The rest of Saturday passed in rhythm. The ORC peerage rotated through friendly spars against Sam and each other, the gym filled with the sound of impacts and sharp calls.
Rias stayed off to the side, arms crossed, content to watch while her peerage tested themselves against each other and Sam. Although it was just practice, the intensity of them had taken a step forward.
Sam had chosen ways to challenge himself skill ways with each peerage member bar Rias.
Sunday
As Sunday rolled around the world seemed to slow down.
Except for Sam, who was still in the gym, rhythm steady, breath timed with each rep. The clang of weights cut through the quiet halls, sharp and even, like punctuation marks against the lazy day.
Asia sat nearby, towel folded neatly over her lap, bottle of water balanced in both hands. She kept sneaking glances at him, her expression soft but anxious, as if her only job was to be ready the second he asked.
Koneko perched on a bench with snacks, as usual. She tore open a small bag, popped something crunchy in her mouth, then looked up mid-chew.
"We need a TV in here," she said, voice flat. "So I can game while you're doing this."
Sam exhaled through his nose, not breaking rhythm. "…Can't you just game in the common room?"
"You wouldn't get it." She turned her eyes back to her snack, dismissing the thought as if it explained itself.
Sam muttered, "Guess I don't."
The three of them settled into silence. Weights clanged. The crinkle of snack wrappers filled the spaces in between. It was quiet, almost domestic, the kind of lazy day that barely felt like it belonged to people who called themselves devils, angels, or heroes.
Monday
The school week started the way it always seemed to now—someone from the Student Council pulling him off course.
Tomoe caught him in the hall with a stack of errands and redirected him toward the Kendo club before he realized what was happening. By the time he stepped inside, a shinai was already shoved into his hands.
She ran him through the basics again—stances, swings, the shape of the forms. He wasn't clumsy, but every strike felt stiff, disconnected.
"Not hopeless," Tomoe said, tone flat. "But you're still treating the weapon like a tool, not an extension of yourself."
Sam muttered, "…The only part I like using in a fight is myself. I'm a brawler, not a swordsman."
The rest of the day carried the usual beats. At lunch, Yuma pressed closer with syrupy friendliness. Empath caught the sharp fixation underneath. Sam didn't answer, didn't bite—just let it pass.
That Evening brought the spar with Koneko. She came at him like a wall of rook strength, compact and relentless. Sam met her with Muay Thai strikes and Exoskeleton reinforcement, clinching, elbowing, throwing in low kicks. Neither side broke through. Push, pull. A contest of endurance that ended with no victor.
Later, alone, he pulled up the System and took a closer look at his skills. For the first time, he noticed each one had a mastery gauge—just like his abilities. The System hadn't mentioned it when the skills first appeared.
Intimidation: 5% Muay Thai: 38% Intermediate Persuasion: 7% Novice Blade Mastery: 2%
"So everything grows," he muttered. "Even the System's cram sessions still need practice to stick."
His eyes lingered on Muay Thai's description: with mastery, strikes could channel internal energy. The number ticked upward faster than anything else.
"…Feels like I'm in a game more now than ever. First it was a visual novel. Now it's an RPG where I have to grind skills and abilities." He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaling flatly. "Pick a genre."
Tuesday
The school day started with another errand.
Yura shoved a box into his arms without warning. "Second-floor lab. Need it there."
Sam hefted it, brow twitching. "…Do you ever run out of things to hand me? Feels like I'm clocking into a nine-to-five every time you flag me down."
"School staff says Leaders carry responsibility," Yura said, flat as ever.
"Yeah? Pretty sure leaders don't haul boxes. At least, not in the job description I read."
Tsubaki arrived mid-check, clipboard tucked under her arm, gaze calm and precise. She looked him over once, then said, "At this rate, you may as well join the Student Council."
Sam muttered, "…Nah. I'm not Student Council material."
"You are," Yura said.
"You are," Tsubaki echoed.
