I followed a diagram from the book. Ten minutes of careful breathing; sweat gathered along my hairline.
I found a tucked sheet of practice logs. Dates, short comments.
Barely a breeze, but got it.Coach said I'm stiff; try morning practice.
A later line: Think of river edges; that helped.
I tried again, thinking not of open air but of edges—the seam where the curtain met the wall, the line where desk met floor. I could almost feel the shape of it, the way wind liked to slide. My palms tingled, yet nothing, no wind.
I closed the workbook and sat back. The panel hovered at the edge of my vision like a quiet thought. I opened it again, focusing on the single line that mattered.
Affinity: Wind (Unstable)
The word Unstable pulsed once, then settled. The panel offered no help, no tips. Just a label—that there was a problem.
'The one time I could use a conscious system to help me.'
I sighed as I checked the rest. Stamina was down two, probably from the walk and the fussing with breathing. MP had dropped with each attempt and crawled back slowly after I stopped; the drop wasn't from it working but rather failing.
I stood and did a slow circuit of the room, the kind of thing you do in a new apartment when you don't know what else to do. I opened the wardrobe to check out my clothing—nothing fancy, old clothes.
I opened the desk drawers. One held nothing; the other had a small stack of lined paper and a stub of pencil. On the lowest shelf, jammed between the wall and the bed, I found a second notebook I hadn't noticed—its cover bent.
I pulled it free.
It was a thinner set of notes, almost like a diary. Most pages were blank. A few were filled with cramped writing, but some keywords jumped out. Test. Father. Barely. Wind. Try harder.
That last one was circled, then crossed out, then circled again. My chest hurt reading it, and I didn't know if that ache belonged to me or to her. But it seemed like she tried very hard, too hard even.
Maybe that was what killed her and allowed me to come here?
I set the notes aside and paced again. The room sounded different when I moved, and my thoughts flowed better when I paced; pacing always helped me.
Not just the past me.
"Can't use wind, so what can I use?"
I tried to remember the early beats of the academy arc. The first day was very basic; they would tell us the introduction to each class and even offer us our weapons, yes, weapons.
This academy was meant to train people to become top-class hunters; it was one of the best academies in the entire Federation, and just to enter it, you needed to have the potential to reach C Rank.
Don't let the low rank fool you; C Rank was a feat that most academies only had a few passing students reach per term, yet for this one, it was the bare minimum.
Hey, at least I knew I had the potential to reach C Rank, or rather, had?
The MC, on the other hand, was known for having the potential to reach S Rank. To be clear, S Rank was above A Rank, and it was a feat very few had ever reached.
The only Rank above it wasn't even a Rank, but a title: Monarchs. In all of humanity, in the entire Federation, there were only eight Monarchs in total, five of which were known.
So I needed something. If I wanted to survive the academy, I needed the power to do so, and even if I managed to survive the academy, I needed the power to survive this world.
This world wasn't like my previous one; it was very dangerous—monsters, other races, and, worse of all, the Fiends roamed this world constantly. The biggest issue of all, and the main villain in the entire novel, the Fiend King, would destroy this world in roughly ten years.
I stood by the desk and brushed my hair back. All this stress would be the death of me before then; no point in worrying; I needed to think carefully, but I was much too tired to do so.
I shelved the workbook, stacked the notes, and made the bed. The sheets were coarse but clean. When I tucked the corners, my finger slid along a rough spot and caught on a metal spring.
A sting bloomed, and I pulled back with a hiss. A bright line of red beaded at my fingertip.
Of course. I tore a strip from the paper wrapper around the slippers and wrapped it tightly. The panel blinked.
HP -2
"Thanks."
I said flatly, but the sting reminded me that this was all too real; I could get hurt here, die here. That worry was very much present, but so was the fact that this was a new life.
A new beginning where I could live—no, where I could thrive.
I sat at the desk and wrote a list in my notebook, taking up where the previous one had left off.
- First day is orientation, stay safe, don't stand out, don't draw attention, and follow the flow of the world. Get sleep, understand the information I have better, and try to learn more about affinities.
I hesitated, then added a last line.
- Survive.
It looked childish written out like that, but it was honest. I closed the notebook and slid it into the desk drawer under the quill.
I checked the panel one more time, just in case the word Unstable had changed its mind. It hadn't. The numbers were where I'd left them, a little lower, a little sad. The room was quiet and thin; I closed the window and planned to rest.
"I'll try again tomorrow."
I kicked off my shoes, and the mattress dipped under my weight with a small, weary sigh. I pulled the blanket to my chin and stared at the ceiling until my vision blurred.
Rest, I told myself. Small tomorrow, small and quiet, no flags.
Sleep came in slow, careful steps, and I let it find me.