Class had finally ended for lunch, but not before the grueling workouts Sir Takeda had mercilessly imposed on his students. Every muscle in Seijuro's body screamed in protest as he trudged toward the changing room, sweat dripping from his brow.
For the past four hours, Sir Takeda had pushed the first-year students to their absolute limits. "Speed, strenght, agility, endurance, and control!" his booming voice echoed throughout the training field. "A Reitōka doesn't rely on just one part of their body. You must master them all if you want to survive."
The students groaned as they were ordered through an endless barrage of drills designed to enhance their physical attributes. Sprints, high-intensity interval training, balance exercises, and combat-ready stretches formed the core of the regimen.
Sir Takeda prowled the field like a predator, his sharp eyes catching every flaw. "Fix that form, Nakamura! You're slower than a slug!" he barked, causing a nearby student to stumble over their already shaky stance. "Kobayashi! If you don't start breathing properly, you'll pass out, and I'll make you run laps while unconscious!"
Sweat-drenched uniforms were shed in waves. The male students stripped down to their waists, revealing torsos in various stages of development, while the females wore fitted white training vests beneath their tops. Modesty wasn't prioritized here—survival was.
"Your bodies must be conditioned to withstand the demands of combat. Without proper physique, your techniques will crumble under pressure," Sir Takeda declared. His authoritative tone left no room for argument. "We may not wield the Hokā Flame or the Seika Flame, but a Reitōka must be prepared to fight just as fiercely. Get moving!"
While most students faltered under the relentless pace, two stood apart: Amun Ma'atir and Seijuro Matsuda.
Amun tackled every drill with the ease of someone who had trained for years. His muscles rippled with every movement—defined biceps flexing as he powered through push-ups, broad shoulders pivoting with perfect control during balance drills. Despite the visible sheen of sweat on his golden-brown skin, Amun showed no signs of fatigue.
"Good form, Amun. Excellent work," Sir Takeda praised occasionally, his sharp tone softening slightly—a rare occurrence.
The rest of the class, while too exhausted to say much, couldn't help but cast envious glances at Amun. It wasn't just his skill; it was his sheer presence. At sixteen, he had the physique of a seasoned warrior: chiseled abs, powerful legs, and a demeanor that exuded confidence.
Seijuro, on the other hand, was less polished but equally determined. His lean, wiry frame didn't boast the same bulk as Amun's, but there was strength in his endurance. Muscles quivered under the strain of endless reps, and beads of sweat trickled down his neck, but he refused to stop.
A human who has awakened their Reitō naturally surpasses the strength and capabilities of an ordinary person. This fact is universally understood.
For instance, while the strongest non-Reitō humans—those who have devoted their entire lives to building raw muscle—can deadlift over 400 pounds, a newly awakened Reitō individual starts with comparable strength, capable of lifting weights similar to a seasoned powerlifter, often around 200 pounds or more.
However, within the elite realm of the Three Divine Academies, the bar is set much higher. First-year students, even those newly awakened, are expected to deadlift over 1,000 pounds as a baseline. Similarly, while an elite human athlete might run at speeds of 20-30 miles per hour with endurance for 5-10 miles, a first-year student can reach speeds exceeding 323 miles per hour, with the stamina to maintain this pace for 15-20 miles.
These averages highlight the vast disparity between ordinary humans and those who have awakened their Reitō. Even among Reitōka, the difference in strength and ability between those at the baseline and the exceptional few who exceed expectations is immense. For the students of the Three Divine Academies, surpassing human limits is merely the starting point.
"Dammit," he muttered under his breath as his legs threatened to buckle during a series of squats. His mind flashed back to the enrollment test, where his body had betrayed him during his fight with the Nephom. "If I can't even handle this, how the hell am I supposed to master my Shindō?"
Every time his body screamed for him to stop, Seijuro clenched his teeth and pushed harder, his mind repeating a singular mantra: I can't fall behind. I won't.
Sir Takeda noticed. While he didn't offer Seijuro the same praise as Amun, there was an approving glint in his eye as the boy refused to quit, even when others around him faltered.
When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of class, the students collectively collapsed onto the ground, panting like dogs in the summer heat.
In the changing rooms, Seijuro peeled off his damp uniform, grateful for the cool air against his sweat-soaked skin. He quickly changed into a fresh set of clothes, catching snippets of conversation from the other students.
"Home room's 8:30 to 9, but class lasts until lunch. Then the next session starts at 1:30," one boy explained to a newcomer. "But honestly? Classes here don't really end. After-hours training is totally normal."
Another chimed in. "Yeah, they pretty much expect you to train 'til you drop. Prestige, my ass—this place is a glorified boot camp."
Seijuro smirked to himself as he laced his shoes. Not wrong, he thought, standing up and heading toward the cafeteria. Or at least, he tried to.
Five minutes later, he was hopelessly lost in the labyrinth of identical halls. The academy's sprawling layout had no rhyme or reason, and no maps to guide the clueless.
"For God's sake, how does anyone navigate this damn place?" he grumbled, his frustration mounting. He clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to punch the nearest wall.
"Hey there!"
The voice startled him. Turning around, he found himself face-to-face with none other than Amun Ma'atir. The student offered a friendly smile, his hand raised in greeting.
