The semester might have changed, the rankings might have shifted, but I hadn't. Improvement wasn't a matter of sudden bursts; it was built on consistency, on maintaining routines that grounded progress. And so, as usual, I found myself heading to the training grounds.
The walk there was quiet, the crisp morning air carrying the faint hum of mana that always seemed to permeate the academy. The training hall loomed ahead, its tall, clean structure reflecting the subtle glow of the rising sun. As I stepped inside, the familiar scent of polished wood and faint mana traces greeted me.
The hall wasn't crowded, just as I'd expected. At most, around ten percent of the stations were occupied. A few students sparred in the central ring, their strikes ringing out as their weapons clashed. Others worked with dummies or practiced channeling their mana into controlled bursts. The air was alive with muted focus, but it lacked the intensity it should have had.
