I. Morning Buzz at Iron Will High
The academy cafeteria buzzed with a low, kinetic energy that morning. It wasn't the sound of conversation; it was the hum of judgment. Every student in Kageyama Academy was now an amateur analyst, dissecting the merits and misfortunes of the nine chosen representatives. The -year selections—the Chaos, the Ice, and the Brain—remained the hottest topic.
"Did you hear how Takasugi won?" a -year whispered across a table. "He didn't even fire a proper Aura strike. He just made that Kenji kid run out of energy. It's unnatural."
"He's a fluke," another countered. "His style is built on prediction. Prediction fails when raw power hits you faster than you can think. Wait until he faces the -years."
Haru Kido, however, was thriving. He strutted through the mess hall with his chest puffed out, occasionally pausing to give a triumphant wave. He was wearing his team representative jacket—a heavy, slightly stiff garment he hadn't taken off since it was issued.
"Yes, yes, I know!" he announced loudly to his breakfast plate, then glanced around. "The burden of being chosen! It is heavy, but necessary! The masses need a hero, and I, the Chaos Factor, am here to deliver!"
Aiko Satomi, already seated and consuming a nutrient-dense, perfectly proportioned breakfast, didn't bother looking up. "You sound like a public disaster announcement, Haru. The only thing you delivered yesterday was a headache to Instructor Tanaka."
"A headache is just focused energy, Aiko! We are a unit now! The -year dream team!" Haru threw an arm around Kai, nearly knocking the strategic genius off his stool.
Kai Takasugi quietly extracted himself from Haru's grip and adjusted his glasses. He was drinking a clear, measured protein supplement. "Your continued lack of discretion elevates our team's visibility, which introduces unnecessary risk of being targeted before the camp. Lower your voice by decibels, Haru."
"See, Aiko? Logic and Chaos! It works!" Haru insisted, before Aiko's sharp glare silenced him. Despite her cold exterior, Aiko's movements around Kai were subtle but protective, a quiet anchor against Haru's unpredictable tidal waves.
II. Encounter with the 2nd-Year Team
The tension rose sharply when the trio reached the courtyard on their way to the first combined training session. Blocking their path were the three representatives from the -year class.
Daichi Hiroshi, the powerhouse, was a solid wall of quiet strength, radiating natural heat. Next to him stood Tetsuo Shin, the new tactical fighter, whose eyes darted restlessly, already tracking the movement patterns of the freshmen.
And leading them was Kashima Riku.
Riku wore a practiced expression of detached boredom, but his gaze, fixed entirely on Kai, was anything but bored. It was sharp, clinical, and intensely focused, like the point of a spear. The atmosphere between the two strategists immediately thickened, pushing the surrounding air into a taut silence.
Haru's bravado vanished instantly. He shrank back, trying to use Aiko as a human shield. Aiko, however, stiffened, meeting the -years' cool appraisal head-on.
"-years," Riku said, his voice flat. He offered no greeting, no praise. "We saw your matches. You were fortunate."
Daichi shifted his weight, his Aura subtly flexing. "The District Tournament is not a game of luck. You need power, not tricks."
Riku focused on Kai, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You got the spot, Takasugi. Now you have to justify the choice. We don't tolerate weak links on the team."
The silent rivalry was clear: You're an anomaly, and you are in my path. I'm watching.
Kai met Riku's challenging stare without flinching. He tilted his head slightly, as if evaluating a complex, three-dimensional structure.
"The elimination of flawed variables is a prerequisite for achieving optimal efficiency," Kai responded, his voice calm and even. "If my method is flawed, it will be eliminated. If yours is inefficient, it will be discarded. The objective remains the same."
The calm, logical one-liner hung in the air, thick with unspoken challenge. It wasn't an insult, but a pure statement of principle that managed to confuse even Riku. Riku's facade of coolness broke for a flicker of a second, his brow furrowing as he tried to decipher Kai's meaning.
"We'll see," Riku finally muttered, dismissing the freshmen with a curt nod before leading his team away.
III. Instructor Tanaka's First Real Team Drill
Instructor Tanaka gathered the -years for their first practice session as a team—a distinction he made sure to emphasize with a terrifying grin.
"Welcome to Phase One: Deconstruction," Tanaka announced. "Before you can function as a team, I must ensure you don't crack under basic physical duress. Today, we refine your commitment threshold."
He introduced the Aura Overload Drill: running high-intensity laps while simultaneously maintaining a focused, maximum-density Aura shield around their core. This technique rapidly drains both stamina and internal energy reserves, leaving the body agonizingly exposed and exhausted.
Haru collapsed almost immediately, gasping, his shield flickering violently. "Sensei, this is torture! My Aura is leaking! I feel like a sieve!"