"Seijuro Matsuda, right?" Amun's tone was bright, casual. "You look a little... lost. Need a hand getting to the cafeteria?"
Seijuro narrowed his eyes, instantly suspicious. What's his deal? he thought. Is this just a nice guy act, or does he want something from me? His life experience had taught him to second-guess kindness, and this was no exception.
Still, Seijuro glanced around the unfamiliar corridor, realizing he had no other option. Begrudgingly, he swallowed his pride.
"Yeah," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I could use some directions."
"Great!" Amun grinned, motioning for Seijuro to follow. "It's this way."
The silence between them stretched on for what felt like an eternity—five long, awkward minutes of nothing but the sound of footsteps echoing down the wide academy halls. Seijuro Matsuda's unease grew with every second that ticked by. He glanced at the student walking ahead of him, Amun Ma'atir, his supposed "guide." But Sei couldn't help the gnawing suspicion clawing at his mind.
What's his deal? Is this some kind of setup? His eyes narrowed slightly as he walked. A guy like him doesn't just go out of his way to help someone like me. This could be a trap... Is he testing me? Waiting for the right moment to strike?
Sei's overthinking spiraled further into scenarios—fights breaking out in deserted hallways, ambushes waiting around corners. His hands instinctively flexed at his sides, readying himself for some imaginary brawl.
Meanwhile, Amun seemed utterly oblivious, or maybe just unbothered, by Sei's paranoia. He walked with an air of confidence that seemed effortless, his shoulders relaxed, his posture naturally commanding. Every now and then, they'd pass other students, both male and female, who called out to Amun in cheerful tones.
"Amun! Hey, man!"
"Oh, Amun! Looking good as always!"
The boy responded to each greeting with an easy smile and a quick wave, never missing a beat. It wasn't forced or strained—just genuine friendliness that seemed to come as naturally to him as breathing.
"Annoying,"Sei thought, his jaw tightening. The way everyone gravitated to Amun left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Popular guy syndrome. They all act the same—like the world revolves around them."
And yet, Sei couldn't ignore the way people completely overlooked him. They barely glanced in his direction, as if he were just another nameless face in the crowd. That sting of jealousy flared, though he'd never admit it.
"Tch. Bunch of idiots," he muttered under his breath, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.
Finally, the tension got to him. He broke the silence. "So… why are you doing this?"
Amun turned his head slightly, looking at Sei with a puzzled expression. "Huh?"
Sei's brow furrowed. "Why are you helping me? What's in it for you?"
For a second, Amun just blinked before a chuckle escaped him—light, almost melodic. It wasn't mocking, but it grated on Sei's nerves all the same.
"What's so funny?" Sei snapped, his eyes narrowing.
"Nothing, nothing." Amun waved it off, still smiling. "It's just… what kind of question is that? You seemed lost, so I figured I'd help. Simple as that."
"Simple as that?" Sei repeated, skepticism dripping from his tone.
Amun nodded earnestly. "Yeah. You're the newest one here, right? It's normal to feel out of place at first. I just wanted to be helpful—that's all."
His casual, almost naive honesty made Sei's blood boil. Nobody's just that nice, he thought, fists clenching at his sides.
He sneered, unable to hide his irritation. "You say that, but as far as I'm concerned, you're competition. That makes you my enemy, Amun Ma'atir."
Amun raised an eyebrow, glancing at Sei with a faint smirk. "Oh, is that so?" he asked, his tone calm and unbothered. "And here I thought we'd get along pretty well."
"Tch," Sei scoffed, but Amun kept going.
"I can tell that you're strong—even for your first day, you did better than most. But that's all the more reason we should work together. As classmates, we've got to have each other's backs, don't you think?"
The words were so genuine, so annoyingly sincere, that Sei didn't know how to respond. His brow twitched, frustration bubbling under his skin. "Goodie-two-shoes," he thought bitterly.
Before Sei could retort, Amun stopped abruptly at the end of the hallway. "Well, here we are," he announced, gesturing grandly toward the massive cafeteria ahead.
Sei's eyes widened slightly as he took it all in. The place was enormous, more like a high-end restaurant than a school cafeteria, with sleek tables, bustling lines of students, and the enticing aroma of freshly cooked food wafting through the air.
Amun turned back to Sei with a cheerful grin. "Anyway, I hope you don't think I'm trying to mess with you or anything," he said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "I really just wanted to be friendly, that's all. You seem like a chill guy."
Sei's expression remained stony, his lips pressed into a thin line. He gave a noncommittal grunt.
"Well…" Amun chuckled nervously, realizing he wasn't getting much of a response. "I'll see you around, Seijuro. Take care!" He waved casually as he walked off into the cafeteria, quickly blending into the crowd of students.
Sei let out a long, slow breath once Amun was out of sight. "Finally," he muttered under his breath.
As if on cue, his stomach let out a loud, aggressive growl, echoing embarrassingly in the quiet corner of the hallway. Sei grimaced, feeling the heat of passing students' curious stares.
"Damn it," he muttered, clutching his stomach. "I haven't eaten properly in a week. I'm definitely starving."
The thought alone made his hunger worse. With a resigned sigh, he straightened his shoulders and stepped into the cafeteria, ready to face whatever came next.