Aiden was halfway through his breakfast—cafeteria slop that tasted like regret and sawdust—when three academy enforcers surrounded his table. Their leader, a senior with arms like tree trunks and a face that suggested he ate first-years for fun, smiled down at him with predatory satisfaction.
"Aiden Cross," the enforcer announced loud enough for half the dining hall to hear. "Academy Board requests your immediate presence. Combat verification required."
"Now?" Aiden nearly choked on what might have been scrambled eggs. "The demonstration isn't until this afternoon—"
"Plans changed. Someone wants to see what you can do before the main event." The enforcer's grip on Aiden's shoulder was firm enough to crack bone. "Wouldn't want any... surprises in front of the full student body."
Jay looked up from his own plate of questionable nutrition. "Can't a guy finish his breakfast before being dragged off to ritual humiliation?"
"Academy business takes precedence over meal schedules," the enforcer replied without humor. "Move."
**Emergency protocols activating. Someone wants to test your abilities before tomorrow's scheduled execution. This suggests they either suspect enhancement or want to ensure maximum entertainment value when you inevitably die.**
Aiden allowed himself to be escorted through corridors that grew progressively more expensive as they moved toward the academy's administrative section. Students pressed against the walls to watch him pass, whispers following in his wake like a funeral procession.
"Is that really Cross?"
"Why would they want him for verification testing?"
"Maybe he's finally getting expelled early?"
The escort led him to Training Complex Alpha—the restricted facility where only top-tier students were allowed to practice. Aiden had never been inside, but rumors described equipment worth more than his family's entire debt load.
The arena itself was a crystalline dome forty meters across, surrounded by observation decks packed with academy officials, faculty, and what looked like every student who could skip morning classes without consequences. In the center stood a single combat platform surrounded by sensor arrays that could probably detect his breakfast from orbit.
"Gentlemen," a familiar voice echoed through the space. Administrator Voss—the woman who'd delivered yesterday's unwelcome news—stood at the central podium with the kind of smile that suggested she was about to ruin someone's day. "Today we conduct a verification assessment of Student Cross's recent... improvement in performance."
Aiden scanned the crowd, finding Jay in the front row of student seating, already recording everything on his comm unit. Nearby, Mira sat with perfect posture, watching the proceedings with analytical interest. Lucas was noticeably absent, which somehow made everything worse.
"The parameters are simple," Voss continued. "Student Cross will face a randomly selected opponent in standard combat rules. No weapons, no enhancements, no time limit. Victory by knockout, submission, or ring-out."
**Translation: They want to see if you can replicate whatever happened with Marcus Webb, or if it was a fluke. Probability of this being 'random': 0.2%.**
"Who's my opponent?" Aiden called out, though he suspected he wouldn't like the answer.
The arena's main screen flickered to life, showing a selection wheel spinning through dozens of names. It slowed, stopped, and displayed its choice with digital finality: **Derek Voss**.
Of course. Administrator Voss's nephew—a third-year who ranked in the top fifteen percent and had never lost a public match. The family resemblance was obvious when Derek stepped onto the platform: same cruel smile, same predatory confidence, same expression that suggested he was about to enjoy himself immensely.
"Bad luck, Cross," Derek said, cracking his knuckles. "Looks like your winning streak is about to end at one."
**Analyzing opponent... Derek Voss: Combat rating 78/100. Preferred style: Aggressive grappling with ground-and-pound finishing. Notable features: Enjoys causing pain and has family connections that make complaints pointless.**
"Any advice?" Aiden thought desperately.
**Yes. Don't die immediately. It would be embarrassing for both of us.**
The platform activated with a low hum, energy fields creating invisible barriers around the combat zone. Aiden took his position, acutely aware that hundreds of people were watching his every move. In the stands, Jay had somehow acquired a megaphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Jay's voice boomed across the arena. "Welcome to what might be the most statistically improbable event in academy history! In the red corner, weighing in at chronically underweight and sporting a lifetime record of zero wins, we have the Omega Block Wonder himself—Aiden Cross!"
Several faculty members looked annoyed, but no one stopped him.
"And in the blue corner, representing nepotism and recreational violence, we have Derek 'Never Lost to Anyone Who Matters' Voss!"
Derek's smile widened. "I'm going to enjoy this."
**Combat initiating in 3... 2... 1...**
Derek moved like a predator, closing the distance with practiced efficiency. No wasted motion, no telegraphed attacks—just professional brutality aimed at Aiden's center mass. The first punch should have caved in his ribs.
Instead, Aiden's body moved with impossible precision, slipping the strike by millimeters. His vision exploded with data—Derek's stance, balance points, muscle tension, breathing pattern. Information flooded his consciousness faster than his brain could process.
**Emergency override activated. Neural limits suspended. Try not to die while I save your life.**
Pain erupted behind Aiden's eyes like someone had detonated a flashbang in his skull. But through the agony, he saw everything. Derek's next three moves, the slight weakness in his left knee, the way he dropped his guard for exactly 0.3 seconds after combination strikes.
Derek threw a vicious uppercut. Aiden responded with a technique he'd seen Mira use months ago—a counter-rotation that turned defensive movement into offensive positioning. His elbow found Derek's floating rib with surgical precision, drawing a grunt of surprise and pain.
"What the hell?" Derek staggered back, clutching his side. "How did you—"
But Aiden wasn't listening. The System was pulling techniques from his memory, copying movements he'd witnessed in hundreds of losing fights. A foot sweep Lucas had used on him. A throw Kade had demonstrated during advanced tactics. A defensive stance from a senior whose name he couldn't even remember.
