The next three weeks passed in a blur of training, frustration, and slowly dawning reality.
The Kingdom of Heiligh had prepared extensive facilities for the summoned heroes—a wing of the Grand Cathedral converted into training grounds, living quarters, and workshops. The students were given the finest equipment, the best instructors, and told they would become humanity's salvation.
Most of them, anyway.
Kura found himself relegated to Workshop Three with Master Galhard, an old smith with calloused hands and a gruff demeanor. While Sakurai and the other combat students trained with swords and magic in the main courtyard, Kura learned to forge basic weapons and use his Transmutation ability to alter material properties.
"Your class isn't weak," Galhard told him on the first day, examining a practice blade Kura had made. "It's specialized. A master Synergist can create artifacts that turn battles, weapons that legendary heroes wield. But it takes time, practice, and most of all, understanding."
"But I can't fight," Kura said quietly.
"Not every hero swings a sword, boy. Some of us forge them."
It was meant to be encouraging. It mostly just reminded Kura of his limitations.
The training schedule was grueling. Combat students spent mornings practicing techniques, afternoons running combat scenarios, evenings studying tactics. They leveled up quickly—by the end of week one, Sakurai had hit level 5. Fujimoto was level 4. Even Daisuke had reached level 3.
Kura remained level 1.
Synergists, apparently, didn't gain experience from crafting basic items. They needed to create something significant, something that pushed their abilities. Master Galhard kept telling him to be patient, but patience was hard when he watched his classmates grow stronger every day while he stayed stagnant.
The social hierarchy from school had reasserted itself almost immediately. Sakurai naturally became the leader of the combat students, with Fujimoto as his strategist and Shirayuki as their healer. They formed the core of what everyone started calling "the main party."
Yamamoto Ren, the Dragoon, became Sakurai's right hand. Kobayashi Hana, the Priestess, was often with Shirayuki, learning healing techniques. Other combat students orbited around them, forming a clear pecking order based on levels and combat performance.
Daisuke trained harder than anyone.
Kura noticed it during the few times he passed by the training grounds. While others took breaks, Daisuke kept going. While others laughed and socialized, Daisuke practiced forms with an intensity that bordered on obsessive. His Berserker class meant he got stronger through battle and through pushing his body past its limits.
It was paying off. By week two, Daisuke had reached level 4, putting him solidly in the upper-mid tier of students. Not Sakurai or Fujimoto's level, but respectable. Strong enough to matter.
And Kura noticed something else: Daisuke was always aware of where Shirayuki was.
Not obviously. Not in a way anyone else would notice. But Kura, relegated to the sidelines, had lots of time to observe. And he saw how Daisuke's eyes tracked Shirayuki across the courtyard. How he timed his training to be visible when she passed by. How his expression shifted whenever she smiled at someone.
It was during week two that things started to crystallize.
Kura was in the courtyard, delivering repaired equipment to Commander Melia, when he saw it happen.
Daisuke had just finished a particularly impressive training bout—he'd taken on two opponents simultaneously and won, his Berserker rage allowing him to push through injuries that would have stopped others. He was breathing hard, covered in sweat, but grinning with satisfaction.
Shirayuki was nearby with Kobayashi, watching the training. She noticed Daisuke's performance and walked over.
"That was amazing, Daisuke-kun," she said warmly. "You've improved so much. Your dedication is really inspiring."
Daisuke's face lit up. This was it—the acknowledgment he'd been working for. "Thank you, Shirayuki-san. I've been training hard to—"
"Tomohiro-kun!"
Shirayuki had spotted Kura across the courtyard. She excused herself from Daisuke and walked over, leaving him mid-sentence.
"I'm so glad I caught you," she said to Kura with that same warm smile. "My staff got damaged during practice yesterday. Master Galhard said you've been learning repair work. Would you be able to fix it?"
"Oh, um, yes. I can take a look."
"You're a lifesaver." She touched his arm briefly, gratefully. "I don't know what we'd do without you taking care of our equipment. You're so reliable."
She handed him her staff—an ornate piece enchanted with healing magic—and smiled again before returning to Kobayashi.
Kura stood there holding the staff, feeling awkward and visible in a way he wasn't used to.
And across the courtyard, he saw Daisuke.
