The weapons class was held in one of the larger training halls, a vast space with high ceilings and reinforced walls designed to withstand the kind of damage that came from students learning to fight. Racks of weapons lined the walls—swords of various lengths, spears, axes, hammers, staffs, chains, and more exotic equipment that Jelo couldn't even name.
The teacher, a short man with a round, pudgy belly and graying hair, stood at the center of the room. His name was Takayuki, and despite his unimpressive physical appearance, there was something about the way he carried himself that suggested he was far more dangerous than he looked.
"Listen up!" Takayuki called out, his voice surprisingly powerful for someone his size. The chatter among the students died down immediately.
"Today, we begin your education in weapons combat," he continued, pacing slowly in front of the assembled class. "Many of you have abilities—powers that make you feel invincible. Earth manipulation, fire generation, enhanced speed, whatever it might be. But abilities alone are not enough."
He stopped and turned to face them fully. "Fighting with weapons differs fundamentally from fighting with abilities. A weapon is an external device—a tool that can augment your abilities or protect you from your weaknesses. When used correctly, a weapon transforms you from a one-dimensional fighter into something far more versatile and dangerous."
Takayuki picked up a simple wooden staff from a nearby rack, spinning it once in his hand with practiced ease. "But here's the key: you need to pick weapons that feel like extensions of yourselves. Not just something that looks cool or intimidating. Your weapon should become part of you—an extension of your arm, your intent, your will. When you fight, you and your weapon must become one."
He set the staff down and gestured toward the racks. "Now, each of you will choose a weapon. Take your time. Pick something up, feel its weight, test its balance. Find something that speaks to you. Once everyone has made their selection, we'll begin sparring exercises. Lessons will be drawn from your performance."
The students dispersed toward the weapon racks, some moving with confidence toward familiar choices, others wandering hesitantly, overwhelmed by the options.
Atlas stood frozen for a moment, staring at the vast array of weapons with an expression that could only be described as dread.
He was an earth user with absolutely no background in weapons training. The closest he'd come to holding a weapon was picking up a kitchen knife to cut vegetables. Looking at the swords, spears, axes, and chains in front of him, he felt completely out of his depth.
After several minutes of anxious deliberation, Atlas finally picked up a spear. It was simple—a long wooden shaft with a pointed metal tip. Nothing fancy, nothing complicated. He figured at least with a spear, he could keep some distance between himself and whoever he'd be fighting.
He walked back over to where Jelo was standing, holding his own chosen weapon—a standard longsword. Atlas shifted the spear awkwardly in his hands, trying to find a comfortable grip.
"I'm not very confident about this weapons class," Atlas admitted quietly, his voice tight with anxiety. "I tried weapons training once before, back when I was younger. I performed very poorly. Like, embarrassingly poorly."
Jelo glanced at him, noting the tension in his roommate's shoulders, the slight tremor in his hands. "You'll be fine," he said, trying to sound reassuring even though he wasn't entirely sure himself. "It's just practice. Everyone's learning."
Atlas didn't look convinced, but he nodded anyway.
Around them, the other students were finishing their selections. Ken had chosen a pair of short swords, twirling them experimentally with the kind of natural grace that suggested he'd done this before. Mira, standing across the room, had selected what looked like a thin rapier—elegant and precise, just like her.
Once everyone had made their choices, Teacher Takayuki clapped his hands together loudly. "Good! Now that you all have weapons, it's time for the real learning to begin. We'll start with sparring sessions. I'll call out pairs, and you'll fight until one of you yields or I call the match."
He pulled out a small tablet and began scanning through the class roster. "Remember—this is about learning, not killing each other. Use control. Show restraint. But also don't hold back so much that you learn nothing."
Atlas's face went pale.
Takayuki looked up from his tablet. "First match: Atlas versus Garin."
Atlas's heart sank into his stomach.
Of all the luck. The boy called Garin was one of the two who had confronted them earlier in the hallway—the lankier one with the sharp features and cold eyes. He stepped forward with a confident smirk, holding a chain with a wicked-looking sickle attached to the end.
Atlas walked slowly to the center of the training area, his spear feeling suddenly much heavier in his hands. He could feel every eye in the class on him, could hear the whispers already starting.
"Take your positions," Takayuki instructed.
Atlas raised his spear awkwardly, trying to remember anything useful about fighting stances. Garin stood across from him, spinning the chain lazily, the sickle making soft whistling sounds as it cut through the air.
"Begin!"
Garin rushed forward immediately, moving with the aggressive confidence of someone who knew they had the upper hand. He swung the chain in wide arcs, the sickle blade flashing in the light as it whipped toward Atlas.
Atlas tried to defend himself, bringing his spear up to block, but Garin's attacks were relentless. The chain wrapped around the spear shaft once, and Garin yanked hard, nearly pulling it from Atlas's hands. Atlas stumbled backward, struggling to maintain his balance and his grip on the weapon.
"Come on, rank F!" Garin taunted, pressing his advantage. "Show me what you've got!"
But Atlas had nothing. He was completely outmatched, both in skill and experience. Garin's chain attacks came from unpredictable angles, impossible to defend against with the limited training Atlas possessed. Within moments, Garin had knocked Atlas's spear aside and swept his legs out from under him.
Atlas hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs. His spear clattered away, out of reach.
Normally, this would be where the fight ended. When an opponent was disarmed and on the ground, the morally right thing to do was stop. Wait for them to yield. Accept the victory.
But Garin had Atlas and Jelo in mind from their earlier confrontation in the hallway. He saw this as an opportunity—a chance to inflict some damage under the guise of a training exercise.
Instead of stopping, Garin moved closer, raising the sickle.
Atlas, still trying to catch his breath, looked up in confusion. "I yield—" he started to say.
The sickle came down.
Garin slashed at Atlas's arms, the blade cutting through the fabric of his uniform and into flesh. Blood spurted out, bright red against the pale training mat.
Atlas cried out in pain, instinctively pulling his arms back and curling into a defensive position.
Garin raised the sickle again.
-----
Jelo had been watching the fight from the beginning. Ever since Atlas had confessed that he wasn't good with weapons, Jelo had felt a deep pity for him. Watching his roommate struggle against Garin's aggressive attacks had been painful, each clumsy block and desperate parry making Jelo wince in sympathy.
When Garin easily overpowered Atlas and knocked him to the ground, Jelo had felt a twinge of sadness mixed with relief. At least it was over. At least Atlas wouldn't have to endure any more humiliation.
Then Garin continued to attack.
Jelo's eyes widened in shock as he watched the sickle come down on Atlas's already surrendered form. He immediately looked toward Teacher Takayuki, expecting the man to intervene, to call the match, to do something.
But the teacher just stood there, arms crossed, watching with a neutral expression.
And in that moment, Jelo understood.
The academy was founded on principles like hierarchy, strength, dominance. This wasn't a malfunction of the system—this was the system working exactly as intended. Garin was proving he was stronger than Atlas. The teacher wouldn't interfere because this was a lesson in itself: the weak get hurt.
When Garin slashed Atlas's arms again and more blood spurted out, staining the white training mat red, something inside Jelo snapped.
He didn't think. He didn't hesitate. He didn't wait for permission.
Anger fueled him—white-hot and overwhelming.
Jelo drew his sword and rushed forward.
His newly enhanced speed from consuming the Dabba heart made him impossibly fast. One moment he was standing at the edge of the training area, the next he was between Garin and Atlas, his blade already in motion.
He slashed at Garin.
The blade cut through the air with a sharp whistle, aimed directly at Garin's extended arm—the one holding the sickle.