[One Month Later]
A month after the monumental ingestion of the fruit of liberation, here I am, no longer clamoring for the tranquility of a swift death or exulting in a fabulous transformation. I find myself, so to speak, tamed by circumstances - lying in the tranquility of my home, eyes fixed on the cinematic explosions parading across the screen, a tribute to impressive actions that seem to echo the invisible blows of my newly discovered ability.
==== STATUS ====
Name: Dean Corleone
Ranking: E
Attributes:
Strength: E-
Agility: E+
Vitality: E
Intelligence: E+
Mana Capacity: E+
Luck: E+
Charm: E-
Profession: Level 1 Mystic Swordsman
==== INNATE ABILITY ====
Ability: Dismantle
Ability Ranking: SSS+
Ability Description: Dismantle is an ability that enables the user to deliver an invisible slash within a radius of up to 20 meters. The level of penetration and the range of the ability can be increased depending on the user's mana.
I continue to ponder my situation. Dismantle, an ability so potent it feels as though it should exact a physical or mystical toll, remains my ace. Yet, my efforts to fan this power through meditation and practice have yielded almost imperceptible progress - mana, that sluggish companion, has begun to take on a more palpable form, whispering inside me instead of shouting.
Today ushers in a new phase with the promise of dawn, the beginning of my journey at the revered Pentagon Academy. And you might wonder, why am I not packing my few belongings or contemplating the new life that awaits me? Simple: it's 2 a.m. Anxiety, that faithful watcher of my nights, has taken my sleep hostage, leaving promises of rest only for the weak glow of dawn.
Curious how, in this month of self-imposed isolation and transformation, no traveler, curious onlooker, or agent of fate knocked on my door. Fortunately – and my status assures me some luck – I was able to access my bank account, and there it was, an oasis in the desert, a modest solace of $1200. It's not a fortune, but enough to survive without the need for reckless adventures for cash.
And so, with the currency of this vast human realm - the universal dollar - in my name, I prepare for the next step. I continue to procrastinate, waiting for the last second before diving into the current of the Academy, delaying the inevitable clash between fate and free will.
This is me - Dean Corleone, the mystic swordsman with the false exuberance of a lion, but maybe, just maybe, with the cunning of a fox waiting for the right moment to reveal its claws. The prophetic Pentagon Academy awaits, and with the dawn, I will answer its call.
"But for now, let's finish this movie hehehe," I say.
---
As artificial light bathed the training grounds, it illuminated Sam Solomons' silhouette, engaged in defined and precise movements. At 16, his physique exuded youthful strength, the young man ardently practicing against enemy projections. His night-dark hair fell over vibrant red eyes that betrayed the liveliness of an untamable spirit. The radiant aura of beauty that surrounded him was impossible to ignore, an almost unfair style for such a promising warrior.
Sam's training was reaching its peak as he confronted an assassin that emerged sneakily from behind. The aggressor lunged with a dagger, but with an agile leap, Sam dodged the icy blade and countered mid-air with a powerful kick that hit the hologram's head, dispersing the image in a blink. It wasn't just a fight; it was a dance in honor of war.
In an instant, two new holograms revealed themselves, emerging from shadows to challenge the young swordsman with a dual strike. But Sam, ever superior in the art of combat, pressed off the ground with the strength of his legs and weaved away, his body moving fluidly, hands striking with surgical precision at each of his digital pursuers. And thus, the training ended, a simulation that invigorated not just the body but the spirit as well.
[Congratulations, Sam, you have completed the training.]
(From Sam's point of view)
As I watch the last remnants of the holograms disappear, a smile spreads across my face.
"My stats are good to start at the academy," I think optimistically. "Soon I should be moving up to class D-. With effort, perhaps in a few weeks, I will reach this new classification."
I swipe at the screen that materializes before me to confirm the words I already sensed to be true in my heart.
