Evening at Regis Institute came with no sunset.
The sky was overcast, the clouds thick with atmospheric shielding. From the dorm windows, Kael could see the upper city spires—lit with electric veins of blue and white—floating like pillars in the heavens above. A constant reminder of the world the elites lived in… and the one he didn't.
Class 13-Z had earned its first victory during the Orientation Trials, but there was no celebration. Just silence. A few nods of recognition. A longer glance from passing instructors. But no applause. No congratulations.
Gray-bands didn't get respect.
They had to take it.
The next day brought them to the Combat Arena South, a massive dome used for squad-based combat training. This time, there were spectators—upperclassmen and faculty gathered in the observation seats. Word had spread. Fast.
The Unranked cadet who took down an A-rank. The gray-band squad that won their trial in record time. It wasn't just gossip anymore—it was scrutiny.
Instructor Breshk waited inside the arena, arms folded, visor glowing dimly.
"Today," he rumbled, "we simulate an enemy ambush. Your squad has been outnumbered, outmatched, and out-positioned. You'll fight two squads simultaneously."
Dane raised a brow. "Against eight other cadets?"
"Ten," Breshk corrected. "Two elite squads, ranked higher than you in every category."
Kael's eyes narrowed. This wasn't a test.
It was a message.
Know your place.
On the opposing side of the arena, two gold-band squads stood waiting. One of them was led by a tall girl with silver hair and ice armor laced across her forearms—Raen Yselle, a Rank A cadet from House Yselle, known for cryo-manipulation. The other was commanded by Griff Tenner, a gravity-type with a smug grin and a chin tattoo of his house's crest.
Raen looked Kael's way, unimpressed. "They're really wasting our time with trash now?"
Griff cracked his knuckles. "No worries. We'll break 'em fast and get lunch."
Kael's group stood in a loose formation—himself, Lira, Dane, and Renna. No fancy introductions. No posturing.
Just four cadets with no rank, no prestige—and everything to prove.
The simulation activated.
The arena's floor shifted, rising into complex terrain—walls, trenches, and floating platforms. A projection drone blinked in the center sky:
Simulation Start: 5 Minutes. Survival Objective: 8 Minutes.
As soon as the countdown ended, chaos erupted.
Raen's squad moved with chilling coordination. Ice lances flew through the air, striking fast and precise. Griff's team followed up with suppressing gravity fields, pinning Kael's team behind cover.
Lira snapped into action. "Renna, flank right. Dane, fire perimeter! Kael—watch the backline!"
Kael was already gone.
He broke off from the team, racing along the edge of the arena, feet silent against the steel. A barrage of ice struck where he'd been seconds before.
Raen blinked. "Where'd he—?"
He appeared behind her squad's rear formation and struck.
A blow to the back of a cadet's knee sent him sprawling. Kael disarmed him mid-fall and launched the stun baton into a second cadet's face. Two down.
Raen turned. "What the hell?!"
She formed a blade of ice and hurled it.
Kael ducked, slid forward on his knees, and uppercutted a third opponent into unconsciousness.
Across the field, Dane lit the walls with roaring fire, pushing Griff's team into a defensive corner. Gravity pulses collided with fireballs in a storm of kinetic fury.
Renna emerged behind a barrier and dropped another opponent with a precision throw of her shadow blade.
Kael moved through the fight like a storm given flesh—adaptable, fluid, calculating.
Lira, holding the center, coordinated everything with battlefield oversight, marking targets and intercepting formations. It was chaos—but it was controlled chaos.
They weren't just surviving.
They were winning.
With three minutes left, Griff lost his temper.
He activated his full output—collapsing the air around Kael with a pressure field.
Kael dropped to one knee, lungs crushed by the invisible force.
"You're not special," Griff spat. "Just fast trash."
Kael's vision blurred. Pain lanced through his chest.
Then… it happened again.
A pulse.
Inside him.
Warmth surged through his veins. The world sharpened, slowed. His muscles responded faster. Breathing normalized. He moved through the gravity field.
Griff's eyes widened. "What—"
Kael struck his jaw with a brutal rising palm.
Then a second hit to the sternum.
And a third to the neck.
Griff dropped like a sack of bricks.
Final buzzer.
Simulation Complete. Victory – Squad 13-Z.
Stunned silence.
Even the instructors looked uncertain.
Instructor Breshk muttered under his breath. "He shouldn't be able to move through high-density fields."
Commander Ryce, observing from the gallery above, turned to the surveillance analyst beside her.
"Give me his vitals," she said.
"Already pulled. Cellular acceleration, spike in adaptive response. But no ability classification detected. His genome is rewriting on the fly."
Ryce narrowed her eyes.
"Or remembering something it used to be."
Back in the locker room, Kael stared at his reflection in the mirror.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, but his breath was calm. Too calm.
He touched his wristband. Still gray.
Still Unranked.
But that didn't matter.
Every time they pushed him harder, he changed.
Not incrementally. Exponentially.
He wasn't just adapting anymore.
He was outpacing them.
And that terrified them more than any rank ever could.