Beware the Possessor
“Shall we spar, Senior?”
The moment Abel spoke, Haim barely contained his boiling rage. He never could have imagined it. For words like that to come from a junior's mouth—from a mere freshman, no less!
This arrogant bastard. I was going to let it slide, but...
He wanted to grab the kid by the hair and beat him senseless right then and there. The fool had no idea how much Haim was holding back. He'd never liked punks who disrespected their seniors in the first place, but this one being from the Ascal Kingdom only fueled his hatred even more.
The guy probably thought the world of himself, his pride soaring sky-high. He'd earned a spot in this grueling academy as a freshman, after all. And word was his power was impressive enough to overwhelm even some second-years, so of course he'd strut around with his nose in the air.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself, Junior Abel. That smile says you're having a blast.”
No helping it. He'd have to smash the kid a few times until he begged for mercy. Haim had planned to leave junior-wrangling to the second-years now that he was a third-year, but seeing this made his instincts scream otherwise.
At first, he'd intended to keep it moderate—considering they were from rival kingdoms and all. Talk of Ascal and Ragem royals getting out of hand could put him in a tough spot. If rumors spread that he'd gone overboard on a freshman while everyone else stayed chill, it could torch all the connections he'd built.
But anyone witnessing this would understand his decision. How dare this punk stare straight at a senior like him—a third-year—without a hint of fear, eyes locked and smiling like that.
“To be honest, yes. I'm looking forward to sparring with you, Senior.”
“Good attitude. That's the confidence an ability user needs.”
Having aced the entrance. Having crushed seniors with raw power. Placing third in the power measurement. Maybe it was natural for this Abel kid from Ascal to be so full of himself. Which was exactly why Haim had to teach him the academy's etiquette firsthand—show him why seniors commanded respect.
“The rules are simple. Use abilities within what you can handle. It ends when one surrenders or is clearly incapacitated.”
“Are the other seniors here acting as witnesses?”
“Something like that.”
In truth, they were just spectators eager to watch Haim school this cocky freshman. A warning to the second-years who couldn't even handle orientation properly. But Haim wasn't dumb enough to say it outright.
“How many spars with ability users have you had, Junior Abel?”
“Not many. About five times, I guess.”
“Five, huh. Pretty good for a freshman.”
Is that where his arrogance comes from?
Sparring with ability users was surprisingly rare outside the academy. That's why there was so much to learn here—colliding with others, exchanging blows, growing through it all. Few places offered that chance.
Standing in the outdoor training ground, Haim glared at Abel while loosening up. Disrespectful to a senior. A filthy Ascal noble loathsome to a Ragem Kingdom aristocrat like him. It all piled up, firing him up more than any exam.
“Oh, right—you're a Rothschild, yeah?”
“Yes, Senior.”
“What's your relation to Lumine?”
“She's my big sister.”
“Siblings, got it.”
Haim smirked. Perfect. He'd never liked her anyway. Same year, but he didn't treat her like a peer. To him, Lumine was just a potential enemy ability user from a rival nation once they graduated. And worse, she outranked him academically. An Ascal topping him grated like nothing else.
“One more thing before we start. If you lose this spar, Junior Abel, rethink how you see your seniors. Not just early enrollment—we're better than you in ways that matter.”
“Understood.”
The instant reply, without a shred of hesitation, only soured Haim's mood further. That wasn't boldness; it was pure denial that he could lose. Anyone weighing odds would hedge, plan escapes from bad spots. Abel showed none of that. Even knowing this was about reflecting on his arrogance toward seniors, he stood firm. He truly believed he'd win—against an academy veteran like Haim.
It infuriated him.
“And if you win, Junior Abel...”
“Then spar with me whenever you're free. How's that?”
“...Deal.”
The two stepped back. The witnesses-slash-spectators prepped the signal. Everything fell into place.
“Spar—begin!”
At the call, Haim maxed out his Physical Enhancement in a heartbeat. No mercy for an academy junior. No handicaps just because the kid lacked experience. Nine out of ten would be enemies post-graduation. Ascal and Ragem could never coexist.
This wasn't just a spar. Time to humble the brat. Crush the loathsome Ascal noble. Overwhelm with victory. Gap in seasoned skill. A warning that talent meant nothing alone.
He'd make his name known again from day one. When he returned home after graduation, he wanted to be Ragem's top ability user prospect!
Crunch!
Direct hit.
Abel's head snapped sideways from the Physical Enhancement-fueled strike. A normal ability user would've crumpled, combat-ineffective or knocked out cold.
But Abel didn't fall. Must be his own Physical Enhancement letting him tank it once. Tough hide.
Haim grabbed his throat and drove a knee up.
Thud!
Dull impact echoed as Abel staggered back a few steps. Clean chin shot—his brain should've rattled.
No ability user shrugs off vital hits. The jaw links straight to the skull. Toughness couldn't...
Whoosh!
No way...
This mad bastard.
Another clean hit. Abel wobbled, off-balance. But the scary part? He'd aimed a counter at Haim's crown in that split second. A hair slower, and Haim would've eaten floor instead.
Unfamiliar territory left Haim biting his lip in shock. He'd sparred plenty, seen it all. But no one had tanked two solid headshots like this.
No. Shake it off. Forget the near-miss. I landed blows. He's reeling. He won't last.
Victory chant in his head, Haim unleashed another haymaker—to the gut. After two head shots, instinct would guard there. Reflexes kicked in to protect hit zones. Hard-earned wisdom from countless spars.
Direct hit again!
Fist sank into flesh. Liver shot—he'd crumple in agony soon. Ability users resisted briefly, but damage beyond limits forced submission.
How's that taste? Academy senior power. Think talent's enough? Experience builds scenarios. How to move, strike, subdue. Seniors knew it all.
Best not strut here. Spars turned real outside—finishing blows on the downed.
“Impressive. You're on another level, Senior.”
What?
“My sister said it: seniors are seniors for a reason. Not just the Physical Enhancement—the storm of strikes. It'll help my growth. Thanks.”
The hits landed. Damage dealt. That pained grimace proved it.
So why wouldn't this freshman drop? Why was his smile deepening through the obvious pain!
Know what's scarier? Not mockery. Genuine joy. Truly grateful. Turning near-lethal blows into lessons—and loving it!
“Hey, Junior.”
He didn't want to ask. But instinct won. Needed confirmation he wasn't wrong.
“My hits aren't landing?”
“No, they landed clean.”
“Then why...”
“I tanked them. I'm tougher than I look—and good at enduring.”
Now it's my turn. You've shown me yours; I'll give it my all.
As Abel drew his sword and advanced, Haim bit his lip until it bled. Key ability user trait: read the opponent.
Today, he'd failed for the first time.
* * *
“So, we settling the month's pecking order with this spar? You in?”
Flam extended his hand. Not a handshake—a binding spar pact. Grasp it, and your abilities etched an unbreakable vow. Or so they claimed; really, it was pride on the line.
“Obviously. You better shut up for the month after we settle this today.”
Portus took it.
Done. This spar decided the month.
And next month? Spar again, reclimb the ladder.
Simple.
“Alright, let's start right—”
But fate said no. No settling today.
Boom!
Rumble...
“Wh-what the hell! You sneaky bastard—ambush attack?!”
“Bullshit! I didn't even use my ability!”
Then what was—
Dust cleared, revealing the scene beyond the wall. Massive Haim flat out cold, disproportionate to his build. Silent third-years. And up front, Abel waving casually.
“Hey. You guys here to spar too?”
“Uh? Y-yeah.”
“Right?”
Reflex reply hit before the weirdness sank in. Was now the time for chill greetings?