Élio got out of bed, his face completely blank. In his small room, which was located in a house that was barely any bigger, he made his way to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror before saying:
"Here we go again."
Élio is 15 years old. Today, he must attend the pre-entry courses at Ascendia School, an institution meant to train the future soldiers of the Kingdom of Asturies. He had been accepted just barely, having passed the physical trials and shown potential to become an awakened.
Today was his last day of pre-entry. After that, he would have the week-end to rest, then the real school year would begin. He would have to leave his house to live at the school. This didn't bother him — after all, he lived alone. His mother had died a few years ago, and he had never known his father, who was described as a particularly despicable man. Though considered poor in the kingdom, he managed to support himself through his work as a fisherman.
Élio got ready for school. He didn't need to take a bag, just a blue uniform with white stripes—the outfit of junior fighters of Asturies. The term "junior" was misleading: to move on to the next uniform, a darker blue with yellow stripes and earn the title of elite fighter, one had to achieve notable feats in war or combat.
Élio set out on foot. It took him an hour to reach the center of the kingdom, where Ascendia School was located. Along the way, he passed the grand marble mansions of the rich, the fountains of crystal-clear water, each adorned with statues of dolphins—the kingdom's emblem.
As he walked, his eyes caught a troubling scene. A group of elite soldiers stood in a circle, laughing and jeering at a man in a junior's uniform. He was in his forties, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed on the ground. He endured the humiliation in silence, because there was nothing he could do. And the worst part? No one seemed to care.
When he reached the large gates of the school, he showed the two guards his azure tattoo on his hand, and they let him in.
Ascendia was a massive school made of marble and aquamarine — a bright azure stone. The place was almost empty, as only the least performing students had been invited to the pre-entry, which greatly bored Élio.
He entered classroom 322 on the ground floor. Most of the students were already there, but the professor had not yet arrived. Élio felt relieved. The professor would have likely reprimanded him if he had arrived exactly on time. He sat at the back of the large classroom, which, although spacious, only accommodated about twenty students.
Professor Clarck arrived shortly after. Normally punctual, he apologized for his slight tardiness. He was a rigid man who valued discipline above all else, both in his life and in his teaching. He was in charge of hand-to-hand combat classes.
As with every pre-entry day, the students spent the morning learning about the basics of war — a war that had been ongoing for 80 years against the Kingdom of Saba.
The afternoon was dedicated to training. For now, they only practiced martial arts, but Clarck promised that the classes on weapon handling and their powers would begin after the official school year started.
The martial art practiced by Asturian soldiers was called boxing — an ancient art considered noble and elegant. The focus was on fists and elbows, with leg strikes viewed as clumsy — especially the low kick, which was seen as a sneaky move. On the other hand, the high kick and spinning kick were tolerated.
Élio was quite skilled in this art. He had grown up in a neighborhood where violence was common. He often fought as a child, and his physique gave him an advantage: he was tall, with long arms and a naturally lean build. He was fast, and few people had greater reach than he did.
That day, he fought Louis Ferb, a rich boy who had been sent to the pre-entry because his hand-to-hand combat skills were far too weak.
Louis was 10 cm shorter than Élio, who stood at 1.85 meters. He had a higher weight-to-height ratio but lacked speed.
Élio dodged with a slight tilt of his head. Louis's fist sliced through empty air. A flash of frustration crossed his eyes. Seizing the opening, Élio threw a left straight punch. A clean hit. The dull thud of the glove striking the helmet echoed through the room. Louis staggered, a drop of blood trickling from his nose.
Frustrated and bleeding from his nose, Louis withdrew.
"He's just tall. Without that, I would have won." he muttered, annoyed.
Élio didn't respond. He had already moved on. Another classmate was approaching him: Arthur.
Arthur wasn't from Asturies. You could tell by his dark skin and black eyes — far from the pale skin and blue eyes typical of the Asturians. He was 1.77 meters tall, and while he wasn't unattractive, by the standards of Asturian beauty, he was considered so.
Worse still, he resembled the Sabiens — the sworn enemies of the kingdom — which made him particularly despised by his peers. His power was weak, but he had passed the entrance exam thanks to his exceptional physical abilities.
While most of the students in the class looked at Arthur with disdain, Élio's expression remained impassive—a mix of contemplation and deep respect. In a way, this guy was similar to him: born into poverty and forced to compensate for his low power potential with sheer physical ability.
Without a word, the two young men assumed fighting positions, their hands raised to face level, fists clenched. Arthur had won all his fights, no matter the opponent, since the beginning of the pre-entry, but this would be his first fight against Élio, who had a similar record.
Who will win?
That is the question.