==== STATUS ====
Name: Sam Solomons
Ranking: E+ > D-
Attributes:
Strength: D
Agility: D+
Vitality: C-
Intelligence: D-
Mana Capacity: D+
Luck: C
Charm: S
Profession: Swordsman Level 1
"System, what time is it now?" I ask, and the device promptly responds.
[It is 7:02 AM.]
"Perfect," I exclaim, and with infectious energy, I decide to make my next move. "Time to take a good shower and get ready for the new day."
Happy and eager for what's to come, I head to the bathroom, ready to wash away the traces of physical effort and start the day refreshed. The academy awaits, and every cell in my body is buzzing with the promise of new challenges and adventures.
"My bag is already packed, the future is calling," I say out loud, allowing the innate optimism of a protagonist to fuel the first page of the next chapter of my life. Today is not just any day, it's the prelude to a saga that will be told for generations. Sam Solomons, swordsman, is ready to forge his legend.
With the characteristic enthusiasm of someone who commands their destiny, Sam leaves the training field with a vibrant laugh, a pure manifestation of an unshakable soul. Make no mistake – there is no shadow of arrogance in his demeanor; what overflows from him is undying faith and an optimism that shines brighter than the morning sun. Sam, a product of an ordinary family, was nurtured with love and hope. His parents, pillars of positivity and support, and his little sister, always bringing him joy and admiration, have prepared him to face the world with an open heart and a smile on his face. He carries with him the vibrant contrast of his upbringing, especially when placed side by side with Dean – each a silkscreen of a different world within the same universe.
---
[Dean's POV]
I woke up to those annoying rays of sunlight hitting my face as if they were physical reminders from the early hours: "Wake up, you need to get up early!" A sigh escaped my lips as I rose and stretched, feeling the satisfaction of being in a body that had become strangely strengthened – one of the few consolates of this new and challenging place.
The previous night had been a battle between anxiety and the need for rest, a tight fight in which, by some miracle, sleep had emerged victorious. I was thankful for that - without proper rest, facing what was to come would have been an even greater challenge.
Despite my tendency to procrastinate, I'm not entirely disconnected. Everything had been prepared the day before, leaving my Pentagon Academy uniform neatly laid out. I remember the mix of suspicion and relief when I received the parcel by mail; initially, I imagined it could be anything from a bomb to a trap. However, there it was, the academy's emblem embossed on the card that lay on top of the package.
"Alright, Dean, time for the morning ritual," I tell myself, following the script that any human would know all too well: wash the face, brush the teeth, and take a shower. Not that I enjoy having to follow a script, but I recognize that these small routines are islands of normality in a sea of continuous change.
And time is of the essence; I'm an hour away from having to be at the academy. There's no time for daydreams or delays. The hot water of the shower is a luxury I do not permit myself to prolong, as my mind is already racing, filled with strategies and scenarios for the near future.
"Life can be chaos," I reflect while tying the laces of my uniform, "but at least I'll be arriving at the academy on time."
With the uniform on, I almost feel like a spy in disguise - the uniform, a mask. Yet, it's a necessary mask. Everything is ready, everything in order, there's only to face the day ahead.
Here I go, Dean Corleone, the mystic swordsman, prepared for whatever the Pentagon Academy has in store for me. It's time to advance, step by step, into this new and unknown world – where my "E+ luck," I hope, will work in my favor.
Looking in the mirror, I decide the accessory really doesn't suit me. "Masks are for balls and superheroes," I think, removing it and showing my true face. A mischievous smile blooms on my lips as I ponder the irony of someone like me worrying about looking good - I'm a mystic swordsman in this strange world, not a soap opera heartthrob.
Decision made, I access the app and call a car. When the fare flashed on the screen, my eyes rolled involuntarily. 20 dollars! That's not a fare, that's robbery! I could have protested, forsworn the ride, and opted for an epic walk - but practicality wins over pride, at least this time, and I resign myself to legalized theft.
The view of the Pentagon Academy reveals itself from the other side of the window, and any remnants of irritation slip away from me with the breath lost in admiration. The beauty of the campus is undeniable, with imposing buildings, well-maintained green areas, and a pulsating energy that emanates from the entire place.
