Four weeks had passed since the exam, and life at the academy had returned to its usual rhythm. Snowy had slipped into a daily routine of attending classes, training, and occasionally helping Emily with her sword drills. He had grown familiar with the winding corridors of the academy, the sounds of clashing weapons echoing from the training grounds, and the scent of fresh ink and parchment in the classrooms. Though he rarely showed it, the faint hints of a smile could occasionally be seen whenever he caught Emily waving at him across the courtyard.
Mornings began with training at the break of dawn. The academy's training grounds were bustling with students, each pushing their limits in preparation for the challenges ahead. Snowy preferred to train in a secluded corner, far from the prying eyes of his classmates. The quiet allowed him to focus, refining his techniques in solitude. He was no longer the withdrawn figure who would merely observe. His movements were sharper, his focus keener, and every strike he made held a sense of purpose.
Today, Snowy was practicing with a wooden sword, its worn surface slick with sweat. He moved with fluidity and precision, mimicking the swift, elegant strokes of Emily's signature fighting style, the **"Eclipsing Blade."** Emily's style was a blend of swift, deceptive movements paired with graceful arcs, designed to disorient and overwhelm her opponents. She wielded her sword as if dancing, each movement flowing into the next with effortless precision.
Snowy was determined to master it. He observed Emily's movements during their sparring sessions, absorbing every detail like a sponge. He watched the way she positioned her feet, the subtle shifts in her weight, and the way her wrist flicked during a strike. Then, he would retreat to his quiet corner and try to replicate it. At first, his attempts were awkward, lacking the fluid grace that Emily possessed. But over time, his movements began to smoothen. His strokes grew faster, his footwork more precise. Though still rough around the edges, he was getting closer.
Emily often watched from a distance, pretending not to notice, but she couldn't hide her smile. She had never taught Snowy her style directly, but the fact that he was trying to emulate her movements said more than words ever could. During their sparring matches, she'd occasionally catch him using a technique that mirrored her own, albeit with his unique twist. She never commented on it, but the playful glint in her eyes showed she noticed.
Today's class was held in a large lecture hall, packed with eager students. The buzz of anticipation hung in the air as the instructor, Professor Darian, stepped up to the podium. Professor Darian was a tall, stern man with graying hair and a sharp gaze that seemed to pierce through every student in the room. He clapped his hands, calling for silence.
"Good morning, everyone," Professor Darian began, his voice booming across the hall. "As you all know, the annual tournament is approaching. This year's tournament is of special importance. Not only will it test your combat skills, but it will also determine the best of the best among you."
A murmur of excitement spread through the students. The tournament was the academy's most prestigious event, a chance to prove oneself in front of the entire institution. Emily glanced over at Snowy, who appeared uninterested, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
"But," Professor Darian continued, silencing the room once more, "only those at combat prowess level C2 and above will be eligible to participate. We will be conducting a test today to determine your levels. For those unfamiliar, the orb test measures your combat prowess by reading your raw strength, agility, and mana control. Those who qualify will be placed in ranked brackets for the tournament."
Snowy listened, but his mind was elsewhere. He'd taken this test before, a simple formality where the orb would glow to reflect one's combat level. He knew his level had increased since his last exam, but he hadn't paid much attention to the exact numbers. His training was personal, a means of pushing past his own limits, not for the sake of validation. Still, when Professor Darian called for volunteers, Snowy found himself stepping forward, more out of curiosity than anything else.
One by one, the students approached the large, gleaming orb that hovered on the podium. Each placed their hand on it, and the orb would glow, revealing their level in a swirling display of light and color. The stronger the student, the brighter the light.
Emily went before Snowy. She placed her hand on the orb, and it shone brilliantly, projecting her level: 1.5 million. The class murmured in admiration, and she stepped back, flashing a confident smile.
Snowy was next. He approached the orb, feeling the collective eyes of the class on him. He placed his hand on the cool surface, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then, the orb began to vibrate, its glow intensifying rapidly. Light poured from it, blindingly bright, casting the room in sharp white light. Cracks began to spread across its surface, like a spiderweb of shattered glass. And then, with a deafening crack, the orb exploded, sending shards flying.
Gasps filled the room. Snowy stared at his hand, unfazed. He hadn't even used half of his strength.
Professor Darian stepped back, momentarily stunned. "Incredible," he muttered, regaining his composure. "2.1 million. It seems we have a new prodigy among us." The murmurs turned into whispers of awe and disbelief. Snowy's display had far exceeded everyone's expectations, including his own.
Emily watched Snowy with a mix of surprise and pride. She had seen him train tirelessly, pushing himself beyond his limits. But to see it quantified like this—to see the sheer magnitude of his power—was something else entirely. Snowy caught her eye and shrugged, as if to say, *It's no big deal.* But Emily knew better.
Later that evening, they found themselves back on the training grounds. Emily was practicing her sword forms, the movements of the Eclipsing Blade swift and graceful. Snowy sat nearby, his eyes following her every move. When Emily took a break, Snowy stood up, grabbing his wooden sword. He moved into the same stance she had used, his movements precise but slightly different, rough around the edges yet clearly inspired by her style.
"You've been watching me," Emily said, leaning against the fence with a smile.
Snowy nodded. "You're good. I figured I'd try to learn."
Emily watched as Snowy executed a near-perfect replication of one of her complex spins, ending with a sharp downward strike. There was a fierce intensity in his eyes, a determination that mirrored her own.
"You're not half bad," Emily admitted, crossing her arms. "But you're still missing the flow. It's not just about power—it's about balance. Watch your footing."
Snowy adjusted his stance, following her advice, and tried again. This time, his movements were smoother, more controlled. Emily watched with quiet satisfaction, knowing that even though Snowy was learning on his own, he was absorbing her teachings in every swing.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the training grounds, Snowy and Emily continued to practice. Each movement, each swing, was a silent conversation between them. Snowy was no longer just the quiet, detached student from another world. He was a force to be reckoned with, and for the first time, Emily felt she wasn't training alone.