A sharp alarm rang through the dorm like a siren, jerking the boys out of sleep. Peter groaned from under his blanket while Vorden rolled out of bed with surprising energy.
"Rise and shine, my warriors," Vorden said with a dramatic stretch. "First day of training, probably first day of regret for some of us."
Ken was already halfway dressed, moving efficiently. Quinn sat at the edge of his bed, yawning but quiet, clearly not a morning person.
After a few minutes, they left the dorm and joined the steady stream of students moving through the sterile white halls toward the canteen. The entire academy seemed built from the same blueprint: No color, and no warmth. It felt like living inside a giant, polished laboratory.
When they entered the canteen, the chatter of a hundred voices bounced off the curved dome ceiling. The space was built like a modern dining hall—wide, open, with symmetrical rows of tables. A few students had already claimed seats, most sitting with others around their own level.
Ken noticed it immediately.
Level 1s with Level 1s. Level 2s cautiously orbiting Level 3s. The Level 4s and 5s had their own unspoken space. A gravitational pull that discouraged anyone weaker from approaching.
It didn't take long for the group to spot the breakfast line and make their way there.
As they stood in line, joking quietly among themselves, a tall boy with messy brown hair and a scuffed uniform walked up behind them—then started to push ahead.
Peter looked startled as the student brushed past him, muttering, "Move."
Before the boy could step in front of Quinn, two digital displays lit up—Ken and Vorden both raised their wrists at once.
The blue glow of Ken's 4.9 and Vorden's solid 5.0 levels shined clearly.
The student froze mid-step, eyes flicking from the numbers to their faces. He let out a dry laugh and stepped back without saying a word, pretending like he hadn't meant to walk that way all along.
Vorden raised an eyebrow at Ken. "Teamwork makes the dream work."
Peter grinned but said nothing. Quinn shot Ken a curious glance—half amused, half thoughtful.
No one said it out loud, but the message was clear. Even here, levels decided your worth. And today, Ken had drawn the line.
Once they got their food—simple trays of protein-rich meals, some fruits, and a weirdly glowing drink—they looked around for a place to sit.
There were a few open spots among other high-levels… but they chose a table near the center.
A mix of Level 1s, a 4.9 and 5.
And just like that, they stood out—not just because of their numbers, but because they hadn't followed the unspoken rules.
Whispers began again and heads were turned.
And Ken, quietly eating his food, knew it wouldn't be long before someone tried to challenge that choice.
---
As the group settled at their table, halfway through their breakfast, two familiar figures approached from across the canteen—Erin and Layla.
Layla, with her usual easygoing confidence, plopped down beside Peter without any hesitation. Erin, more reserved but clearly deliberate in her actions, took the remaining seat next to Quinn, her eyes briefly scanning the others at the table.
"Hope you saved us spots," Layla said with a smirk, even though they clearly hadn't.
Vorden grinned. "Wouldn't be a proper team without our favorite ladies."
Ken nodded politely at Erin, who gave him a short glance, cool and unreadable as ever.
Now, all six of them were seated together—two Level 1s, one Level 2, a 4.9, and two solid 5s, defying every social line that had already been etched into the academy's hierarchy.
Around the hall, the reactions were immediate.
Some of the students nearby muttered under their breath, whispering to each other and throwing glances that weren't exactly subtle. A few Level 3s from another table snorted at the group, shaking their heads.
But most noticeably, from the corner of the canteen, a group of older students—second years—sat at their own table near the edge of the room. One of them, tall and broad-shouldered with a sharp, angular face and jet-black hair slicked back, leaned forward on his elbows.
His wristwatch glowed a deep 6.1.
He didn't say anything at first, but his dark eyes were clearly locked on Ken and his group. A smaller student by his side leaned over. "I'm pretty sure they don't know the rules."
The older student's lip curled slightly. "They will sooner or later."
And just like that, the table full of upperclassmen turned their attention to the newcomers—some curious, others already annoyed.
Back at their table, Layla noticed the stares. "So… does anyone else feel like we just painted a big red target on our backs?"
Vorden shrugged. "Only if they're dumb enough to try something."
Peter quietly lowered his fork. "Are they… dumb enough?"
Erin glanced over at the upperclassmen, her expression unreadable. "Some people like reminding others of their place."
