The Aether Ascension Competition transformed the academy.
It was more than a tournament.
It was the first-year class's greatest prize.
The champion would earn the right to join the Aether Expedition—a journey beyond the academy's protected territories, into ancient ruins and unstable aether zones where lost relics, forbidden knowledge, and opportunities capable of changing a person's entire future waited to be claimed.
For the first years, it was a chance to escape the limits of their birth, their families, and their current ranks.
The expedition could provide wealth.
Recognition.
Rare resources.
A place among the academy's elite.
For some, it was the only chance they would ever have to change the lives of the people waiting for them at home.
That was why the central arena expanded to nearly three times its normal size.
Barrier fields surrounded the stadium.
Students filled the stands.
Professors watched from elevated platforms.
Even the Dean attended.
Every first-year competitor understood what was at stake.
Some fought for glory.
Some fought for their families.
Some fought because losing meant returning to the same powerless life they had spent years trying to escape.
Hitake stood among them.
Nefertiti appeared beside him.
“Darling.”
“Yes?”
“Remember.”
“What?”
“You don't have to use all your strength.”
Hitake nodded.
“I know.”
Zena appeared behind him.
“She means don't show everyone everything.”
Hitake looked at her.
“Thank you.”
Nefertiti smiled.
“See? We're excellent partners.”
Zena nodded.
“Very.”
Hitake sighed.
“You're both conspiring against me.”
“Correct,” Zena said.
Across the arena, the other competitors prepared.
They were not nameless obstacles.
They were first years who had spent years sharpening themselves for this moment.
A broad-shouldered boy from the northern provinces pressed two fingers against the charm tied around his wrist. It had belonged to his older brother, who had vanished during an expedition three years earlier.
A girl with silver braids stood beside her family's crest, her jaw tight with determination. Her village had mortgaged its farmland to pay for her academy admission. If she won, the expedition's rewards could save them.
Another competitor quietly recited the names of his younger siblings before entering the arena.
They all carried something with them.
A promise.
A debt.
A fear.
A reason to win.
The tournament began.
Hitake's first opponent was Level 6.
A swordsman named Darius Vale.
Darius had trained under his father, a retired expedition guard, since he was five. His sword was chipped near the hilt from years of practice, and he refused to replace it because it had been the weapon that saved his father's life.
The moment the match started, Darius attacked.
His sword cut through the air with disciplined precision.
Hitake redistributed his attributes.
Ten points from Strength.
Ten into Agility.
His body became lighter.
Faster.
Darius did not panic when Hitake vanished from his line of sight.
He pivoted immediately, sword raised behind him.
Hitake reappeared at his flank.
Darius blocked.
The impact drove him back several steps.
The crowd gasped.
Darius gritted his teeth and attacked again.
He wasn't fighting recklessly.
He was reading Hitake's footwork, forcing him toward the edge of the arena, using every lesson his father had taught him.
Hitake recognized the skill.
Darius was not weak.
He was simply facing someone who could change the rules of the fight.
Hitake shifted his weight, slipped beneath the sword, and struck Darius's chest with the flat of his hand.
Darius fell to one knee.
The referee called the match.
For a moment, Darius stared at the ground.
Then he looked up.
“Don't waste the chance,” he said.
Hitake paused.
Darius tightened his grip around his old sword.
“If you reach the expedition, bring something back worth the trouble.”
Hitake nodded.
“I will.”
His next opponent was different.
A defensive fighter named Selene Arclight.
She had grown up in a city repeatedly attacked by aether beasts. Her entire fighting style had been built around protecting others. She did not seek openings for herself.
She created them for the people behind her.
When the match began, Selene raised a layered barrier.
Hitake shifted his attributes.
Agility decreased.
Endurance increased.
Then Perception.
He studied her mana circulation.
Selene's barrier was not a single wall. It was a series of overlapping shields, each one redirecting force into the next.
Every strike Hitake made was absorbed, divided, and returned through the floor.
Three minutes passed.
Then five.
The crowd grew restless, but Selene remained focused.
Sweat ran down her face.
Her arms trembled.
Still, she refused to lower the barrier.
“I won't let you through,” she said.
Hitake looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because everyone behind me is counting on me.”
There was no one behind her in the arena.
But Hitake understood.
He changed his approach.
Instead of attacking the barrier, he attacked the ground beneath it.
The impact disrupted the flow of mana.
Selene's eyes widened.
Her defense collapsed.
She fell forward, catching herself with one hand.
The referee called the match.
Selene remained on the ground for a moment, breathing hard.
Then she laughed quietly.
“You found the weak point.”
“You made it difficult.”
“That was the point.”
She stood and offered her hand.
Hitake accepted it.
The crowd began shouting his name.
Hitake wasn't overpowering everyone.
He was adapting.
But the people he defeated were not empty steps beneath his feet.
They were fighters with histories, burdens, and reasons to keep standing.
That was becoming his greatest advantage.
He learned from every one of them.
John reached the quarterfinals.
His opponent was a Level 7 spear user named Tomas Rell, a scholarship student who had never lost a public match in his hometown.
Tomas fought with the confidence of someone who had spent his entire life being told that one victory could open a door.
