(7 Days Later – Rodova Military Academy)
Drip… Drip…
Sweat trickled down Leo's forehead as his body trembled under the relentless weight of accumulated exertion, every muscle fiber twitching from constant tension as the heat surged through him like a furnace nearing combustion.
'Just a little more…' he told himself, activating [Parallel Processing] as his mind fragmented across multiple layers—calculating his opponent's movement patterns, regulating his own breathing, analyzing air currents, and maintaining his stance with machine-like precision.
*TWAP*
He felt a droplet sliding down his brow, tracking every millimeter of its descent in real time, sensing the exact moment it detached from his chin and began falling. [Absolute Vision] locked onto it mid-air, tracing its arc all the way to the floor as if even gravity itself had slowed to accommodate his perception.
But Leo's focus wasn't on the sweat—it was on the man across from him.
Major Das, the Academy's Archery Instructor, moved like a seasoned predator, releasing another arrow with a fluid snap of his bowstring as the projectile whistled past Leo's cheek, cutting through the air just inches from his skin.
Leo's gaze didn't waver, as he had already anticipated the shot. His eyes were locked onto the subtle tightening of the Major's ankles and the controlled coiling of his thigh muscles, clear signs he was about to leap backward to regain distance.
'No—you're not getting away.'
As his thoughts aligned with his instincts, Leo activated [Mirror World], conjuring two identical clones behind the Major with a flicker of light and distortion. The clones surged forward immediately, forming a physical wall at the precise point where Das would've landed, as Leo denied him the space he sought.
Caught mid-motion, the Major was forced to pivot on instinct, dispatching the clones in twin slashes as sparks flew from the contact—precious seconds lost in the maneuver.
'That's it… there's my opening.'
Without a moment's hesitation, Leo activated [Thousand Phantom Slashes] as mana flooded through his limbs and blurred his form into motion, his speed transcending normal perception as his body became a ripple of shifting afterimages.
He lunged in with surgical precision, his blade dancing through the air with deceptive rhythm. Every strike was masked behind layered illusions, each step feeding into the next as his slashes overlapped and folded over one another like a spiraling storm of steel and shadows—designed not just to strike, but to overwhelm.
*SHINGG—* *SHING—*
The courtyard rang with the sound of clashing steel and tearing wind as Leo advanced like a machine—precise, relentless, and cold. His movements followed a perfect algorithm, calculated and honed over countless repetitions.
Major Das narrowed his eyes as he shifted into a tighter stance, his breathing slowing even under pressure.
With a quick motion, his bow snapped into its compact blade form as he parried one afterimage, then another, each strike blocked with just enough force to maintain balance.
Despite the assault, Das stayed composed, his eyes cutting through the swarm of illusions as he waited—not for an opening—but for the real Leo to reveal himself.
He baited a strike to the left and caught a glimpse of flickering movement to his right—spinning just in time to meet the real blade aimed at his ribs.
"You're fast, Skyshard… but not fast enough," Das muttered, as he stomped his heel into the ground.
*BAM.*
A controlled shockwave rippled through the platform, distorting the air and scattering the illusion field for a single instant—just long enough for Das to fully lock onto Leo's position.
Twisting on his heel, the Major drove the flat of his blade into Leo's side, following through with a sweeping kick enhanced by condensed mana. The impact struck like a hammer, the air around them pulsing outward as Leo was launched off his feet.
He flew backward, boots scraping against the stone as sparks flared beneath him.
The momentum carried him across the arena floor, his body skidding several meters before finally halting near the platform's edge, where he dropped to one knee.
He had lost this exchange.
But instead of frustration, Leo began to chuckle.
It started low—hoarse and dry from exertion—but quickly built into something deeper, something unhinged.
His shoulders trembled as laughter spilled from him, echoing through the otherwise silent courtyard, raw and feral in tone.
Major Das furrowed his brow as he watched. "What…?"
However, just as suddenly as it began, the laughter stopped.
Leo's head lifted, his face wiped clean of emotion as if nothing had happened.
The grin that had twisted across his lips vanished in an instant as he rose to his feet with eerie composure, brushing dust from his uniform with slow, methodical movements.
Das eyed him warily, the previous moment still lingering in his mind.
"…What happened, Cadet?" he asked, his voice calm but cautious.
Leo adjusted his stance, tapped the hilt of his blade once, and glanced up with clinical focus.
'Now I understand… this is what it feels like.'
"My last skill broke through to Perfect mastery during this fight," Leo said, his voice smooth but charged with quiet certainty. "I can feel it now—I'm ready to attempt a breakthrough"
A faint grin played at the corners of his mouth, subtle but undeniably real, while his eyes remained sharp and unblinking.
Major Das studied him for a second longer before nodding once.
"Very well… Congratulations."
Leo straightened, raised a closed fist to his chest, and gave a crisp, precise salute.
"Thank you, sir."
—----------
(Rodova Military Academy – Principal Alric's Office)
If there was one man more eager for Leo Skyshard to reach the threshold of a breakthrough than Leo himself, it was Principal Alric Dainhart.
For weeks, the man had been living on edge—checking reports daily, reviewing combat footage, obsessing over training logs—his patience stretched thin, his nerves tighter than the Academy's security seal during an universal government inspection.
And now, finally, the news he had been praying for had arrived.
"So… just two days before the Selections begin… Skyshard is ready to break through!"
Alric's voice cracked through the silence of his grand office as he leapt to his feet, his usual composed demeanor crumbling beneath sheer relief.
"Haha—!"
The laughter that followed wasn't just joy—it was release.
He strode over to a tall cabinet lined with aged bottles and pulled open the glass doors, revealing a dark bottle of whiskey sealed in wax, labeled with a handwritten tag: "For Victory."
He popped it open with ceremonial reverence, the click of the cork echoing in the room like the tolling of a bell, as reaching for a crystal glass, he dropped in two perfectly cut ice cubes before pouring himself a generous measure.
"This… this is wonderful news," he muttered, almost in disbelief. "If he breaks through successfully, then including him and Su Yang, we'll have four Grandmasters in this year's lineup."
He raised the glass slightly in the air—half in toast, half in prayer—as he stared out the window overlooking the distant training grounds, the horizon painted in shades of gold and violet.
"The tides are turning…"
Alric took a slow sip, savoring the warmth that spread through his chest as the whiskey slid down with silky precision. It tasted like vindication.
He leaned back in his chair, propping his boots up on the corner of his oakwood desk as he exhaled deeply, the weight of uncertainty finally lifting off his shoulders.
"Easy there, Alric…" he said aloud, speaking to himself with a grin. "You're the man. You're going to bring glory back to this institution."
"No more second place. No more being overshadowed by those smug bastards from Geneva."
"The talents you invested in… they're going to save your neck."
He took another sip, eyes momentarily closing as he let the warmth anchor him to this rare, quiet moment.
"Aghhh—"
A sigh of deep satisfaction escaped him, carried by the rich scent of oak and aged spirit as he finally felt the tension begin to dissolve.
For the first time in weeks… Principal Alric Dainhart believed he might actually get a full night's sleep.