Sam huffed through his nose but didn't argue.
At lunch, Aoi slipped into the group's table like she belonged there. With Rias and Akeno nearby, she didn't try to pull him aside—just leaned forward with a smile that carried a sharper edge than before.
"Rumor is the Kendo club stole you. Should I put up missing posters?"
Sam chewed his bread, swallowed, and said, "Save the ink. I walked back on my own."
"That's what the missing say." She laughed, quick and light, but Empath tugged at the sincerity under it. "So—any good with a sword yet?"
He shrugged one shoulder, voice dry. "I know how not to stab myself."
Aoi blinked, then laughed—less teasing, more genuine. "That counts."
She rose with her tray, voice softer as she left. "Don't get scouted away from us, alright?"
Empath confirmed there was warmth under the tease. Clearer than before, but still careful—Sam was never exactly easy to approach when others were around.
When they arrived home what awaited him for the evening was a spar with Kiba.
Kiba was the one who offered. "I heard you've been stopping by the Kendo club," he said, already holding out a practice blade. "Want to turn today's spar into training? I can show you things Tomoe won't."
Sam accepted it with a faint shrug. "…Guess I can't say no if you're handing me the chance."
Their swords cracked together, sharp and clean. Kendo's rigid lines clashed against Kiba's smooth rhythm, while Sam's strikes carried weight but lacked polish; martial mechanics did the heavy lifting.
"Your base is strong," Kiba said between taps. "But you're locking your shoulders. Let them move."
Sam rolled a shoulder and adjusted; the next swing came easier. "…Feels less like swinging a bat at least."
Kiba's blade flowed, angles turning unpredictable. "You fight like a martial artist first. That's your strength—don't fight against it."
Sam exhaled. "…Guess that means less sword, more body, huh?"
They went again. Sam relied on timing and reflex, letting instinct cover form's gaps. It didn't win him the spar, but he didn't collapse either.
They wound down even. Kiba sheathed his practice blade with a polite nod.
Wednesday
The day carried a different tone.
Reya intercepted him between classes, arms full of papers she clearly didn't want to carry herself. "Help me with these," she said, shoving a stack toward him without waiting for a reply.
Sam took them, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. "…How many times this week do I get voluntold?"
"Until you stop being useful," she shot back, smirking as they walked. Her tone lightened. "So—how's it going with Momo? She seems quiet around you lately. And Yura's been more… persistent about a rematch. Plus, I hear you've been putting in extra hours at Kendo."
Sam muttered under his breath, "I'm scared of what you're implying."
Reya tilted her head, grin sharp. "What am I implying, then Sam?" She breezed ahead before he could answer.
Sam sighed and let it drop, adjusting the stack of papers.
Later in the afternoon, Minami finally caught him without a crowd. She hovered for a second, then blurted, "Um—have you played anything new since Saturday?"
Sam blinked. "Not really."
She fumbled with her sleeve. "Do you… want to?"
He gave her a dry look. "Are you offering?"
Her cheeks colored. "N-no! I mean—yes, if you want—"
Sam cut in, voice even. "Maybe this weekend. If I'm free. If we run into each other, we run into each other."
It wasn't a promise, but she smiled anyway, relief softening her face. Empath picked up the sincerity shining through, steadier than before.
Evening training in the mansion's gym put him opposite Akeno.
She floated above him, sparks dancing off her fingertips. "Don't hold back too much, Sam."
He flexed his gauntlets, Lightning Claws crackling to life. "I'm not the one in the sky."
Bolts rained down. Sam slashed through them, claws batting aside bursts that would have carved through ordinary defense. The magical kick still forced his arms numb, but he held.
Akeno charged power into a full blast, hurling it down in a thundercrack. Sam crossed his arms in an X-guard, sparks biting against him before dispersing.
"Enough," Rias called.
Akeno cut the charge and dropped from the air. Her footing faltered. Sam caught her without thinking, arms bracing her weight in a full princess carry.
