My shadow clone flew backwards as Port drove his elbow into its face, the impact forcing it to dissipate in a puff of grey aura. It managed to land a solid liver punch before vanishing, though, drawing a grunt from the professor.
Port shifted to turn toward the real me, but not fast enough to avoid the punch I delivered to the back of his head. The blow sent him into a forward roll, yet he sprang up with ease, looking completely unfazed.
Honestly, I was both impressed and annoyed with this new professor of mine.
The man was built like a tank, moving with surprising agility for someone of his size. Despite me and my clone hammering him like dough under a rolling pin, he remained ahead in terms of aura consumption.
Worse still, I could tell he was holding back—more than half his strength, if my instincts were right.
Port wasn't stupid. He clearly knew the damage he could deal with his full power; one solid hit and I'd be counting constellations from a hospital bed. Instead, his strikes had just enough force to rattle my brain without making me taste colors.
It was... irritatingly impressive. Watching someone like him fight was like seeing an elephant tap-dance: a mix of grace and power. That finesse kept me alive, sure, but it was also getting old fast.
Soft sparring had its merits, but without even a slight threat of grievous injury, where was the incentive to improve?
Real fights, the kind that pressed one's instincts and decision-making to the limit, were irreplaceable. I'd learned over the years that one true battle was worth a dozen half-hearted scuffles when it came to honing my Analysis.
If he weren't a professor, I'd already be taunting his prowess, ancestors, and virility in that special way that had earned me such warm regard at my previous academy. But I wasn't stupid or impulsive enough to try that here.
Instead, I coated my fist in fire and Shadow-blinked behind him.
For a moment, I saw his body tense, his instincts—sharpened over decades—alerting him to the sudden presence behind him. He turned faster than I expected, a blur of motion. But while his reactions outclassed mine, he wasn't fast enough to counter a point-blank strike emerging from his own shadow.
The concentrated fire ignited as my fist struck, colliding with his aura in a sharp crackle. Flames pulsed outwards, then fizzled out on impact, leaving behind a faint blackened scorch on the professor's red, and decidedly expensive-looking, coat.
It wasn't much damage—barely an inconvenience for him—but that singed mark was intentional. A token of my displeasure at being denied the chance to truly push myself to the limit, and proof of my ability to exploit even a sliver of opportunity.
Or a simple attack, of course. Why would anyone read so much into a simple punch? Now that would just be stupid.
It also marked the end of the spar. My aura reserves dipped into the red as my scroll emitted a sharp beep. I staggered slightly, as if the fatigue was catching up with me.
Port laughed loudly, the sound booming across the classroom as he turned toward me. His hand came down on my shoulder with a thud that felt less like encouragement and more like falling bricks, but I managed to keep smiling through it.
"Marvelous, marvelous!" he exclaimed, his voice full of genuine delight.
I couldn't help but notice his sharp, inquisitive gaze lingering on my face. My smile remained pristine.
Thankfully, it didn't take long for him to speak again, his tone carrying that unmistakable blend of curiosity and approval.
"I thought there must have been a mistake in your dossier, my boy, but seeing is believing. What an interesting semblance…"
That sounded suspiciously like an invitation to explain what just happened—to enlighten the classmates who were currently burning holes into me with their silent stares. But I wasn't one for sharing, especially when it came to my tricks.
I was a "blockhead."
"THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR GUIDANCE, PROFESSOR!" I bellowed instead, cutting off any further probing with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Port raised a brow at my hot-headed display, but he didn't press the matter.
I gave a quick, exaggerated nod, the kind you'd expect from a kid reveling in praise, and sauntered back to my seat before anyone could trap me in awkward questions.
Settling in, I scanned the room with a small grin—the one I knew looked insufferably smug to anyone doubting their own capabilities. One by one, I locked eyes with my classmates. Some averted their gaze, some smiled in return, and others frowned.
Today was a lovely day for fighting.
Just like any other day.
And it would be such a shame to waste it...