The morning in Solara City was bright, and the air carried a pleasant scent of pine. A light, salty, mineral accent mingled with it, a fragrance created by the nearby mountains and typical for this city. Traffic was in full swing at this time of day: pedestrians heading to work, heavily traveled streets. In Aquilara, the land of eagles and mountains, it was still customary to send mail, packages, and letters by birds, so even the sky was not spared from the morning bustle.
Darek and Ben trudged to school, exhausted after days of intense training. It was clear that the past few days had taken a toll on them. Their backs were slightly bent, and their gazes radiated anything but motivation.
Ben was physically and mentally drained, while Darek suffered more spiritually. The past three days of intensive training had helped him physically—his body felt stronger, more muscular, even a few centimeters taller—but if he weren't so downcast, the changes would have been much more noticeable.
"I think at this point I prefer school to these damn push-ups," Ben gasped, wiping sweat from his forehead.
Darek exhaled and shook his head. "And I thought my legs were done for… but my soul is screaming even louder than my body."
"Spiritually? Great, I can at least be jealous," Ben muttered, half laughing, half whining.
"Stop complaining," Darek replied dryly. "If you knew how hard the past three days were… I mean, my limit doubled. Two to four hours!"
"Yeah, great," grumbled Ben. "I think my brain just checked out. And you're over here showing off your 'deeper Soulbound understanding.' Congrats, man."
≋⟡≋
In the schoolyard, Lieutenant Carris greeted the students. The moment they saw Mr. Markes, they instinctively froze, without a word needing to be said. The mere presence of the man stifled any movement.
Carris stepped forward and began the test. Darek was assigned to the tournament "Front Supporter vs. Front Supporter." Nervousness tingled in him, yet inwardly he knew: the exhausting three days had qualitatively changed his abilities; he was better prepared than ever before.
He thought back to his first days of training. Back then, I was the one who gave up the fastest. Now… I feel like I finally understand something—not about strength, but about myself… I just love sleeping.
Carris explained the structure: "Among the Front Supporters, we have 16 of 20 participants today; four are absent. There will be four rounds: 16 in the first, 8 in the second, 4 in the semifinals, and 2 in the finals."
Darek felt his heart race. His plan was already clear: I need to win the first two rounds. Then lose in the semifinals. After that, the battle for third place awaits—which I must win. Win, win, lose, win—that's the plan.
He took a deep breath. With my recovery ability, I have a clear advantage, especially in long fights. While others burn out, I can give it my all again. That's exactly how I'll secure the free pass and finally rest. Body and soul crave recovery, but every fight still must be strategically calculated.
The training had truly paid off. The red dust had become denser and more voluminous. It seemed to absorb part of Darek's fatigue and consume the rest to strengthen itself and Darek's resonance. Darek had also discovered that his intentions influenced the dust. If he wished for tiredness, the dust would take on that quality. The more complex or heavier the wish, the weaker the effect, but fatigue or blindness worked reliably, as did fear, like with the muscle brute.
My wish that the muscle brute would feel fear was probably a kind of symbolic justice, he thought. Those who intimidated or laughed at others should at least once feel the insecurity they imposed on others.
His passive abilities had shown the least progress so far, but that didn't mean Darek hadn't made progress; even small steps counted.
≋⟡≋
Lieutenant Carris called the participants for the matches one by one. Darek appeared slightly inattentive, until for the third match he suddenly heard his own name: "Face Darek!"
He hadn't even caught the name of his opponent. Hastily, he brought his thoughts back to reality. Both gathered on the marked section of the sports field. His opponent was a slender young man, a few years older—probably a year above Darek. Blonde-dyed hair fell over his part, almost covering his eyes.
Lieutenant Carris stepped forward, observing both with a serious gaze, and explained the rules of the match.
"Since we are not a school designed for Soulbounds, we lack sparring equipment and combat tools. Today, all of that is a luxury. In a real fight, you wear nothing anyway—the most important thing is always with you: your Soulbound. Four minutes, one-on-one, until one gives up or becomes unable to fight."
Somehow I'm really motivated, I can't wait to get this sleep ticket in my hands! I'm going in for close combat. Ranged combat isn't my thing, and honestly… I have nothing to offer there, plus we are both Front Supporters… so he probably won't be too strong either.
The fight began. Darek immediately called his Soulbound and shouted with a firm, confident voice:
"Let's show what we've got!"
With the pillow in hand, Darek sprinted at him—a sight that probably looked rather comical to outsiders. Meanwhile, Carris took notes and shook his head slightly.
The blonde boy threw his hair aside, revealing his eyes, and at the same moment drew a matte gray Glock 17. Three precise shots flew toward Darek. Darek's eyes widened: bullets whizzed past his head to the right and left. More shots followed. Some students laughed:
"Ha, ha, he comes to a shootout with a pillow!" one shouted.
Darek rolled away and yelled:
"Ahh shit, and doesn't anyone wonder that…"
A bullet hit his shoulder, a loud beep sounded, and everything blurred for a moment.
The blonde boy laughed maliciously:
"Ha, ha! That's my Soulbound! Once a bullet hits you, you can't hurt, insult, or laugh at me!"