His body moved like a weapon, each technique flowing seamlessly into the next. Derek's eyes widened as his carefully planned assault was dismantled by someone who'd never won a fight in his life.
"IS THIS REAL LIFE?" Jay's commentary reached fever pitch. "Cross just blocked a combination that put Martinez in medical last month! He's moving like he actually knows what he's doing!"
Derek snarled and charged with berserker fury, abandoning technique for raw aggression. It was exactly what Aiden had been waiting for—or rather, what the System had been waiting for.
The counter-attack was a masterpiece of borrowed excellence. Derek's momentum became leverage for a throw that sent him spinning through the air. He landed hard, rolled, came up swinging—and walked straight into a perfectly executed combination that he'd used to defeat Aiden six months ago.
The irony was beautiful. Derek was being destroyed by his own techniques, stolen from his memory and used against him with mathematical precision.
The final blow was almost artistic in its simplicity. Derek, dazed and desperate, threw a haymaker that left him completely exposed. Aiden's response—a technique he'd learned from watching Lucas demolish opponents—caught Derek in the solar plexus with enough force to double him over.
Derek Voss, ranked 47th out of 3,000 students, hit the platform unconscious.
The arena fell silent except for the hum of the energy barriers and Jay's increasingly hysterical laughter.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" Jay screamed into his megaphone. "AIDEN CROSS HAS JUST ACHIEVED THE IMPOSSIBLE! HE WON A FIGHT! AGAINST SOMEONE WHO MATTERS! THE APOCALYPSE IS CONFIRMED!"
Aiden stood over Derek's unconscious form, blood streaming from his nose, vision fracturing at the edges. The pain was indescribable—like someone was performing surgery on his brain with a chainsaw made of lightning.
**Neural damage: Significant but non-fatal. Congratulations on your accidental victory. I'm sure it had nothing to do with my flawless tactical analysis and everything to do with your natural talent.**
"Thanks for the confidence boost," Aiden gasped, stumbling off the platform.
The observation deck was chaos. Students were shouting, faculty members were consulting emergency protocols, and Administrator Voss looked like she'd swallowed a live grenade.
But in the midst of the noise, Aiden caught Mira's eye. She wasn't shouting or celebrating or expressing shock like everyone else. She was watching him with the focused intensity of a scientist who'd just discovered a new species.
"Fascinating," she murmured, though her voice carried across the suddenly quiet arena. "Two victories in two days. Against progressively stronger opponents. That's not improvement—that's transformation."
**She's too perceptive. Also, your brain is still on fire. Medical attention recommended before permanent damage occurs.**
Aiden tried to respond, but the world chose that moment to tilt sideways. He would have hit the ground if Jay hadn't materialized beside him like an overexcited support beam.
"Bro! You just broke every statistical model I've ever created! This is unprecedented! I need to recalculate everything!"
"Jay," Aiden managed, "I think I need to—"
The arena's main screen flickered back to life, cutting him off. Administrator Voss stepped back to the podium, her expression carefully neutral despite what had to be genuine shock at the results.
"Verification complete," she announced. "Student Cross has demonstrated... adequate combat capabilities. Tomorrow's Combat Evaluation Demonstration will proceed as scheduled."
The screen behind her lit up with new information:
**COMBAT EVALUATION DEMONSTRATION**
**Student: Aiden Cross**
**Date: Tomorrow, 2:00 PM**
**Venue: Main Arena**
**Expected Attendance: 2,000+**
**Opponent: LUCAS DRAKE**
The countdown timer in Aiden's peripheral vision flashed urgently: **12:47:33**.
The arena erupted in noise—gasps, shouts, excited chatter, and what sounded like Jay having a religious experience. But all Aiden could focus on was that name blazing across the screen like a death sentence.
Lucas Drake. The academy's golden boy. Top five in his class. The same Lucas who'd been systematically humiliating him for three years. The same Lucas who suspected something was different about Aiden's recent victories.
**Well,** the System commented with dark amusement, **this should be entertaining. Current survival probability against Lucas Drake: 1.2%. I'd say it was nice knowing you, but we haven't known each other long enough to form meaningful attachments.**
"One point two percent?"
"What?" Jay asked, still recording everything.
"Nothing. Just... processing the odds."
In the observation deck, Mira leaned back in her seat, studying Aiden's barely conscious form with renewed interest. Two impossible victories, progressive neural adaptation, and now he was scheduled to face Lucas Drake—someone who could probably beat Derek Voss blindfolded.
"Interesting," she said softly. "Very interesting."
Behind her, unnoticed by anyone in the chaotic arena, a figure in academy faculty robes smiled and activated a encrypted comm device.
"Phase Two initiated," the figure reported. "The demonstration is confirmed for tomorrow. Subject Cross will face optimal stress testing conditions."
"Excellent," came the reply—Marrow's voice, though no one in the arena could have recognized it. "Begin final preparations. If he survives Lucas Drake, he's ready for the real program."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then we'll have learned valuable data about System integration limits. Either way, tomorrow should be... educational."
The call ended, and the figure melted back into the crowd of shocked faculty members, leaving Aiden to contemplate his approaching date with mathematical impossibility.
In less than thirteen hours, he would face Lucas Drake in front of two thousand witnesses. The same Lucas who'd been hunting for evidence of enhancement. The same Lucas who had every reason to ensure Aiden's defeat was as public and humiliating as possible.
**Sleep well tonight,** the System advised as Jay helped him toward the exit. **It might be your last chance.**
The countdown continued its relentless descent: **12:46:17... 12:46:16... 12:46:15...**
And somewhere in the crowd, Lucas Drake smiled and began planning exactly how he would destroy Aiden Cross in front of everyone who'd ever doubted him.
The game was about to begin in earnest.