She tilted her head up, smile sly. "Thanks, hero." Then she leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
Sam froze. Empath spiked, then the sound of the system informing him that the affection tracker ticked upward. He set her down carefully, saying nothing.
Back in the gym later after dinner, Asia approached him hesitantly. "Sam… could you train me too?"
He studied her for a second, then nodded. "Alright. But light stuff only."
She brightened, and he guided her through stretches and forms. Checked her balance, corrected her stance, slowed his voice so she could follow. She wasn't built for fighting like the others, but even she needed to move, to build some baseline.
Koneko wandered in halfway through with a TV in her arms, snacks in a bag hanging from her wrist. She set up the TV in the corner, plopped down, and started gaming while crunching chips. Between glances at the screen, her eyes slid toward Sam and Asia—watchful, catlike, quietly territorial.
Reflection came late that night.
Exoskeleton had ticked to fifty percent mastery. The System notice blinked into view: Potential combinations available… none.
He frowned. "…Figures." His kit leaned offense and speed. Defense didn't slot anywhere yet.
Then another notice: Relationship tracker registering love for the first time. Reward: one golden random ticket.
Sam groaned. "Of course." He rolled it immediately.
[System Notice]
🎲 Golden Trait Ticket — Rolling…
Result: Netoranger
Rarity: |Uncommon Trait|
• You are a Netoranger; no relationship is sacred to you.
• It is easier to get people to betray their loved ones for you.
• People already in relationships find themselves more attracted to you.
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "…What the fuck, System. That's five now. Five. What are you trying to make me into?"
His voice sharpened, frustration spilling out. "First lethal charm, then the taker—those were forced. Golden Shot, Kama Sutra, I dodged those. Now this? I made this joke before, and you're doubling down. I wanted survival options. Meteor Swarm. Something useful. Not—this."
He let out a harsh exhale, collapsing back against the bed. "…So now I'm a walking chick magnet for people already in relationships. Complicated. Perfect. Just what I needed."
Thursday
During a break between classes, Tomoe caught him in the hall and shoved a shinai into his hands. "Show me what you've learned."
Sam went through the motions—stances, cuts, guards. Better than Monday, but stiff all the same.
Tomoe watched in silence, then finally said, "Slightly above-average talent, but your body is definitely more suited for martial arts than a blade. It still feels like you're treating the weapon as a tool rather than an extension of yourself."
Sam muttered, "…Yeah, I have no idea what you're talking about. But I do agree with you that I feel more comfortable with my fists rather than a sword."
Tomoe didn't press further, moving him through another set.
When they left the clubroom, Sona passed in the hall with Saji carrying a bundle of paperwork behind her. Her gaze flicked to Sam. "You've been helping quite a bit. Thank you, Barnes."
Sam shifted the shinai under his arm. "Just hauling boxes and swinging sticks."
Sona's lips tugged at the faintest curve before she moved on. Saji's glare lingered long after.
By midday, Yuma and her friends were harder to ignore.
Yuma pressed closer with her syrupy sweetness, the same smile she'd worn since the start—but Empath still tugged at something sharper underneath. Aoi's questions came quicker, her curiosity less like surface teasing and more like genuine interest. And Minami's eyes carried plain sincerity now, not hidden at all.
Sam muttered to himself that they'd always been oddly focused on him. But today felt like something shifted, it felt different—like whatever had been holding them back wasn't there anymore. He couldn't explain why. He just knew it.
That evening's spar was Rias.
Magic flared hot, her blasts tearing across the floor. Sam darted through them, assassin reflexes keeping him just ahead. When he struck back, it was measured—Muay Thai knees, low sweeps, Exoskeleton reinforcement—but nothing more.
Rias finally paused, brow furrowed. "You're not going to use that lightning technique of yours?"
Sam shook his head. "No. Using it would be counterintuitive to what we're doing here, isn't it?"
