After the roll call ritual and the tense introduction in the classroom, Mrs. Lizy led our band of intrepid apprentices to the artificial training field. A field where reality could be bent and molded, where monsters of data and pixels gained the tangibility of threat, poised to test our limits and our ability to face the unexpected. The game had begun, and the first mission: to defeat the beast generated by machines and mana.
However, before we set off for the wild waltz with virtual creatures, there was an essential prelude - the choice of weapons in the Pentagonó arsenal. A choice not only of tool, but also of identity. There, amidst solemn armament tables, I highlighted a personal conflict: the decision between the impulse to face up close or the reason that calls for a steel extension.
I walked among the corridors flanked by gloriously unique weapons, tormented by the decision. "Direct contact, no blades," echoed the dilemma in my mind. And then, with a touch of irony that I couldn't suppress, I was drawn like a bug to the light to the most cliché choice in this dark and heroic landing-filled warehouse - the katana.
A simple katana with a black sheath fell into my fist, and with it, a silent commitment to shape my destiny in the academy. Sam's epic sword was nothing less than the reflection of his grand ambition. Blake's dagger was a choice as cunning as the sinuous smile he wore. Diana, in turn, maintained her elegance with a foil, knife and lady intertwined in the dance. Ellie, in tune with the elements, also chose a katana - an extension of our forced parallelism. And Chloe, with a spear that challenged both reach and vulnerability, painted her strategy even before entering combat.
None of us opted for a safe distance; in this world, only proximity granted true power. The ability to channel mana, to unleash innate abilities, allowed long-range attacks without the hindrance of rope and gunpowder. Each choice revealed more than a weapon preference; it unveiled a trait of the soul, a glimpse of the essence of each emerging warrior.
The choice of a blade was not just a matter of personal preference. It was a veil, a skillful dissimulation to mask the true arsenal I possessed: the innate ability called Dismantle. It is not just any ability, but a gift that, if exposed, could paint a target on my back as red as the roses that bloom in this institution of stones and secrets.
And it's true, the academy was full of eyes and ears, many of them belonging to people who don't blink at the chance to catapult someone of potential into the abyss. There are demons among us, not all with visible horns, and many wear the skin of sheep, or in the case of the academy, the skin of heroes in training.
But I wanted peace, a sanctuary from the tumult of this world of chaos lurking behind every decision and corner. Deep understanding had to be maintained, and my ability, powerful as it was, if it became known, could transform the lament of peace into a lost song.
Mrs. Lizy, with eyes that I presumed to have a deep understanding of which piece belonged to which board, divided us into trios. The groups formed, each one a calculated mix of competencies and characters.
Sam's trio was made up of Ellie and Brad, while Blake led alongside Diana and Sarah. And me? I was grouped with Chloe and Michael. Michael, an extra as 'normal' as I liked to pretend to be. The three of us, each wrapped in our own thoughts and strategies, were led to our personal arena at Lizy's discretion.
Chloe, by my side, seemed a statue of calm, her eyes constantly assessing the environment. She was looking for opportunities, perhaps not those of the upcoming fight, but those that would fill the coffers of her ambitions. And Michael… well, Michael was an enigma, with his common appearance that could well be a cover for more than a pair of black eyes and hair.
Before facing the beast generated by cutting-edge technology and mana, Kylie, I looked at my teammates. Chloe, with her subtle fervor for wealth, and Michael, whom I could barely read. Perhaps the mystery was itself a weapon in this world where every detail can be a clue, a key, or a trap. I knew that the time for confrontation was near; the virtual monster awaited us, and with the katana in hand and the Dismantle hidden in the drawers of my essence, I was, as always, ready for whatever came next.
The sterile white air of the arena was like a blank page about to be scribbled with our improvised dance of despair. I, Dean, a student with more charm in my little finger than the monster Kylie had in her entire scaly body, was seconds away from turning this page into a messy work of art… or a well-written obituary - let's cross our fingers that it was the former.