The noise, the excitement in the air, the frenetic movement of the newcomers... it all combines into an atmosphere that is both surreal and familiar. And I find myself nostalgic for my first days of school, a reality that seems as distant as it is desirable. Adult life and its complexities feel like an additional burden compared to that simplicity.
I collect my senses and walk towards the main entrance, a dramatic expression hidden behind an invisible mask of focus and determination.
It's 8:55 AM, and here I am, five minutes earlier than planned. Against all odds, or perhaps thanks to a newly acquired discipline, punctuality has been my ally this morning. The monumental gate was already open, beckoning since eight, but the real show, the welcome ceremony, would only start at nine.
Class A-1... I let out a discreet chuckle thinking about how "convenient" it is to be assigned to the protagonist's class. Well, I can't say I'm surprised; something in this world seems determined to thrust me into the center stage.
"The entity that brought me here," I murmur, a visage of delight etched with sharp sarcasm, "this is only the beginning." And with a suitcase containing my new life in hand, I walk towards the academy, towards the class, towards the fate that has been imposed on me or that, perhaps, I will forge myself.
---
Sitting comfortably in the back row of the grand hall, I cast myself in the role of a silent observer, a background character in his own narrative arc, as the opening ceremony unfolds before me. Most students buzz with anxiety and expectation, while the faculty maintains their dignified bearing on stage, their expressions an impassive overture to the director's arrival.
My suitcase, gracefully collected by an academy staffer, must already be settled in its new home, a dormitory chosen for a purpose I am yet to discover. "Well, where are you all?" I murmur to myself, my eyes sifting through the sea of faces, searching for the characters destined to shine under the spotlight on this academic stage.
I should feel relieved to be just a spectator in this narrative rather than one of the main actors; at least that's what I repeat to myself as a mantra of quiet satisfaction. The thought of being the hero of the story sends a shiver of discomfort through me. Heroes, after all, face challenges that I certainly wouldn't want to deal with.
Yet, some stroke of fortune has cast me in the expectation of a well-endowed side character, an exile from familial pressures with enough funds to sustain me. I must admit, the ironic nature of luck has favored me in this aspect.
And there she is - the unmistakable voice of Ellie Stormhold piercing through the ambient murmur. Wavy red hair and hopeful green eyes stamp her inimitable aesthetic. She approaches with the fervor of a protagonist towards Sam, the boy already carrying the weight of anticipation as the top-ranking first year.
"Pleasure to meet you, my name is Ellie Stormhold," announces the exuberance typical of one who finds herself in the initial pages of her saga. "You must be Sam Solomons, right? The guy who ranked first in our first year."
His interruption cuts through the air like the snap of a silver tray being dropped. "Are you conversing with the rabble again, Ellie?" The coldness of his voice contrasts with the warmth of the room, and not only Ellie but also Sam, with a puzzled look, seem to wonder where civility has gone.
Ellie, vibrant and fearless, turns to Blake with a teasing smile and retorts: "Blake, Sam is not a nobody. Sam is actually superior to you, so I'd advise you to respect him, hehe." It's a challenge wrapped in polite gestures, an invitation to compare that Blake clearly cannot ignore.
Blake nearly laughs, an involuntary response to a thought he must find ludicrous. "Huh? Superior to me? I was second in the rankings for the first year."
Ellie, acting as a master of ceremonies for an intellectual duel, turns to Sam and proclaims with unmatched satisfaction: "Yes, but Sam came in first."
Watching the scene unfold, the comedy of the situation slips out as a muffled laugh from my lips. The typically arrogant young master stumbles in his own narrative, finding an unlikely adversary in Sam and, perhaps, an instigator in the carefree figure of Ellie. If it's true that everyone enjoys the fall of a giant, then my affinity for Blake's future growth is momentarily overshadowed by the poignant irony of the present.
Suddenly, cutting through all the tension in the room and drawing my attention, the director enters the vast hall to begin the ceremony...