Ken sat back, eyes calmly surveying the room. He wasn't intimidated—if anything, he looked interested.
Quinn leaned closer to him and whispered, "Looks like things are about to get more interesting."
Ken gave a faint smile. "That's good, I'd like to test out how strong I've gotten lately."
---
The sound of boots scraping the tile echoed ominously as the tall upperclassman started to make his way towards the group. His followers fell silent and watched as he crossed the canteen with slow, confident steps—his presence clearing a path through the crowd. The buzz of conversations around the room dulled to a low murmur.
Ken felt the shift before he saw him. He looked up to see the Level 6.1 student approaching, his sharp gaze scanning the group with unhidden disdain.
The upperclassman stopped at the end of their table, eyes locked onto Ken, then flicking over to Vorden and Erin.
"You three," he said with a smirk, voice loud enough for nearby tables to hear, "what are you
doing here sitting with low-level garbage?"
Quinn tensed. Peter's hand subtly moved under the table. Layla's eyes narrowed.
Ken didn't respond, but his posture remained relaxed—alert, but unreadable.
The upperclassman didn't wait for an answer.
Without warning, his hand snapped up—and a crackle of electricity shot out from his fingers, forming into a sharp bolt that lashed toward them.
"Look out!" Vorden shouted.
All three of them moved at once.
Ken leaned back, pushing off the table with a burst of speed, barely evading the electric shot as it scorched the tabletop. Vorden twisted to the side, rolling onto his feet. Erin spun out of her seat gracefully, landing in a low crouch position with one hand glowing icy blue.
The bolt fizzled against the wall behind them with a sharp crack, leaving a smoking black mark. Gasps erupted around the canteen. Every eye was on them now.
The upperclassman grinned, clearly pleased with the chaos he was causing.
He focused on Ken, his eyes narrowing.
"I saw your group yesterday during the tour. Didn't think much of it then." His voice dropped an octave, dark and arrogant. "Didn't realize I'd have to teach you all your place!!"
He lunged forward, fist surging with electric current, arcing straight toward Ken like a coiled strike.
But Ken was already moving.
His left leg pulsed with energy, veins faintly glowing as he enhanced it in an instant. With a sharp *crack*, he leapt back, soaring over the table with uncanny speed and grace. The punch missed him by a hair's width, slamming into the metal table with a flash of sparks.
The force dented the steel, the impact echoing through the room like a gunshot.
Ken landed lightly, sliding into a fighting stance as the cafeteria fell into stunned silence.
Eyes widened. Whispers turned into full-blown chatter.
"Did he dodge that?"
"Who is that guy?"
"His level's not even 5…"
The upperclassman turned, expression shifting from amused to annoyed. He hadn't expected the dodge. He hadn't expected a counter.
Ken's cyan eyes glinted.
"You shouldn't pick fights in the cafeteria," he said calmly. "Might ruin your breakfast."
The upperclassman snarled in response and charged forward again, lightning sparking between his fingers. Ken's mind raced—he could only enhance one limb at a time, and every second counted.
Legs for speed. Arms for power. I can't afford to make a mistake.
As another crackling fist came barreling toward him, Ken enhanced his right forearm just in time, bracing it against the blow. The impact jolted through his body like a shockwave, his shoes skidding against the canteen floor. Sparks flew on contact, but he didn't go down.
Still, the force rattled him. This guy is strong. I can't keep blocking forever.
The upperclassman grinned, sensing the pressure mounting.
"You're fast," he said, circling around Ken. "But not fast enough."
He then launched himself forward and threw another flurry of strikes—one high, one low, a feint, then a real one. Ken dodged the first two, barely deflected the third with a twist of his shoulder, and slid back from the fourth.
He's baiting me. Gotta turn this around.
Ken waited—watching, breathing, and measuring.
Then came his chance.
The upperclassman twisted for a finishing blow, throwing his weight into it. Ken ducked under the wild swing, and swept his leg low, aiming to trip him.
But the upperclassman jumped—just as Ken expected.
In that brief moment, suspended mid-air, the upperclassman had no control over his momentum.
Ken's eyes sharpened.
Now!!