Her lips curved, half-smile sharp. "Maybe." They let the spar end there—a draw neither side claimed.
Kiba slid his blade back into its sheath, watching. "You like to hold back a lot, don't you?"
Sam replied, "I've said it before. Sparring's about refining techniques you can't risk in battle. Winning's not the point."
Back in the gym after dinner, Asia joined again. She moved lighter this time, her stance less shaky. Sam corrected her less often, letting her run forms on her own.
"You're getting steadier," he said simply.
She smiled, flushed from the effort.
In the corner, Koneko lounged with her console, screen glowing. Snack bag rustled as she crunched, but her eyes kept flicking over, still watchful in her quiet way.
That night in his room, Sam found his thoughts circling back to the day. Tomoe's blunt words—"You're treating the weapon as a tool rather than an extension of yourself"—and Kiba's reminder that his strength came from fighting like a martial artist, not against it.
He'd never felt a connection with a sword… except once.
Crossing to the hidden panel in his closet, he pulled out the cloth bundle he hadn't touched in weeks. The fragment of Excalibur, still bound in layers of wrapping, faintly pulsed with its own aura even through the fabric.
He unwrapped it slowly. The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, the resistance he remembered was gone. No pushback, no struggle. Instead, the weapon resonated, his holy hero energy thrumming in sync with it. For the first time, it didn't feel like something he might consume or break. It felt alive in his grip—an extension of himself.
He muttered, "So this is what they meant."
But after a moment, he shook his head. "…Not yet."
He rewrapped the fragment carefully, sliding it back into its hiding place. "Next time. When I'm comfortable with a sword."
Friday
Friday looked the same on the surface, but Sam's thoughts still circled back to Tomoe's words.
During a break, he cornered her in the hall. "That whole 'extension of yourself' thing. Is it the wielder's skill, or the weapon itself that matters?"
Tomoe didn't hesitate. "Both. A skilled wielder brings life to any blade. But the right weapon, in the right hands, can feel alive on its own."
Sam muttered under his breath, "…So that's what it was. Not just me. The blade itself."
Tomoe glanced at him like he'd spoken nonsense, but didn't push it.
By midday, Yuma and her friends were still at it.
Yuma's sweetness hadn't dulled, and she leaned in with little excuses to talk, too smooth to be coincidence. Aoi slipped questions into every gap she could find, playful but sharper than before. Minami didn't push, just stayed close in the rare chance he was alone, her sincerity steady enough that Empath picked it up every time.
Sam muttered to himself that it was getting harder to breathe with all of them pressing in. Whatever this was, it wasn't fading—it was holding steady.
Officially, Friday was an ORC rest day. Sam never rested.
He pushed through the gym like he was trying to break a record, barbell plates clanging as he drove out rep after rep. His muscles were denser causing him to appear lean, but the weight he threw around didn't care.
Asia trained beside him again, following stretches, copying light forms. She needed less correction now. Her steps were quicker, her balance surer, Saint buffs showing through in every improvement.
"You're getting better fast," Sam said between sets.
She flushed, smiling despite the sweat.
Koneko sat in the corner, console in her lap, snacks at her side. She played absently, but her golden eyes slid toward Sam and Asia often—quiet, catlike, a presence that claimed territory without words.
Dinner started that night with an announcement.
Tiche waited until everyone was seated before she spoke. Her tone was flat, her words blunt. "I located Freed's base. Confirmed last week. Delayed reporting until certain. Observed consistent activity. Confirmed three additional individuals. Likely more."
Sam narrowed his eyes. "…You waited two weeks to tell me?"
"Yes." Her delivery didn't shift. "If I told you sooner, you would have rushed. He would have relocated. Now he is fixed. He is not alone."
The table went silent. Forks stilled, gazes cut sharp.
Sam leaned back in his chair, muttering, "…Guess the peaceful rhythm's over."
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Ok, tried something different with a timeskip compared to earlier chapters, think it reads better? Opinions are appreciated~