"In three… two… one…" the monotonous voice announced the start of our little personal Armageddon, and I, with the posture of someone who drank tranquility for breakfast, already had a plan - or at least a sketch of it. 'Dismantle'. An ability as secret and cunning as a surprise guest at a surprise party. And my sword, well, let's just say that she and I were not exactly a perfectly synchronized couple in the rhythm of love.
Yes, I knew how the thing worked - you grab it by the handle, avoid the sharp side, blah blah blah - but dancing the tango with Kylie, the scaled queen of the ball, would require a little more intimacy with my metal blade. Not having faced anything more challenging than opening a can of preserves in the kitchen did not play in my favor.
Thinking fast was my middle name; irony and sarcasm ran in my veins faster than alcohol at a college party. But even a sharp brain like mine knew that, against that giant lizard with teeth that looked like daggers and claws that promised a 'deadly hug', irony would not serve me as a shield.
"And… fight!" the voice bid farewell as randomly as a priest at the end of an arranged marriage. Undoubtedly, I would have to throw myself into the fight - literally. And then I looked at those by my side; they were not allies, but instruments in an orchestra where I would desperately try to be the conductor. Because, dear diary, if there's one thing I've learned it's that when a monster is made not to be defeated by one, the only spell we need is collaboration. Awkward, yes, but even the worst of symphonies starts with a single chord. It was time to play the music.
---
There was Michael, the perfect model of how NOT to make a heroic approach. With a charge as fearless as a bull against a red cape, he shot forward, making it clear that he had more muscles than strategy, or common sense.
I sighed, rolling my eyes. Great, his heroic act meant that the show had to go on - with or without rehearsal. All of us who had planned to wait for the right moment now had to change plans. And there I was, thinking that being ironic and sarcastic was the limit of my impulsiveness. Michael had just redefined the term for me.
And then, like a blur of determination and sharp reflexes, Chole advanced, her spear a mere whisper in the air. Ah, Chole, the warrior princess of our modest group of fighters. She cut through the air with the precision of a chef in his element, and the monstrous Kylie was definitely on the menu.
With a dance as graceful as it was violent, Chole made it clear that 'butter' was a dangerous metaphor when related to Kylie's resistance. Tears in the lizard's flesh were applied with such ease that one could swear for a second that all this was a kind of macabre ballet.
When the monster roared and tried to retaliate, Chole was a shadow, a breath of wind that danced with death. Kylie, handless, tried a desperate attack with her legs and tail, but ah, Chole was more than a warrior; she was an evasion artist. The lizard was divided like a cake on a child's birthday - a piece for you, another for you…
The scene brought an inconvenient thought: Ok, she is monstrously strong. And when I was already preparing to mentally note some combat tips, a jolt of reality hit Chole. A punch - almost a brutal farewell from Kylie.
Its recovery was nothing less than instantaneous; hands, leg, tail, everything back like a cheap illusionist's magic trick. Ready for another round. Damn. I needed a plan, and fast. Because if we're going to enter this circus, it's better to be prepared to dance with the lions. And Chole had just shown us that even the strongest lion can be surprised.
While Chole stared at the giant lizard, weaving strategies like a master chess player in front of the board, Michael, in his spectacular lack of strategic tact, decided it was his time to shine. Or to fade, as we would soon discover.
His charge had all the grace of an elephant in a china shop. The sword raised in a movement that could be heroism or pure suicidal impulse. It was no different - a tail blow, and our brave extra flew off, literally disarmed by the unexpected, and ready for an involuntary nap.
Witnessing that scene that seemed more like a scene from an action movie - the kind you know will never win an Oscar - Chole gave me a look that screamed confidence and control. Her warning was clear: "Don't interfere. I'll take care of this monster personally." She advanced, the very image of a video game heroine, with every movement fluid and full of purpose.
And me? Ah, I was just enthusiasm, giving a thumbs up in a gesture of silent approval and mentally cheering. "Go for it, Chole! I'm #TeamChole!", I thought, while mentally extending an imaginary fan club banner.