"It's called fatigue, Kido," Tanaka said, entirely without sympathy. "If your focus breaks, the enemy wins. Get up! more laps, or I put Riku on your heels."
Aiko, fueled by sheer grit and disciplined focus, handled the drill with remarkable endurance. Sweat poured down her face, but her Aura shield remained perfectly uniform, a cold, hard shell of focused energy. She gritted her teeth, pushing past the pain.
Kai, meanwhile, wasn't struggling, but calculating. While running, he was experimenting with tiny, micro-bursts of Aura, applying reinforcement only to the points of his body experiencing peak kinetic strain, rather than maintaining a steady, full-body shield. He was finding efficient ways to cheat the exhaustion.
Tanaka, watching from the side, noticed the subtle change in Kai's Aura flow—the minute pulsations where others maintained solid lines.
"Takasugi!" Tanaka barked. Kai stopped instantly, his breathing controlled. "What are you doing?"
"Optimizing energy distribution, Sensei. A constant field is inefficient. A targeted, rhythmic pulse conserves of my reserves while maintaining adequate defense integrity."
Tanaka let out a low, dry chuckle that held no humor. "Logic is fine, Takasugi. But logic won't save you when a fist's already at your jaw. That buffer is meant for when the equation breaks. It's called fighting spirit, you idiot. Not accounting surplus. Now, drop and give me fifty full-shield sprints."
IV. Comedy Interlude
Haru, attempting to recover his pride, tried to emulate Kai's observed efficiency during the next set of exercises.
"Aha!" Haru exclaimed, trying to run using minimalist, jerky motions. "I see the secret, Kai! Minimal effort, maximum result! I'm going to conserve energy by only moving of my limbs!"
He attempted a low, conservation-focused side shuffle, promptly lost his balance, and ended up tumbling into a stack of spare training mats with a loud thwump.
Aiko stopped her own rigorous stretching routine, fixing them both with a stare of pure exasperation.
"This is not teamwork!" she scolded, her voice sharp. "Haru, your attempt at a shortcut resulted in physical injury and structural damage. Kai, your obsession with the shortcut neglects the fundamental physical conditioning required to deploy a defense when your logic fails. Teamwork isn't about shortcuts; it's about ensuring that when one of us breaks, the others are strong enough to carry the full weight."
Tanaka, leaning against the doorframe, gave a subtle nod of approval at Aiko's lecture. "Listen to the Ice Princess, boys. She understands that discipline is the only shortcut that works."
V. First Glimpse of the 3rd-Year Team
As the -years finished their practice, exhausted and humbled, the sound of heavy, concussive impacts began vibrating through the floor from the adjoining hall. It was the -year representatives commencing their training.
Haru, still rubbing his bruises, peeked through a crack in the door. He instantly recoiled, his face pale.
Jiro Ken was practicing his Earth Aura, but he wasn't just punching; he was causing the very air to distort and compress, leaving visible shimmer lines after every strike. Reina Tsubaki moved with impossible speed, her Aura so refined it was practically invisible, yet the air around her shrieked like metal being cut.
The sheer, intimidating aura of maturity and controlled power that radiated from the seniors was paralyzing. These were students who had been training at this level for years, masters of their craft.
Haru gulped, leaning against the wall. "We are so, so dead at the District Tournament."
Aiko's stance tightened, but she didn't look away. Her eyes, however, weren't fixed on the power; they were tracing the minute details of Reina's defensive posture and Jiro's energy flow—silent, focused data acquisition.
Kai didn't move. He simply observed the -years' training output, logging every variable, every energy spike, every precise movement into his internal database. He was compiling an archive of predatory strength, knowing this was the true benchmark they had to meet.
VI. Closing Hook
The following day, rumors began spreading like wildfire through the academy's communication channels: whispers of unofficial spar challenges. Upperclassmen, eager to test the unexpected -year selections and restore the perceived hierarchy, were organizing impromptu, unsanctioned matches after classes.
The talk centered almost exclusively on Kai. The "lazy genius" was viewed as the greatest risk—a mind over muscle fighter whose reputation was built on avoiding direct confrontation. He was the perfect target to prove the -years were a mistake.
Haru approached Kai, visibly nervous. "They're coming for you, Kai. They want to expose your style! We should hide!"
Kai adjusted his glasses, a faint, almost predatory smirk playing on his lips. It was a look of quiet, absolute confidence that Haru rarely witnessed. He looked not at the worried Haru, but out the window, toward the training grounds where the older students waited.
"Good," Kai stated simply. "Data always comes before the real experiment." The challenge wasn't a threat; it was an opportunity.