Daisuke was staring at them. His face had gone from elated to carefully blank, but his eyes... his eyes held something dark. He watched Shirayuki walk away, watched her glance back at Kura with a grateful expression, and his jaw clenched so tight the muscles stood out.
Then Daisuke turned and went back to training, attacking the practice dummy with renewed fury.
Kura carried the staff back to the workshop, unable to shake the feeling of those eyes on his back.
* * *
Later that week, Kura found himself eating lunch alone in one of the cathedral's quieter gardens. Most students ate together in the main hall, but Kura had taken to finding isolated spots. Old habits.
"Tomohiro."
He looked up to find Nakamura approaching with a tray. "Mind if I sit?"
"Go ahead."
Nakamura settled down with a sigh of relief. "Man, alchemy training is exhausting. I spent all morning learning to extract essences from magical plants. My hands smell like sulfur."
"At least you're leveling up," Kura said. Nakamura had hit level 2 last week.
"Barely. And trust me, being level 2 when Sakurai's group is level 6 and 7 doesn't feel like much." Nakamura took a bite of his food. "Though I guess it's better than..." He trailed off.
"Better than being level 1?"
"I wasn't going to say it like that."
"It's fine. It's true." Kura picked at his lunch. "I'm the weakest person here. Even among the support classes."
"You're not weak, you're just—"
"Useless in combat. Can't level up. Can only make things for other people to use." Kura set down his fork. "I've made peace with it."
Nakamura was quiet for a moment. "Have you noticed Daisuke lately?"
"What about him?"
"He's been... intense. More than usual. He nearly broke Yamamoto's arm during sparring yesterday. Commander Melia had to pull him off."
Kura remembered Daisuke's expression in the courtyard. "His class is Berserker. Isn't that kind of the point?"
"Yeah, but it's more than that. It's like he's angry at something all the time." Nakamura paused. "And I've seen him watching you."
"Watching me?"
"When Shirayuki talks to you. He gets this look." Nakamura shook his head. "Maybe I'm imagining it. But be careful around him, okay?"
"Daisuke and I barely interact."
"Exactly. And maybe keep it that way."
That evening, Kura was working late in the workshop, trying to repair Shirayuki's staff. The damage was more complex than he'd initially thought—the magical channels had fractured, requiring delicate work to realign them properly.
He was deep in concentration when the workshop door opened.
Daisuke stood in the doorway.
"Oh. Daisuke," Kura said, straightening up. "Did you need something?"
Daisuke walked in slowly, looking around the workshop. "Just curious what you do in here all day while the rest of us train."
There was something in his tone. Not quite hostile, but not friendly either.
"Repair work, mostly. Some crafting." Kura gestured at the staff. "Shirayuki's staff got damaged."
"Right. Shirayuki." Daisuke picked up one of Kura's practice blades, examining it. "She talks to you a lot."
"She's just being nice. She's nice to everyone."
"Is she?" Daisuke set the blade down. "Funny. She barely acknowledges I exist. But you—you get conversations. You get smiles. You get her touching your arm and calling you reliable."
So he had noticed. Kura chose his words carefully. "I just do repair work. That's all."
"You do repair work," Daisuke repeated. "You can't fight. You can't level up. You can't do anything useful in the actual war we're supposed to be fighting. But somehow, you're the one she notices."
"Daisuke—"
"I'm level 4 now," Daisuke continued. "I've been training every day until I can barely stand. I've pushed myself harder than anyone except maybe Sakurai. And what do I get? 'Good job, Daisuke-kun. Your dedication is inspiring.' Before she walks away to talk to the guy who makes her stuff."
"I don't ask for her attention."
"No, you don't have to, do you?" Daisuke's voice was level, but there was something coiled beneath it. "You just exist, and somehow that's enough. Meanwhile, people like me have to fight for every scrap of recognition."
He moved toward the door, then paused. "You know what's funny? Back in our world, we were the same. Both invisible. Both nothing. But here, I actually have a chance to be someone. To be strong. To matter."
He looked back at Kura. "So it's really annoying that the one person I want to notice me keeps paying attention to someone who's still nothing."
Daisuke left, the door closing behind him.
Kura stood in the workshop for a long time, Shirayuki's staff in his hands, his heart beating faster than it should.
That wasn't a friendly conversation.
That was a warning.