The sun was low in the sky when Ansel stepped into the training hall. His body was sore from the previous day's beating, and his mind felt like a battlefield. But something had changed. He wasn't the same boy who had stumbled through life without purpose. Vulcan's words echoed in his mind as he entered the large, empty space. Swing back. Even if it's hopeless.
Ansel had spent the night tossing and turning, the words gnawing at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something inside him, a power he had never tapped into. What if Vulcan was right? What if he had been too passive, too willing to let others define him?
He stood in front of the training dummies, his hands clenched into fists. His purple eyes, normally dull with the weight of his inadequacy, now burned with a flicker of determination.
Ansel took a deep breath. His body was still weak—his lack of mana made him feel like a ghost among the other students. But that didn't matter anymore. He wasn't going to let his lack of power keep him in the shadows. Not anymore.
He moved forward, throwing a punch at the closest dummy. It landed with a dull thud, but the impact was weak, lacking the force he needed. His fist was no match for the magical force of other students, but it was the only tool he had. He pulled back and struck again. And again. His knuckles bled, but he didn't stop. Every hit was another step toward something—something he couldn't yet see, but he could feel it growing.
The door to the training hall creaked open, and Ansel didn't stop. He continued to pound the dummy, sweat dripping down his face, his breathing ragged. He could feel the burn in his arms, the ache in his legs, but it wasn't enough. He wasn't strong enough. Yet.
From the doorway, Vulcan watched with a raised brow. He had come to check on Ansel after their conversation earlier, but seeing him so determined, so relentless in his training, brought a smile to his face.
"Hey," Vulcan called out, stepping into the hall with his usual swagger. His golden uniform glimmered under the dim light, his red hair falling messily around his sharp face. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "You're still going at it?"
Ansel didn't stop, though his breath was coming in shallow gasps. "I'm not weak," he muttered to himself, though the words were more of a promise than a declaration.
Vulcan approached, his footsteps soft but steady. He could see the fire in Ansel's eyes. It wasn't the usual defeated look. This was different.
"You're going to hurt yourself if you keep this up," Vulcan said, his voice softer now. He placed a hand on Ansel's shoulder, stopping him mid-punch.
Ansel turned to face him, his chest heaving. "I don't care," he said, his voice low but fierce. "I'm not going to let anyone look down on me anymore. I'm going to find my strength, Vulcan. Even if it's not through magic, I'll do it with my own hands."
Vulcan's smile faded for a moment, replaced by a look of understanding. He knew the pain of feeling powerless, of being underestimated. He had grown up with his own set of challenges, though they were different from Ansel's. The pressure of being second in the Asura Clan wasn't easy. But he didn't mind the weight—it only made him stronger.
"Alright," Vulcan said, his voice becoming serious. "Then I'll help you. Not with magic. But with training. You can still get stronger without it."
Ansel looked up, surprised. "You'd really help me?"
Vulcan grinned. "Of course. We're friends, aren't we?"
Ansel hesitated, unsure if he could really trust someone so fully. But something about Vulcan's words made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he wasn't as alone as he'd thought.
Ansel nodded, a spark of hope flickering in his chest. "Okay, teach me."
Vulcan walked over to a corner of the training hall and retrieved a pair of wooden practice swords. He tossed one to Ansel, who caught it awkwardly, the weight unfamiliar in his hands.
"First things first," Vulcan said, "stance is everything. You can't fight with a weak base."
He demonstrated a low stance, showing Ansel how to position his feet and hold the sword correctly. At first, Ansel struggled. His muscles ached, his body didn't want to cooperate, but Vulcan was patient. He corrected Ansel's form, guiding him step-by-step, pushing him harder than he had ever pushed himself before.
Hours passed. Ansel's arms were sore, his body exhausted, but his determination never wavered. Vulcan worked with him, teaching him how to use his body effectively in combat. It wasn't magic, but it was something Ansel could rely on. Something he could control.
By the time the sun had fully set, Ansel was breathing heavily, sweat dripping from his brow. His body ached, but it was a different kind of pain—the pain of progress.
Vulcan clapped him on the back. "Not bad, You've got a long way to go, but you're already tougher than most of the students here."
Ansel wiped his forehead, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Thanks… I think I'm starting to get it."
Vulcan's smile widened. "Good. Keep training like this, and you'll be able to hold your own. Don't let anyone make you feel worthless, Ansel. You've got more in you than you know."
As Ansel watched Vulcan leave, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. His path wouldn't be easy, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was moving forward. He wasn't powerless. He had his own strength. He just needed to keep pushing.
And with Vulcan by his side, maybe—just maybe—he could find the power that had always been hidden within him.