He poured nearly all his remaining energy into his right arm, the veins along it glowing with a vibrant pulse of light. Time seemed too slow for a breath. He clenched his fist, twisted his hips, and launched a devastating uppercut.
CRACK!
His fist connected with the upperclassman's midsection, the energy-enhanced punch lifting him higher into the air before he came crashing down across one of the empty cafeteria tables—splintering it under his weight.
Gasps and shouts echoed through the canteen. Some students jumped to their feet. Others just stared in stunned silence.
The upperclassman groaned, electricity flickering around him like broken static.
Ken staggered slightly, breathing hard. That punch had taken a lot out of him—but he was still standing.
The upperclassman's laughter cut through the air like a crack of thunder, wild and twisted. He pushed himself off the shattered table, blood at the corner of his mouth, but eyes burning brighter than ever.
"You think that's enough?" he growled. "You're not the only one who's been holding back."
Before Ken could ready another enhancement, the upperclassman surged forward—faster than before.
Too fast.
A powerful punch slammed straight into Ken's stomach. The impact doubled him over, air escaping his lungs in a hard gasp. He flew backward, tumbling across the canteen floor, crashing into a row of chairs with a loud clang.
"Ken!" Quinn shouted, starting to move forward.
But Vorden was already running.
He darted to Erin's side and tapped her shoulder, his hand lingering just long enough.
"I already know you saw how I had your ability the first time we met, but I need your ability right now!" he said breathlessly.
Erin nodded stiffly, already drawing in cold air.
Vorden's hands started to shimmer with frost, faint blue light coiling around his fingertips. He turned to Erin, eyes serious.
"At this rate, he'll get beaten into a pulp. We can't let that happen."
Erin clenched her fists. "Then let's freeze this bastard."
They both charged forward—Quinn and Peter watching from behind, tense and wide-eyed. Layla stood nearby, hand hovering over her digital watch, unsure whether to jump in or signal for help.
The crowd of students had backed away by now, forming a wide circle around the combatants. Whispers swirled in the air.
"They're actually fighting back…"
"Is that guy copying Erin's ability?"
"Who are these first-years?"
As Ken struggled to sit up, blinking through the haze of pain, he saw Vorden and Erin step between him and the charging upperclassman—ice swirling and building between their palms.
—
Vorden and Erin moved like a practiced team—ice blasts lashing out from Erin's hands while Vorden mimicked every move, the blasts of ice started to force the upperclassman to stay on the defensive.
For a few moments, it looked like they might actually push him back.
But then the upperclassman's smirk deepened. His body began to shimmer with electricity again—hotter, sharper, and more unstable.
"You kids don't know when to quit," he said, voice filled with a venomous glee. "Fine, let me show you why there's a difference between the first and second-years!!"
He surged forward, faster than before. Erin's ice attacks missed. Vorden tried to parry but got slammed into the wall with a grunt. The upperclassman spun, backhanding Erin to the ground.
Laughter echoed. Mocking and cruel.
"Thought you were strong?" he taunted. "You're nothing!"
Ken laid on the floor a few feet away, every breath a struggle. Pain bloomed in his ribs and stomach, but his eyes locked onto Erin and Vorden who were now down on the floor but still trying to stand.
Why? he thought bitterly. Why would they fight for me? We just met a day ago.
His fists clenched.
I don't deserve that. Not yet. But I won't let them fall because of me.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, deep and slow. He could feel it a flicker of energy still within him, weak but there. Not enough to win, but maybe…
If I stop thinking in limits.
He reached inside himself, drawing on every ounce of will. Pushing the energy not into a single limb—but into both legs.
Pain surged. My body is still not ready for this but I don't care Ken shouted in his head
After the pain came clarity.
Ken's body glowed faintly, the energy splitting and flooding evenly through his legs. His eyes flew open.
He did it. He enhanced two limbs.
Just as the upperclassman reared back for a devastating blow toward the downed Vorden and Erin
WHOOSH!
A sudden blur shot between them, and a gust of wind blew over the canteen.
Ken stood between the upperclassman and his friends, arms outstretched protectively, energy surging through both legs as he skidded to a stop.
He made it just in time.
The upperclassman's fist froze mid-air, stunned by Ken's speed.
"I'm not done yet," Ken growled, eyes blazing with resolve. "You're going to pay for hurting me and my friends!!"