The rhythmic thump... thump... thump of Kael's C-Rank Metabolic Efficiency integrating into my biology was a constant, reassuring hum in the back of my skull. It was a foundational change, slower than skill progression but far more profound. I wasn't just learning tricks; I was being remade from the inside out.
The morning after my flawless Mana Sense performance, the atmosphere in the training yard had shifted. The open mockery was gone, replaced by a wary, calculating silence. I was no longer just the F-Rank fool; I was the anomaly. A variable they couldn't quantify.
Lieutenant Valeriana's eyes tracked me with the intensity of a hawk. "Sparring. Again," she announced, her voice cutting through the tense air. "Grey. You're with Kael. Let's see if your 'gut feelings' extend to actual combat."
This was a direct test. She was pushing me, trying to force the anomaly to manifest. Kael looked resigned as he stepped forward. He didn't want to beat me into pulp again, but orders were orders.
We took our stances. My body still ached from the previous day's conditioning, but a new, faint warmth pulsed in my core—the 0.6% progress of the [Mana Core Circuit]. It was a flicker of hope, a promise of a future where my body could handle the ocean of power within.
"Begin!" Valeriana barked.
Kael moved, his [Fist of the Boulder] aura flaring. But this time, the world was different. My [Analytical Combat Sight (D-Rank)] wasn't just showing me his movements; it was overlaying them with data. Faint, glowing lines traced the optimal force vectors of his attack. I saw three ghost-images of his fist, showing the most probable trajectories. My body, enhanced by the 0.02% integration of his metabolic efficiency, felt just a fraction quicker to respond.
I didn't try to match his force. I couldn't. Instead, I moved with it. As his stone-hard fist came at my face, I didn't flinch away. I shifted my head a bare inch, letting the wind of the blow rustle my hair. The predictive ghost-image had shown me the exact path.
Kael's eyes widened in surprise. He recovered and launched a combination—a jab followed by a powerful hook. My sight calculated the patterns. I weaved under the jab and, instead of backing away from the hook, I stepped inside his guard, my own movements economical and precise. His powerful swing whistled harmlessly past my back.
A gasp went through the watching recruits. I hadn't thrown a single punch, but I had avoided every one of his. I was a leaf on the wind, an untouchable phantom in the center of the storm.
"Stop holding back, Kael!" Valeriana commanded, her voice sharp with interest.
Kael grunted, his aura intensifying. His attacks became faster, more furious. The predictive images in my vision began to blur. I was reaching my limit. My F-Rank body couldn't keep up with the data my mind was processing. A fist finally grazed my shoulder, the impact sending a jolt of pain down my arm. Another caught me in the side, and I grunted, stumbling back.
This was it. The moment of decision. I could take the beating, reaffirming my role as the resilient but weak anomaly. Or I could show them a single, controlled spark.
As Kael lunged for a final, decisive tackle, I made my choice.
I focused on the one skill I knew was ready. The skill that had been his, now fully matured and waiting within me. I didn't try to activate it with mana—my channels were still too brittle. Instead, I willed its essence into my muscles, its perfected form into my movement.
[Fist of the Boulder (C-Rank) - Form Utilization: Enabled.]
My body moved on instinct, guided by a hundred thousand simulated repetitions done in the background of my soul. As Kael tackled me, I didn't try to resist. I pivoted, using his own momentum. My left hand slapped his leading arm aside, and my right fist, clenched not with mana but with the perfectly understood principle of the boulder's impact, drove into his solar plexus.
It wasn't a powerful blow. My F-Rank strength saw to that. But it was perfectly placed. The form was flawless.
Kael let out a choked gasp, his charge completely broken. He staggered back, clutching his stomach, more shocked than hurt. The tackle had been completely neutralized.
Silence.
The training yard was utterly still. An F-Rank had not only evaded a C-Rank's assault but had also cleanly broken his final attack. It defied all logic.
Valeriana was in front of me in an instant. Her presence was a physical pressure. "What was that?" she demanded, her voice low and dangerous.
I met her gaze, letting the calculated confusion return to my eyes. "I... I don't know. I saw an opening. It was just... a reaction."
She grabbed my wrist, her grip like iron. I could feel a tendril of her mana probing me, invasive and searching. It slithered up my arm, heading for my core. Panic flared. If she reached it, if she felt the nascent Mana Core Circuit or the hundreds of dormant skills...
DING!
[Aegis of the Loyal (A-Rank) - Passive Defense: Activated.]
It wasn't a shield. It was a mirror. A perfect, imperceptible barrier that reflected her probing mana back onto itself, showing her only what she expected to see: shallow, F-Rank channels, empty of any significant power. Her mana slid off me, finding nothing.
Her brow furrowed in frustration. She released my wrist. "Incredible. Your physical stats are undeniably F-Rank. But your combat intuition... it's like you have a library of techniques hardwired into your nervous system." She turned to the stunned recruits. "This is what we look for! Latent potential! A mind that can overcome the body's limitations!"
She was creating the narrative for me. The perfect cover. The "combat savant" who couldn't channel mana but could somehow execute techniques with perfect form.
But the conflict wasn't over. As the session ended and I was heading back to the barracks, a voice called out from the gateway to the compound.
"Leon?"
I turned. Elara Vance stood there, dressed in the pristine, silver-trimmed robes of her family's guild. She looked out of place amidst the grim utilitarianism of the Blackwood Vanguard. Her eyes, however, were fixed on me with an unsettling intensity.
"Elara? What are you doing here?"
"I heard you joined the Vanguard's... special program." She took a step closer, her gaze sweeping over my bruised face and tired posture. "I also heard about the sparring match just now. People are talking. They're saying an F-Rank with no mana neutralized a C-Rank Pugilist."
The romantic conflict was back, intertwined with the suspense of my secret. She was drawn to the mystery, to the contradiction I presented.
"It was luck. A fluke," I said, falling back on the familiar script.
"Was it?" she asked softly, her eyes searching mine. "The mysterious spatial slash that saved me. Your sudden enrollment here. This 'fluke.' Leon, what's happening to you?"
In that moment, I saw not pity in her eyes, but a dawning, fierce curiosity. She was no longer looking at the failed boy from the lower sectors. She was looking at a puzzle, and Elara Vance had never been able to resist a puzzle.
Before I could formulate a reply, she smiled, a small, knowing curve of her lips. "Be careful in there, Leon. The Vanguard chews up and spits out anything it can't understand."
She turned and left, leaving me with a new kind of fear. The phantom had been seen not by a superior, but by the one person whose opinion mattered in a different way. The lord's path was becoming a tightrope, and I was now balancing between the scrutiny of a ruthless lieutenant and the piercing gaze of a silver-haired girl who was getting far too close to the truth.
The first spark of my power had been seen. And it had attracted exactly the wrong kind of attention.