The sticky layer of sweat clung to my skin, a heavy, suffocating reminder of the hours spent pushing my limits. My muscles trembled slightly from the exertion, radiating a dull heat that made the damp fabric feel unbearable. Even though my training gear had soaked up the worst of it, the residue left me itching for relief.
I stripped the damp clothes off, tossing them into the washing area with a wet, heavy thud before stepping into the bathroom.
Stepping under the showerhead, the rush of hot water immediately enveloped me. The heat finally washed away the grime, soothing the deep, residual ache locked inside my muscles. I closed my eyes, letting the steam fill my lungs until the tension completely drained from my shoulders.
By the time I shut off the shower and dried myself, the clock on the wall read nine-thirty.
A wave of mild shock hit me as I stared at the numbers. I hadn’t paid any attention to the passage of time while lost in the rhythm of the drills, completely consumed by the repetition of each strike. Counting back to the moment I first stepped into the training room, I realized I had been pushing myself for roughly three and a half hours.
Five minutes later, I stepped out into the bedroom, the cool morning air hitting my bare skin. I inhaled deeply, feeling completely reborn.
I pulled on my martial artist uniform, feeling a sudden spark of excitement.
The fabric felt entirely different against my skin compared to standard training clothes. Woven from specialized, high-density fibers, it moved fluidly with my body, providing zero resistance as if it were a second skin. Yet, despite its feather-light weight, a deep sense of security washed over me. I knew it could absorb the lethal momentum of small-caliber bullets without letting a single bruise form underneath.
It was designed to pull sweat away instantly. Furthermore, I knew that with a simple injection of prana or magic, the microscopic tears in the threads would knit themselves back together right before my eyes.
A quiet warmth bloomed in my chest, remembering that Dad had spent a small fortune to buy these for me.
Buttoning the jacket with practiced movements, I headed downstairs to the dining area.
The comforting, rich scent of toasted bread met me at the bottom of the stairs, instantly making my stomach growl. My parents were already seated, bathed in the soft morning light, quietly eating their breakfast.
Today’s spread was simple: fresh bread, blocks of yellow butter, a cold pitcher of milk, and a bowl of brightly colored fruits.
I took my seat, piling a plate high, and forced myself to take a bite to mask my growing anticipation.
But my focus wasn't on the food at all. Between every mechanical swallow, my eyes kept darting across the table, scanning the smooth wooden surface with eager impatience.
I was looking for the Veil Watch Dad had promised me, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Dad caught me tracking his hands, his eyes twinkling with amusement. A knowing smirk played on his lips as he reached down, tapped the sleek metallic band of his space bracelet, and materialized a brand-new watch onto the table.
My hands froze mid-air. The bread was entirely forgotten as I stared at the sleek device, my breath catching in my throat.
Mom chuckled softly at my starstruck expression, the sound warm and grounding.
"Go on," she urged, her eyes crinkling with affection. "It's yours."
I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly as they wrapped around the cool, heavy chassis of the watch before I buckled it firmly onto my wrist.
An eager curiosity took over, and I immediately began turning it over, searching for a power button or a hidden switch to boot it up.
"There is no need to search like that," Dad said, his voice laced with rich amusement.
"The watch uses fingerprint authentication."
He reached over, pressing his own thumb to the pristine glass to unlock the master settings. With a few quick, fluid swipes, he cleared the temporary access and brought up the registration prompt. "Press your finger here."
My pulse raced as I pressed my thumb against the cool glass.
The moment my thumb pressed against the surface, a faint, rhythmic pulse of blue light shot out from the bezel. It swept up my arm, washed over my chest, and mapped the rest of my body in a split second, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake.
"Wow... what was that?" I blurted out, a sudden shiver running down my spine from the sheer power of the technology.
"That was the registration scan," Dad explained, his expression turning serious and profound. "Now you're officially recognized as part of the awakener world."