John fought with stubbornness.
The match became a contest of endurance.
Tomas's spear struck John's shoulder.
John answered with a blow to his ribs.
Neither gave ground.
The crowd began chanting both their names.
At last, Tomas's spear slipped past John's guard and struck him in the chest.
John fell.
For a second, it looked as though he might not rise.
Then he pushed himself up.
His knees shook.
His breathing was ragged.
But he stood.
Tomas stared at him.
“Why are you still fighting?”
John wiped blood from his mouth.
“Because I came here to see how far I could go.”
He charged again.
Tomas defeated him with a clean strike.
John lost.
But he didn't collapse.
He simply stood, breathing heavily, and extended his hand to his opponent.
“Good fight.”
Tomas hesitated before taking it.
“You're going to be dangerous next year.”
John smiled.
“That's the plan.”
Hitake watched from the stands.
He was proud.
Zena looked at him.
“You're proud.”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“I like that.”
Then Mirai entered the arena.
Her opponent was a fire-channeler named Kaori Venn, a girl whose family owned a failing forge in the lower districts. Kaori had entered the competition to win the expedition prize and recover aether ore that could save her family's business.
The moment the match began, flames erupted around her arms.
Mirai answered with water and wind.
The arena filled with steam.
Kaori fought aggressively, driving Mirai backward with waves of heat.
Mirai's sleeves burned.
Her breathing became uneven.
Still, she refused to retreat.
Kaori shouted through the steam.
“You don't understand what this means to me!”
Mirai's eyes hardened.
“Then don't assume you know what it means to me!”
She released a burst of compressed wind.
Kaori's flames scattered.
Mirai followed with a water blade that struck her shoulder.
Kaori fell, but forced herself back up.
The match continued.
It was brutal.
Not because either fighter was cruel, but because neither could afford to surrender.
Mirai won after a prolonged exchange.
When she looked toward the stands, her eyes searched for Hitake.
She found him.
But he wasn't watching her.
He was watching John.
Mirai's smile faded.
It shouldn't have mattered.
But it did.
More than she wanted to admit.
Kaori approached her after the match, one hand pressed against her injured shoulder.
“You fought like someone who had something to lose.”
Mirai looked toward Hitake.
“Maybe I do.”
Her next opponent was eliminated quickly.
Then came the semifinals.
Hitake faced a Level 8 student named Arven Sol.
The arena became silent.
Arven had been the favorite from the beginning. He had trained in a military household, where every failure was recorded and every victory was expected. His younger sister watched from the stands with both hands clasped around the railing.
He had promised her he would win.
Not for fame.
Not for the expedition itself.
He wanted to bring back aether medicine for her failing heart.
Arven smiled at Hitake.
“You're good.”
“Thanks.”
“But you're still Level 3.”
Hitake smiled.
“So?”
The referee started the match.
Arven released his aura.
The pressure rolled across the arena.
Hitake immediately redistributed his attributes.
Agility increased.
Perception increased.
Endurance decreased.
Strength decreased.
His body became a weapon designed for one purpose.
Speed.
Arven attacked.
Hitake dodged.
Countered.
Dodged.
Countered.
But Arven was not like the others.
He had fought against faster opponents before.
He adjusted his stance, stopped chasing Hitake's body, and began predicting where he would appear.
Hitake's eyes narrowed.
For the first time, he was being pushed.
A punch struck his shoulder.
Pain exploded through him.
The crowd roared.
Hitake stumbled.
Arven did not celebrate.
He advanced carefully, breathing through his nose.
“Stay down,” Arven said. “I don't want to break anything.”
Hitake wiped blood from his lip.
Then smiled.
“Finally.”
Arven's expression changed.
Hitake's Eyes of Truth sharpened.
He had found it.
The delay between Arven's mana circulation and physical reinforcement.
The slight shift in his left shoulder before each attack.
The breath he held whenever he prepared to change direction.
Arven had built his entire style around control.
But control created rhythm.
And rhythm could be broken.
Hitake moved.
One step.
Two.
Three.
Arven couldn't follow.
Hitake struck his chest.
Arven staggered but remained standing.
His sister screamed his name from the stands.
Arven forced himself forward.
Hitake saw the determination in his eyes and understood that the match was no longer about proving who was stronger.
It was about how much each of them was willing to sacrifice for the people waiting beyond the arena.
Arven attacked one final time.
Hitake slipped past him and struck the center of his chest.
The match ended.
Arven fell to one knee.
The arena exploded with noise.
Hitake offered him a hand.
Arven accepted it after a moment.
“Win,” he said quietly.
Hitake looked toward Arven's sister.
“I'll try.”
From the upper stands, Renji watched.
His expression was serious.
Hitake wasn't simply strong.
He was learning during battle.
Worse, he was beginning to understand the people he fought.
That was what frightened Renji.
Then Renji noticed something else.
Hitake's weapon had briefly appeared beneath his sleeve.
A black line.
Gone almost instantly.
Renji's eyes narrowed.
“That weapon...”
He remembered the voice.
Kael's son.
Renji's hands tightened.
Something was coming.
He could feel it.
And he wasn't sure whether he wanted to stop it...
or understand it.