Slowly, Darek came to his senses. His sentence ended: "…that he has a weapon in school. Yes, even in his hand!"
The pillow began to excrete red dust from Darek's body. Darek grinned widely, almost frighteningly, and laughed in a disturbing way. He walked slowly toward his opponent while the boy emptied the magazine. Some bullets hit Darek, but the pillow absorbed the negative effects. With each hit, more red dust flowed until the magazine was empty and Darek stood before him.
Darek looked at him, eyes firm, and said simply:
"This ticket will be mine."
The blonde boy quickly reloaded, and the entire magazine fired a merciless volley.
Bullets tore at Darek's uniform, hitting his shoulder and side, but the pillow absorbed the shocks. With each hit, the red dust flared, denser and heavier, until the smoke almost glowed.
Darek lunged forward, the dust swirling behind him like a fiery tail. He took another step. Then another, as bullets struck him.
When the last projectile had fallen silent, he stood directly in front of the blonde. The boy reacted quickly. His eyes flashed briefly, a sign Darek immediately understood.
Passive activation. He absorbs his Soulbound into himself.
A gray shimmer spread across the opponent's skin. Muscles tensed, stance became firmer.
Darek clumsily swung a punch. As it hit the blonde boy, he blocked it by crossing his forearms in front of his face. With his subtly enhanced physical abilities, he actually managed to stop the strike. Even before Darek retracted his hand, the boy looked at him with a peculiar gaze and a slight smile, saying:
"Sleep."
Red dust emanated from the pillow in Darek's left hand, causing the blonde boy to fall asleep. Lieutenant Carris nodded in satisfaction and said loudly:
"Technical KO victory for Darek! Your advancement to the next round is confirmed."
That was… too easy, thought Darek. Either I need to get stronger—or they need to get more inattentive.
≋⟡≋
"Before we continue, the blonde responded excellently. As soon as he realized close combat was inevitable, he passively activated his Soulbound and strengthened his physical abilities. His skin appeared tougher, his muscles firmer. A subtle but effective adjustment. This is called tactical intelligence. Remember that. Even if you lose a fight, you can learn a lot from such observation. What else did you notice?"
Carris coughed, surveying the class. The students exchanged uncertain glances; no one knew what to say. Some shared nervous looks, others unconsciously rubbed their necks or hands. Even Ben seemed unsure for a moment, while Darek's heart still raced from the first fight.
Carris cleared his throat and lowered his voice slightly, drawing everyone's attention. Then he explained the most important rule: Darek's greatest mistake—and something they should never forget: Locate – Analyze – Assess.
Locate and what?
"First, you see your opponent's weapon—where it is, how he wields it, where the danger comes from. Then analyze it: How does he use it? Where is his strength, where his weakness? And finally—assess it! Estimate its true power. Never forget: whoever understands the opponent's weapon controls the fight before it even begins. Remember and burn it into your minds: Locate. Analyze. Assess."
He's right. I was far too overconfident and underestimated him. Had I not been able to neutralize negative effects, I would have lost in the first second. Who knows what the next opponents will bring…
Darek felt his pulse calm as the words resonated within him. I must never react blindly like that again, he muttered inwardly. His eyes narrowed, shoulders tensed.
The other students nodded hesitantly, some muttered agreement, while Carris' gaze swept over each individually. The lesson was clear and at the same time a warning: who understands the weapons of their opponents can control any fight, even before it begins.
This time I was lucky, but next time I won't take it so lightly. I already pity my next opponent—this poor soul.
≋⟡≋
The sun hung low over the sports field, bathing sand and stone in red light. The audience was still energized from the previous fight when Lieutenant Carris raised his hand and called the next name in a strong voice:
"JORAN! THE LUCKY ONE! The man who challenges fate itself!"
Wa… what? Joran? The Lucky One?! thought Darek, horrified. Great. I absolutely don't want to face him. But hey, there are six other participants. Maybe I get lucky… at least once.
A murmur spread through the crowd, then cheers, whistles, and shouts—not out of mockery, but pure anticipation. Everyone knew him. Everyone had heard stories of the impossible matches he decided with a single dice roll.
Slowly, Joran stepped into the ring. He moved as if the stage belonged only to him, with a casual grin and the die spinning effortlessly between his fingers. His ice-blue eyes sparkled beneath dark hair, and though he showed hardly any effort, the tension was palpable, like a storm hidden behind his calm demeanor.
He stopped in the middle of the arena, tossed the die once in the air, and caught it again. Without looking, he extended his fist toward the audience and slowly opened it. The die showed a 1.
The crowd exploded.
"The Lucky One!" they shouted in unison, while Joran merely shrugged his shoulders as if it were nothing special. But everyone knew: when he stood in the ring, there was only one thing—anything could happen.
As the cheers for Joran subsided, Lieutenant Carris raised his voice again:
"And his opponent is… DAREK!"
Darek stepped forward, shoulders relaxed, glanced briefly at the sports field, and grinned mischievously. "Well, who would've thought—looks like it's my lucky day."