The decision to take the loan felt like swallowing glass. Soumya signed the digital paperwork with a trembling finger, the exorbitant interest rate glowing on the screen like a demonic pact. The money appeared in her account almost instantly—a huge, terrifying number that wasn't truly hers.
With it, she paid the IHGA application fee and bought the bare minimum equipment. The armor was a stiff, synthetic vest that smelled of chemicals. The knife was a thin, graceless blade of dark metal, its mana-conductive properties rated just high enough to pass inspection. It felt cheap and fragile in her hand. Holding it, she didn't feel like a Hunter. She felt like a girl in a costume, playing a very dangerous game.
She couldn't afford a trainer. A single session with a qualified D-Rank coach cost more than her family's weekly grocery budget. Private training facilities were out of the question. But information, in the Bangalore Technocracy, was a resource like any other.
That's what brought her to the Aegis Dynamics Guild Training Center—or rather, to the public viewing gallery across the street.
It was a sterile, glass-fronted building. Inside, past the imposing security, was a state-of-the-art training floor. For a nominal fee, civilians could enter the soundproofed observation deck on the second floor. It was marketed as entertainment, a chance for the Unawakened to safely glimpse the world of Hunters. For Soumya, it was the cheapest classroom in the city.
She found a spot at the thick acrylic window overlooking a combat arena. Below, a man was moving through a series of forms with a shortsword. He was lean, powerful, and wore the insignia of a B-Rank Striker. His movements were a blur of controlled violence, each step, each slash executed with an economy of motion that was both beautiful and terrifyingly lethal. He was practicing a form, a sequence of attacks and parries.
Soumya took a deep breath, pushing aside the feelings of inadequacy. She had the loan. She had the gear. Now she needed the skill.
She focused, calling upon the strange new power in her mind.
Activate Eidetic Recall.
The world didn't change, but her perception of it sharpened to an impossible degree. The hum of the gallery's air conditioning faded away. The chatter of the other spectators became a dull buzz. Her entire consciousness narrowed, focusing solely on the Striker below.
And then, the blue windows appeared, overlaying her vision.
[Observing target: 'Aegis Striker Graves'.]
[Skill Detected: 'Flowing Blade Form'. Recording movement sequence...]
Her eyes tracked the man, but her mind saw so much more. She saw the minute twitch of his shoulder muscles just before a slash, the precise angle of his ankle as he pivoted. She saw the faint shimmer of mana circulating from his core, down his arm, and into the humming blade. It wasn't just a recording; it was a complete multi-layered schematic of an action.
[Analysis in progress... Micro-shifts in weight distribution detected. Mana circulation path mapped. Optimal muscle activation sequence identified.]
The Striker finished the sequence with a final, devastating lunge that cracked the armored training dummy he was facing. He stood, breathing evenly, a master of his craft.
In Soumya's mind, a perfect, three-dimensional model of the entire sequence was now stored, ready to be replayed from any angle, at any speed. It was flawless. But then came the final, crushing notification.
[Replication possible at 11% efficiency due to stat differential (STR, AGI, STA).]
Eleven percent. It was a pathetic number, a testament to her body's weakness. A wave of despair washed over her. What good was a perfect blueprint if the raw materials were garbage?
But as she stared at the number, another thought pushed through the disappointment. It's not zero.
That evening, she didn't go home. She took a bus to a secluded public park on the outskirts of the city, a place of overgrown grass and flickering sodium lamps. Finding a flat, clear patch of ground, she drew the cheap, mana-conductive knife from its sheath.
She closed her eyes and replayed the recording in her mind. Flowing Blade Form - Step 1: The Opening Stance.
She tried to copy it. The result was a clumsy, awkward shuffle. Her body refused to cooperate. Her muscles were weak, her joints stiff. It felt like trying to write a symphony with a broken crayon.
Frustration mounted. This was useless. She was useless.
But then, a new notification shimmered into life in her vision, small and unobtrusive.
[Physical action 'Dagger Slash' attempted.]
[Eidetic Recall data cross-referenced with user's physical attempt.]
[Discrepancy detected. Correcting user's muscle memory...]
A strange sensation flowed through her arm. It was a phantom feeling, a ghostly overlay of what the movement should feel like. She could feel the correct tension in her shoulder, the right rotation of her wrist. The System wasn't just showing her the blueprint; it was giving her the instructions, step-by-step.
She tried again. And again. And again.
She practiced for hours, sweat soaking her cheap t-shirt, her muscles screaming in protest. It was a grinding, repetitive, and deeply unglamorous process. But with each attempt, guided by the phantom instructions of her skill, the clumsy shuffle became a slightly less clumsy step. The awkward wave of her arm became a slightly more controlled slash.
She was exhausted, every muscle fiber aching, when the final notification of the night appeared. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
[Repetitive, focused action has met threshold.]
[New Sub-skill created: Dagger Arts (Rank: F-)]
It was the lowest possible rank. A single minus sign that screamed her inadequacy to the world.
But it was a start. It was hers. She had taken a B-Ranker's legendary form and, through sheer, bloody-minded effort, carved out the tiniest sliver of it for herself.
Leaning against a tree, gasping for breath, Soumya looked at the F-Rank skill in her status window and smiled. She had a path. It wasn't a shortcut. It was a long, dark, and painful road, but for the first time since Awakening, she could see the way forward.