But the fight wasn't just a spectacle of Chole's skill. It seemed that we had entered the school of unannounced superheroes. In other arenas, similar scenes unfolded: Sam and Ellie faced their beasts with the ease of making an omelette, while Blake and Diana dealt with their monsters with the casualness of someone who squashes a mosquito on a summer day.
Perplexed looks shone in the eyes of the supervisors, including Professor Lizy, whose enthusiasm was as obvious as the transcendental abilities of her students. Except, of course, for me.
Me? I was more of a film critic than an active participant. A privileged observer, comfortably installed in the front row to watch Chole's ballet of lethal movements against the lizard, while pondering my own lack of invitation - or courage - to enter that dance.
As Chole retreated, assessing each breath to regain her breath, the lizard, insensitive to the concept of a graceful interval, advanced with relentless tenacity. She danced around the creature, looking for some pattern, some weakness. That's when she noticed the lizard's obsessive defense - the head was its Achilles heel.
With the observation made, Chole planned her attack, mirroring the precision of a chess master about to declare checkmate. Avoiding a treacherous blow from the reptilian tail, she launched herself into the sky, a winged warrior about to plummet the final judgment with her peculiar ability "Guaranteed Hit". The dexterity of her blow would be unshakeable, her spear would know no failure, and her target… the vulnerable mind behind those fierce eyes.
As if anticipating its defeat, the lizard rose in a desperate attempt to intercept her, claws ready to tear apart nothing. Chole dodged with divine agility and, while still dominating the battlefield sky, she drove her spear into that critical region, separating the monster's head from its body with the finality of a full stop.
The lizard's body foolishly persisted in fighting for a second before accepting defeat, thudding against the arena, announcing the victory of our gladiator. Chole touched the ground almost as part of a choreography, the relaxed posture of someone who has accomplished the task, the match we thought had found its epilogue.
But the battle took on a new form, increasingly resembling a game where the developers enjoyed changing the rules at their leisure. In an instant, that lizard was whole again - faster, stronger, and potentially more insightful. The challenge had been raised: an update imposed in the middle of the game.
Chole, surprised but not shaken, raised her guard, the spear in anticipation. "They increase the difficulty, they increase my grade," she whispered with a thread of a smile. Her expression, a mix of determination, promised one thing: she was ready for the real fight.
I, on the other hand, was less enthusiastic about this dramatic twist. The plot had taken an unexpected turn, and I, Dean, who prided myself on my cynicism and acumen, found myself unarmed; a comic heroism with no place in the unfolding reality. I didn't remember any of this in the novel, and at that moment, I wished to be both author and character, capable of rewriting the rules in my favor.
The battle between Chole and the lizard evolved into an almost musical confrontation, the sounds of flesh being torn and blades meeting reverberated through the arena like a war symphony. The monster, resurrected and enhanced, now displayed a performance that rivaled Chole's skill, making the confrontation a macabre dance of predator against predator.
As the lizard charged with renewed fury, yet still strategically cautious, Chole executed a dodge with a degree of professionalism that would make any ballerina blush. She crouched down, sliding under the sharp claw that cut through the air with homicidal intent, her counteroffensive a direct response: a leg of the lizard was cut off, a brief victory before the lizard's surprising instant regeneration, which sent her flying like a leaf in the wind.
Chole, in a movement more by instinct than by calculation, used her spear as a moving shield, transforming what could have been a violent collision against the arena walls into a controlled landing. Her figure conveyed a fierce determination, even as the air escaped from her lungs.
Staying on the sidelines of the battle, I watched the conflict with a mix of admiration and frustration. On the one hand, it was clear that the interference of a novice like me could be as useful as an umbrella in a hurricane. But on the other hand, now that the lizard had undergone its upgrade, it was too risky to let Chole face the monster alone, even with her spear and abilities.
