrome this time—this one wore the gleam of steel plating, a faceless knight with a broadsword the size of my insecurities.
I raised my fists. "Yeah, this seems fair."
The knight attacked.
Pain followed.
⸻
1. Training: Pain as Teacher
The sword whistled. I threw my arms up and caught a flash of agony as metal slammed bone. I staggered back, gasping.
BLOCK FAILED. TECHNIQUE: INEFFICIENT. PENALTY: -5% STABILITY.
"Inefficient? My bones disagree—they think that was VERY efficient!"
The knight pressed. The system's cold commentary filled my head like a sadistic coach.
ADVICE: ANGLE FOREARM. REDIRECT FORCE. DO NOT STOP IT. USE IT.
I tried again. The blade smashed down. This time I angled, let it glance off, twisted, and drove a counterpunch into the knight's torso.
For a heartbeat, the system chimed approval.
SUCCESS: BLOCK-COUNTER REGISTERED. SKILL UNLOCKED.
Then the knight headbutted me.
I woke in my dorm bed choking on air. Sweat drenched my shirt. Jay blinked blearily. "Ethan, are you… shadowboxing in your sleep?"
"Yes," I wheezed. "And losing."
The HUD helpfully updated:
TIME REMAINING: 42 HOURS.
⸻
2. Public Trial Announcement
By morning, the Academy boards were plastered with it:
COMPETENCY TRIAL — OMEGA REPRESENTATIVE ETHAN VALE
LOCATION: GRAND ARENA
SPECTATORS: ALL CLASSES WELCOME
Translation: they were going to feed me to wolves for entertainment.
Beta students buzzed. Some cheered for the underdog. Others bet credits on how fast I'd die.
Jay waved his pad at me. "You're like the Academy's newest sport. You've got odds. Want to know what they are?"
"No."
"You're at 12-to-1 against surviving two minutes."
"Generous," I muttered.
Lucas passed me in the hall, Alpha entourage flanking him like satellites. He smiled the way rich people do before foreclosing your house. "Looking forward to the trial, Vale."
"Same," I said. "I need more highlight clips for my fans."
His smile tightened. Score one for me.
⸻
3. Countdown Pressure
The next 24 hours blurred between real classes I barely registered and system abductions that felt like boot camp designed by Satan.
The mannequins evolved—first single knight, then pairs, then three-on-one. Each session left my muscles screaming. Every bruise in the void carried home with me. I lived on cafeteria caffeine and adrenaline.
By hour 30, I could block and counter without thinking. By hour 20, I could anticipate their angles. By hour 12, exhaustion hit so deep my bones felt hollow.
Jay found me slumped against our dorm wall. "Ethan, you look like death playing cosplay."
"Good. That's the theme."
He shook his head. "Everyone's coming tomorrow. Alphas, Betas, even faculty. They're all expecting you to get flattened. What are you planning?"
I smiled through cracked lips. "Surprising them."
⸻
4. The Trial
Grand Arena. Floodlights. Seats packed. The buzz of thousands.
Dean on the podium, voice magnified: "Today, Ethan Vale of Omega Class will demonstrate competency improvements. The Academy recognizes growth in all forms."
Translation: if I failed, they could officially stamp me as worthless.
The system pulsed.
OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE AND IMPRESS.
The trial began.
A construct materialized opposite me—not a mannequin this time, but a projection built from real combat data. An "average" Alpha duelist. Tall, fast, armed with twin blades.
Phones raised. Students leaned forward.
The construct lunged.
The crowd expected me to crumple. Instead, I angled my arm, blocked, twisted, countered—the rhythm drilled into me by endless hours of pain.
Gasps erupted.
Second strike came. I slipped under, shoulder-drove into his chest, spun him back. The crowd roared.
The construct reset, pressed harder, blades whirling. Sparks danced. I fought, adapting, HUD feeding me split-second corrections. My body moved cleaner, sharper.
The duel stretched minutes. I wasn't surviving. I was winning.
Phones exploded with recording lights.
Finally, I disarmed the construct, blade skidding across the arena floor. I stood, chest heaving, sweat dripping.
Silence fell—then a tidal wave of cheers.
BENCHMARK COMPLETE. REWARD: +3 LEVELS.
NEXT: HIDDEN MODULE AVAILABLE. ACCEPT? (Y/N).
I stared at the flickering prompt, heart pounding.
"Ethan Vale," the dean announced, voice reluctantly triumphant, "has demonstrated unexpected improvement. Omega Class proves resilience again."
Even some Alphas clapped. Not Lucas. His jaw was stone.
Mira sat in the stands, eyes sharp. Not pity this time—curiosity.
The HUD pulsed again.
HIDDEN MODULE: ACCEPTANCE WILL ALTER PATH. COST: UNKNOWN.
My hand trembled at my side.
I whispered so only I could hear: "Yeah. Let's see what's next."
I blinked Y.
The HUD flared white.
And the crowd's cheer turned into a muffled echo as the world fell away—again.