The following days blurred into a cycle of training and theory classes. Training consumed most of my time, four days each week were dedicated to relentless physical drills.
At first, it was unbearably monotonous: running, and nothing but running. Day after day, for an entire month, we repeated those grueling basics. As our instructors warned, not everyone could endure. By the end of the month, nearly half the students had quit or transferred out.
I was exhausted, yes, but strangely exhilarated. Each step reminded me of my past life as an assassin, when physical training had forged my strength. Though small in stature, I had built a body no weaker than any man's, that was my greatest confidence.
During this time, my bond with Wang Mian grew closer. Almost every day, we met in the cafeteria, talking about training, about little nothings, about the future.
One month later came the ultimate trial: the endurance test, now with sparring.
Before the eyes of the entire class, opponents were drawn by lot. Among us, only three students bore the coveted A-rank, myself, Bai Tou, and one other. Fate paired me with Bai Tou.
Tall and thin, with a cold, disdainful expression, he looked down on me from the start.
"You might as well surrender," he sneered. "You'll never beat me. Better to give up now than get hurt and cry that I bullied you."
I smiled faintly. "Don't underestimate me. Let's just fight clean, we don't need to maim each other."
He narrowed his eyes. "Clean? What if a single strike puts you flat on the ground?"
I didn't bother to answer. Inside, I told myself only one thing, I cannot lose.
The match began.
Bai Tou lunged first, snapping a kick at my shin, then another aimed higher. His attacks were sharp, pressing forward without pause. I relied on agility, slipping past by inches, waiting for an opening. When it came, I struck. My hand sliced toward his jaw, followed by a spinning kick that sent him stumbling back. Gasps erupted from the watching crowd.
The tide turned. Blow by blow, he faltered, until at last, he fell in defeat.
I offered him a hand and said calmly, "Thank you for letting me win."
His face darkened. Jaw clenched, he muttered, "Don't think this is over. We'll fight again." His threat was thick with resentment, planting the seed of a grudge.
Later in the cafeteria, Wang Mian confessed his decision: he was leaving. He would transfer, moving with his parents to another planet to study in the Leadership Faculty.
"Transfer?" I blinked. "That's huge. And your parents agreed?"
He gave a wry smile. "Of course. The mechanics program is all theory, I can't stand it. Maybe you were right when you said I fit better as a leader than tinkering at the back. My parents want me to have that chance, so… I'm going."
I sighed. "Only a rich kid could say 'just go' like that."
The next day, he was gone. He never returned to the academy.
Without him, the days felt emptier. But soon, the second month brought a new kind of training: once a week, we entered the Simulation Chamber. That was what I looked forward to most.
The chamber could reconstruct historical battles, alien invasions, or cataclysmic disasters. Such wars had scarred history, whole planets weakened, technology set back by decades. To prevent future collapse, soldiers, engineers, and leaders were all forged through such training.
Difficulty ranged from 10% to 100%. Most students started low, carefully stepping upward.
I didn't.
The first time I entered, I set it straight to 100%. That battle nearly killed me. If not for my speed and focus, I would've "died" outright. Though only my mind bore the pain, the clarity of that death was unforgettable. From then on, I always set the level to maximum. It was brutal, but it sharpened me faster than anything else.
One ordinary day, not even a training day, I slipped into the chamber again, alone. No supervision, no classmates. I lay down in the pod, set the difficulty to 100%, and the machine roared to life.
This time, the scene was strange. A desert stretched before me, endless sands crowned by colossal pyramids. No enemies, no sounds, only silence. I thought I was safe.
Then the wind came.
At first a whisper, then a storm. Sand whirled into a violent cyclone, swallowing everything. I tried to run toward the pyramids, but the more I chased them, the farther they stretched away, warped as if reality itself twisted against me.
I ran until my lungs burned, until I could no longer see. Then, death. For the first time, I died inside the simulation, not from combat, but from a storm that felt alive.
It wasn't an invasion. It felt like a force protecting something, barring me from reaching it.
When I awoke, I trembled with the memory. The simulator was no mere tool. It pulled at my hidden past, at fragments buried within me. Each time, the pain pressed harder.
But I also knew: this pain was forging me. Piece by piece, it was shaping me into someone sharper, stronger and far more dangerous.