I walked toward the professor, already hearing the murmurs and muffled laughter.
"9,378? How is that even possible?"
"Just give up at this point, bro."
Not that I cared much. I knew my ranking was terrible, but so what? As long as I improved in time for the midterms, I'd be fine. Sure, I would have preferred for someone to be ranked lower than me to avoid attention, but I could handle some bullying. This was nothing compared to what I'd been through.
I wordlessly showed the professor my weapons and then stepped outside, keeping a poker face. Everyone except Selene avoided me—which, honestly, suited me just fine. Some whispered their mocking comments to their friends, while others just didn't want to be associated with a "loser."
The loudest remarks, of course, came from Asher's group. The girls, in particular, struggled to hold back their laughter, with one even pointing at me, barely able to contain her amusement.
Before the remarks could continue any further, the now-familiar sound of gears turning silenced everyone.
Professor Barrows had finished the inventory check, said his goodbyes to the guards, and was already making his way back to us.
"Everything's in order, the weapons are officially yours," he announced. "Once we head back to the surface, you'll have the rest of the day free. However, I strongly recommend you get familiar with your chosen weapons—you'll be using them starting tomorrow." He paused, glancing in my direction before continuing. "For those of you who don't have personal training spaces in your rooms, you're free to use the public ones. Those will also be available throughout the entire year."
After that, he signaled for us to go back to the surface, with Professor Barrows leading the way. We ascended the staircase and left the underground armory behind. Once outside, people started scattering away—some alone, some in different-sized groups. A few headed toward the training grounds, while others went off in various directions, probably to explore or relax.
I, of course, was one of those who went straight to train. I pulled up the map of the complex, quickly checked the direction, and set off.
***
"Cough… fucking… cough… hell..."
I was sitting on the ground, gasping for air that had just been knocked out of me by a heavy punch to the chest. The culprit? Currently standing emotionlessly in front of me.
Well, it didn't really have emotions, because the figure looming over me was a training dummy. Though, calling it a "dummy" felt, you know, dumb.
This thing was one of the pinnacles of human technology. Through a combination of advanced magic and engineering, it could change its size and weight. Its stats were adjustable, from G- to B+ tier, and it was proficient in all types of combat. It could adapt, learn your fighting style, and counter it with terrifying precision. The list of features went on.
And this "dummy" had been kicking my ass in this damn glass cube for the last five hours. My body was already covered in bruises, but I refused to give up. The reason for my determination was simple.
"This damn body."
Yes, that was the problem I was facing right now, one whose severity I had completely underestimated until now. The issue wasn't just learning to use weapons or training with that damn dummy—it was adapting to this new body. In normal day-to-day life, the change wasn't so noticeable. But during combat, it became painfully clear.
The physique of Aiden Reed was similar to my original one: on the skinny side but with lean, noticeable muscles rolling beneath the skin. However, he was slightly taller, heavier, with longer arms and legs, and a different center of gravity.
Those small differences added up, and the result was shockingly large. My skills, honed over years of training, felt awkward and distant in this new body.
My light, precise footwork had been replaced with heavy, unsure steps. My dodges were slow, clumsy, and unnatural. Worst of all, I constantly miscalculated the reach of my arms, throwing off my strikes completely. It was frustrating to the core.
I had long since put away the daggers, choosing instead to fight with my bare fists—now was not the time to adapt to new weapons when I felt so unnatural in my own body. The daggers lay discarded in one of the corners, forgotten for the moment.
I sighed and pushed myself up, pain radiating through every inch of me. My eyes burned with determination as I stared at the dummy. Its stats were currently set at G+, the same as mine, yet I hadn't managed to secure a victory yet.
The first time I fought it, I set the difficulty at F-. Needless to say, I was quickly humbled; the large bump on the side of my head served as a painful reminder of that lesson.
After that loss, I experimented with a few different levels before deciding to settle on G+. G- had been too easy for me, even with my rusty skills. G was a bit tougher but still manageable. I figured G+ would be the right challenge. From experience, I knew that learning came quickest when I was at a disadvantage, even if it meant enduring the constant, nagging pain.
Noticing me assume a fighting stance, the dummy mirrored my movements, and we began to circle each other. I revised the information I knew and started to formulate my plan.
Our stats were almost the same. I had an advantage in agility, while he had the upper hand in strength. It would have been much better if the roles were reversed, as my lost skills would have less impact on his brute strength than on my agility.
With each round, I tried a different approach and strategy, but they all ended the same—with me down on the floor. In the last round, I specifically prioritized defense, letting the dummy attack while I looked for an opportunity to counterstrike.
But this would now change.
I charged forward, closing the distance between us in mere seconds. As soon as I entered its reach, the dummy launched a powerful jab with its right hand straight at my head.
I tried to dodge, but once again, I miscalculated my new body proportions and failed to avoid the blow completely. I heard the fist fly past my head and felt a sharp pain course through my ear, but I pushed it aside.
Regaining my footing, I launched a powerful roundhouse kick at the now unguarded dummy. It only had time to raise its left hand slightly before the full force of my kick came crashing into it, sending it staggering back.
I seized the moment to take a quick breath, my mind racing as I thought of my next move. The dummy had a function that calculated the damage it received, and when it reached a set limit, it acted as if it were defeated. Despite the power of my kick, it was nowhere near enough to trigger that response.
"I need to aim for the head," I muttered to myself, determination surging through me.
Charged with adrenaline pumping through my veins, I launched forward once again.
I feinted another kick, aiming to make the dummy drop its guard. But it saw through the deception immediately, ignoring the feint and launching a powerful left hook at me.
This time, I dodged it completely. I rolled under the punch and found myself right up against the dummy. Before it could shove me away, I grabbed its head and slammed it hard into my knee. Something cracked—unfortunately, it wasn't the dummy—but I had still managed to deal significant damage.
This pattern repeated itself two more times. One of us would charge forward, searching for gaps in the other's defense, while the other looked for an opportunity to dodge and counterstrike. I managed to land two more jabs to the dummy's face, but I didn't escape unscathed.
A powerful hook that I failed to dodge came crashing into the side of my head like a siege ram. I tried to lessen the impact by following through with the motion, but it didn't stop the blow from nearly knocking me out. My mind wavered on the edge of consciousness, the clarity of battle slipping away as everything grew foggy.
I looked at the dummy and knew the next punch would be the decisive one.
Straining my muscles, already screaming in agony, I charged forward one last time. There was no delicate plan now—just a single, desperate purpose: to land the final hit before I passed out. The dummy moved in as well, both of us hoping to strike first before it shut off.
Then something incredible happened. Our fists—mine, right, and its, left—flew through the air simultaneously. And at the same moment, both connected with our cheeks.
I fell back onto the ground, spitting out a mouthful of blood, my gaze fixed on the dummy with anticipation. And what I saw filled me to the brim with joy.
The robot no longer stood. It lay sprawled on the ground, "knocked out." Despite it being a programmed reaction, and knowing that the dummy's real strength was nowhere near mine, I felt an overwhelming sense of triumph.
The exhaustion I had been pushing aside came crashing down on me. I lay back, my eyes growing heavy, my eyelids drooping.
Yet the strong feeling of accomplishment remained. How many tries had it taken? I couldn't even remember, but it had been a lot.
"I finally did it."