The morning sun was still weak when Zack stepped out of the dorm, the cool air of Aether Academy biting at his skin. He adjusted the strap of his wooden spear, the weight of the weapon almost unfamiliar in his hands. It wasn't the first time he'd trained in the Academy's arena, but today felt different. The usual sense of dread and indifference lingered in his chest like a heavy stone.
Today was another day, another fight—one that Zack knew all too well.
He walked toward the colosseum-like arena where students of various ranks were about to face off in battle training. The atmosphere was alive with excitement, the air charged with the electricity of anticipation. Students lined the stands, eager to see who would win, who would rise through the ranks, who would fall.
Zack's eyes were distant, his thoughts clouded with the memories of every fight he'd ever been in. The endless loop of combat, the endless defeats, and the endless victories that led nowhere.
His rank, the lowest—E—was a stark contrast to the other students around him. In this world, rank was everything. It was determined by mana, the invisible energy that flowed through a person's body, granting them strength, power, and the ability to cast magic. To have mana meant to have a future in Aether Academy, to be destined for greatness. But for Zack, mana had always been a distant concept.
No matter how many times he tried, no matter how many methods he attempted, he had never awakened to his mana. It was a bitter truth. And because of it, he remained at Rank E.
The Academy made it clear: Rank S was for those with exceptional power, Rank A for the elite, Rank B for the skilled, and Rank C for those who showed promise. Rank D was for those who were still learning. But Zack—Zack was at the bottom. The weakest.
And yet, he had survived countless battles without the use of magic. He had honed his body, sharpened his spear, and relied solely on his physical prowess. There was a certain pride in his strength, even if it meant he would always be the outsider, the one who could never belong.
As Zack entered the colosseum, the first thing that struck him was the roar of the crowd. His eyes flicked over the stands, but the faces were all a blur. They cheered for those with mana, for the ones who could cast spells and wield unimaginable power.
But Zack wasn't one of them.
He found his seat at the far end of the Rank E section, his gaze drifting to the students around him. They were all younger, eager, but he didn't feel the excitement they felt. They were here for the thrill of battle, to prove themselves, to rise through the ranks. But Zack had long stopped caring about ranks. The outcome of today's battle, like all the others, would be the same.
His eyes shifted to the center of the arena where two students were already sparring. It was a brutal fight, filled with sparks of magic, clashing weapons, and grunts of effort. The students at higher ranks—A, B, even C—fought with precision and skill, showcasing the power of their mana.
Zack barely watched. His attention was already shifting, his mind focused on the inevitable.
"Zack?"
The voice pulled him from his thoughts. It was one of his classmates, her voice tentative.
"Yeah?" Zack replied, glancing at her.
"Your name... it's up next," she said, pointing toward the large, glowing screen at the far end of the arena.
Zack's gaze followed her finger, his heart sinking. On the screen, his name appeared: Zack (Rank E) versus Georgina (Rank S).
Georgina.
A name that had haunted him through many lives. Another one of Arthur's heroines, a powerful fighter with her own skills and strengths. She wielded both magic and a massive axe, a weapon that allowed her to unleash devastating attacks. She was a force to be reckoned with. But to Zack, she was just another opponent in an endless cycle.
Zack didn't bother to stand immediately. Instead, he glanced at his wooden spear. He didn't need to feel nervous. He'd fought Georgina—what, a hundred times? A thousand? He'd lost track. And each time, he'd seen the same thing: her frustration, her disbelief at his ability to anticipate her every move.
The crowd cheered as Georgina stepped into the arena, the sound of their excitement filling the air. Zack knew she was popular—strong, beautiful, charismatic. But to him, she was just another part of the game.
Zack stood up slowly, his body moving with the practiced ease of someone who had lived this moment more times than he cared to count. He walked toward the center of the arena, his wooden spear light in his hand, as the crowd's cheers intensified for Georgina.
As he reached the center, Georgina's eyes locked onto his. There was a flicker of recognition in her gaze, something that flickered before she quickly masked it. She was used to Zack's indifferent expression, to his quiet demeanor. But this time, for some reason, there was something different about the way she looked at him.
Zack caught her eye and offered a lazy smile, his usual happy and naive expression plastered on his face, the same one that had been on countless screens in countless battles. A peace sign with his fingers, a mockery of the carefree student he had once been.
But Georgina's expression hardened. Her eyes narrowed, and she tightened her grip on the wooden axe she held.
"Ready to lose again, Zack?" she called out, her voice carrying across the arena.
Zack didn't answer immediately. He simply raised his spear, the tip pointing toward the ground. He had no need to boast, no need to engage in banter. His mind was already calculating her movements, predicting the way this fight would unfold.
Georgina charged, her axe swinging down toward him with terrifying force. Zack dodged easily to the side, his movements smooth, almost casual. Georgina's strike hit the ground with a crash, sending a shockwave through the arena.
"Damn it!" she hissed, her voice laced with annoyance.
She swung again, this time with a sweeping arc designed to catch Zack off guard. But Zack, knowing the pattern, sidestepped effortlessly, his wooden spear barely moving in his hands. He was waiting for the moment when she would leave herself open.
And there it was.
In an instant, Zack stepped forward, his spear flicking out to strike Georgina's exposed bicep with a precision that sent a jolt of pain through her arm. The hit was so sudden and forceful that it paralyzed her for a moment, her body trembling with the shock.
Before she could react, Zack was already on the move again, his spear coming down in a brutal combo. A strike to her ribs, another to her shoulder, then a sweeping move that sent the wooden axe flying from her grasp.
Georgina stumbled back, her face flushed with frustration and disbelief. She had underestimated him, and it was obvious in her eyes. Zack, however, didn't hesitate. He launched into a final flurry of blows—quick jabs, calculated strikes—until she crumpled to the ground in a heap.
The crowd fell silent, their excitement fading as the realization settled in. Zack had done it again.
He had won.
Zack stood over Georgina, his spear held low, his expression unchanged. He didn't feel the thrill of victory. He didn't feel satisfaction. He only felt the dull ache of knowing that this was just another battle in an endless cycle, one that would repeat until the end of time.
Without a word, Zack turned and walked out of the arena, leaving the stunned silence behind him.