He leaned back, gesturing toward the glowing holographic interface now hovering just above my wrist, casting a soft blue tint onto my face.
"Through this, you can access the Awakeners' news network. There are specialized shopping networks that sell resources completely banned or unavailable in the mundane world. You have access to the Mission Hall, the Reward Hall..."
He paused, letting the heavy weight of his next words sink in.
"And the Knowledge Hall. That is where you can purchase martial techniques, magical spells, and the personal journals left behind by previous superpower users."
He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes fixed on mine. "It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that without the Knowledge Hall, the structure of our entire civilization would look completely different."
Mom nodded in solemn agreement, picking up the thread of the conversation as the atmosphere in the room turned historical.
"You already know how fiercely the old magical and martial families guard their inheritances," she said, her voice dropping to a quieter, more serious register that drew my full attention.
"They would never willingly hand over their secrets to outsiders."
"But when the dimensional invasions began, humanity faced total extinction. The True Veil Council fought hard for the creation of a centralized Knowledge Hall to give everyone a fighting chance."
"Almost every major magical and martial family opposed it bitterly, wanting to protect their monopoly on power."
"The Veil Council couldn't simply force the entire world to obey without causing a civil war, so they reached a compromise."
"The Knowledge Hall contains basic and foundational techniques that anyone can learn, regardless of their background."
"But the true, core inheritance techniques of the powerful families? Those remain locked away in their private vaults."
"It's the exact same standard for martial techniques," Dad added, his gaze steady and unblinking.
I looked back and forth between them, a deep frown forming as I tried to process the politics of this hidden world.
"But isn't the Veil Council much stronger than those individual families?"
Dad shook his head, a complex look in his eyes, but it was Mom who answered my confusion.
"The True Veil Council is indeed far stronger," she clarified gently.
"But back when the foundation was laid, those families constituted humanity's main fighting force."
"There weren't many independent awakeners roaming around back then."
"If you had power, you belonged to a bloodline. So even the Veil Council couldn't simply ignore their demands without crippling their defense."
"But today is a different story."
A proud, radiant smile touched her lips. "Because the Knowledge Hall opened up basic training to the masses, countless independent awakeners have managed to rise from nothing."
"Some have grown so powerful that they've earned seats within the Veil Council itself."
"That's why family influence isn't as overwhelming as it used to be. The playing field is leveling, and talent matters more than blood."
While their voices drifted over the table, my attention was pulled right back to the glowing screen on my wrist, a spark of ambition lighting up inside me. My fingers flew across the interface, navigating through the foreign menus until I finally tapped the icon for the Knowledge Hall.
The screen blinked, presenting three massive, intimidating pillars of information.
* **Magic**
* **Martial Arts**
* **Superpower Experience**
Without a shred of hesitation, I selected Martial Arts.
Instantly, a massive cascade of text and icons flooded my vision, stretching out in a dizzying, endless array of options that made my heart race.
There were foundational arts dedicated entirely to the sword...
Brutal, thrusting styles for spears...
Heavy, defensive doctrines for shields...
Long-range trajectories for bows...
Striking and grappling methods for pure hand-to-hand combat...
Evasive footwork patterns...
Internal healing arts...
And intricate methods for prana manipulation.
"There are too many choices," I muttered, my eyes blurring as a wave of overwhelming vertigo hit me while trying to process the sheer volume of data.
Dad chuckled, a look of pure, sweet nostalgia passing over his face as he looked at my overwhelmed expression.
"It reminds me of the exact day I chose my first technique."
"Back then, I didn't have anyone from the awakener world to show me the ropes."
"So I wasted months of training on things that didn't suit me, feeling completely lost."
He sighed softly, a fleeting shadow of regret passing through his eyes. "If my guide had been a martial artist instead of a magician, things would have been much easier from the start."
He reached across the table, his hand approaching my wrist with grounding warmth.
"Don't rush into it."
With a practiced, reassuring flick of his finger, he tapped one of the filter toggles on the corner of the screen.