Chole's "Guaranteed Hit" ability was powerful, but limited by a cooldown that made her vulnerable after use. We needed to buy time, enough time for Chole to recharge and deliver the final blow, a sure checkmate in the new and improved chess game we had before us.
Perhaps it was time to enter the stage, not as a protagonist, but as strategic support - a diversionist, a distractor, someone to buy those precious seconds. My mind worked feverishly, weighing risk against necessity, internal sarcasm giving way to a serious decision. With a deep breath, I prepared my entry into the game, my katana now a comfortable weight in my hand. Time to earn my keep - and perhaps, become more than just a spectator in this unexpectedly deadly test.
Determined to make my presence felt in that theater of horrors, I stored all my will and mana within me, infusing them into my legs. The plan was simple, but the execution required precision. As I advanced towards the colossal lizard, a strategy formed in my mind - attack horizontally, wait for its inevitable dodge, and then activate the 'Dismantle' ability to open a gap for Chole.
My advance did not go unnoticed, the beast's attention quickly fixed on me, and that fraction of time seemed to slow down. My hand, trembling on the katana, launched an amateur horizontal blow towards the lizard. As expected, the beast dodged with a reflex that defied the size of its massive body. It was about to face the coup de grace when the unthinkable happened - the invisible cut of 'Dismantle' crossed the air and tore the monster's chest.
Chole, possibly impressed but not distracted, seized the opening provided. As the lizard was distracted, writhing to defend itself from her offensive, I prepared the next move. With a follow-up of another cut, this time aimed at one of the lizard's powerful arms, my katana danced - managing, against all odds, to dismember the beast's limb.
In a violent desperation, limited by its regenerative capacity shaken by my dismantling, the lizard attacked Chole. But she, always agile, dodged the onslaught and, now taking advantage of the opening she had fought so hard to achieve, prepared her conclusive attack.
Spinning her spear with a dexterity that made it seem like an extension of her own being, Chole focused all her mana and strength in her arms and executed a devastating cut. The blade cut through the air, the energy pulsed, and then, with an impact that seemed to split the silence itself, the monster's head split into two halves.
The tension was palpable, everyone held their breath in anticipation, wondering if the lizard had one more trick under its scales. Leaving no room for doubt, Chole followed up the attack with a series of cuts, her spear moving so quickly that it seemed to leave trails of light, shredding the lizard as if it were simply a block of butter under a hot knife.
And then, the monster lay in pieces, unable to recompose itself, while a sense of relief mixed with adrenaline flooded the air. The symphony of combat gave way to a triumphant silence, punctuated only by the multiple cubes of the monster's flesh falling on the arena floor.
---
Panting, Chloe composed herself, casting me a penetrating look of curiosity as she adjusted her black hair. She was the personification of royalty, a modern princess contrasting with the roughness of the arena. "And you, what's your name?"
The question caught me off guard. Chloe asking my name? The same Chloe who calculates every word with the precision of a commercial scale? Strange.
"Dean," I replied with a conciseness that, I hoped, masked my surprise.
Why on earth would there be curiosity about my name? The answer faded when the metallic voice broke the silence of the arena: "Congratulations, Chloe, Dean, and… Michael. You have successfully passed the test. Chloe's evaluation is a 10. Dean, your performance earned a 6 and Michael, regrettably, a zero. The joint grade of Dean and Chloe is 7. Please proceed to the exit."
Indifferent to the announcement, Chloe launched herself towards the exit and I found myself following in her footsteps. Medical support teams rushed over to Michael, who lay unconscious, while I ruminated on my grade, a 'pass' for minimal effort. Perhaps my subtle touch had been crucial, an indispensable piece on the board that led us to triumph.
Today's feat would soon be on the web, and although the spotlight would fall on Chloe, my name would be there, orbiting success - not enough to overshadow, but enough to be noted. After all, in the first test of the academy, Chloe might have taken down the lizard, but it was us, Dean and Chloe, the dynamic duo of the moment.