The Rigors of Ability Operation Theory
Haim Worhes, a top third-year student renowned for his mastery of ability control, had sustained serious injuries and been rushed to the infirmary.
Flam Phoenix and Portus Sparrow, who had been set to duel that day to settle a month's worth of rivalry, called it off immediately.
Abel Rothschild, the root cause of it all, was already seated the next day, waiting for the professor.
Expecting a warning or reprimand for the student's injury from the duel? Hardly. This was the Continental Academy. A rough world where ability users from every nation clashed daily, dishing out and taking injuries left and right.
In fact, yesterday alone, more than twenty returning students had sparred just to shake off the vacation rust. As long as no one died, it was fine. Healers with treatment abilities were always on standby—no need to worry.
What about malicious bullying? Other ability users weren't idiots; they wouldn't stand by and let someone tarnish the 'honor of ability users.' The rights and social prestige granted to ability users were immense. Tolerating someone who sullied that would be like tying your own noose.
In short, duels weren't the issue. Weakness was. Lack of talent was.
Cruel? The real world was crueler. Here, it was sparring; out there, it was war. If a nation's ability users were weak, enemies could invade with their own leading the charge.
To avert that future, they had to shed blood and sweat right here.
"Welcome, freshmen."
That was why the Continental Academy was infamous for its murderous curriculum intensity.
"I'll be handling your Ability Operation Theory..."
The professor, scanning the lecture hall in a stiff tone, suddenly flinched and paused mid-sentence.
A hulking male student sat front and center, staring up with wide, eager eyes.
In a classroom, this was tolerable; on a dark street at night, he'd have unleashed his ability first. The sheer intimidation was overwhelming. It wasn't just the physique—something only ability users could sense was setting off alarm bells.
"...Ahem. I'm Professor Ben, in charge of Ability Operation Theory."
He called roll. Exchanged brief greetings. Yet those eyes still gleamed relentlessly.
Freshmen always tensed at a rigid professor's entrance, especially when he dove straight into the lecture after a curt intro, deflating their spirits.
Considering that, this guy was something else, thought Professor Ben as he shifted his gaze elsewhere.
Finally.
Abel grinned. He was buzzing with anticipation. This was the true start among real ability users.
Now he could fill the gaps he'd never grasped alone. He'd absorb everything this place offered and carve his name as an ability user in this brutal genre where only the strong survived.
"You there, young man. What's your name?"
"Abel Rothschild, Professor."
"Right, Abel. Mind if I ask a favor?"
Was it his passion the professor had noticed? Maybe a quick spar for the first lecture? Abel's eyes burned with eagerness as Professor Ben pointed behind him.
"The students in the back can't see. Could you move?"
His zeal had blinded him to others. Sure enough, four students behind him were craning their necks desperately.
Learning was every student's right. He had no place stealing that—not even as a possessor.
"Of course, Professor!"
Abel shifted to the back. The others sighed in relief as their view cleared.
"Good. Let's resume. You can all control your abilities, but true operational mastery—using them effectively in any situation—is crucial, so..."
Suddenly, Professor Ben halted, sensing a gaze from the rear.
It was that Abel again. Even from back there, the intensity hadn't dimmed. If anything, it had thickened.
Was it pure thirst for knowledge or raw hunger for power? Hard to say. But one thing was clear: instinct told him this freshman's name would be among the hidden dragons of the class. He'd hear it often at faculty meetings ahead.
* * *
"Ughhh..."
It's hard. So hard.
The very first lecture. Her first class as a freshman.
And this difficult already? Seria Frijian clutched her head. Her neatly styled hair fell into disarray, but she had no time to care.
The power measurement results had driven it home: the Continental Academy was too much for her.
She'd known it deep down. From standing before the evaluators. From the moment her ability awakened.
This power wasn't a gift—it was a burden.
She'd given her all to repay those who'd accepted and loved her despite everything. She'd scored decently enough to enter the academy.
But now, experiencing firsthand how unforgiving this place was from day one, her confidence plummeted.
She'd tried to push through. It's just a measurement—it's fine, she'd told herself.
Once real classes started, she'd study hard, train her best—not aiming for top ranks, but mid-tier at least.
But if theory's this tough already, I'm in real trouble...!
Ability Operation Theory. The name alone had felt ominous, and it had rung true.
Your ability's output works like this, branching into operations like that. To Seria, who only knew basic use, it was all incomprehensible.
A glance around only deepened her gloom. Most students showed at least partial understanding.
Falling behind alone crushed her confidence. Her resolve to work hard shrank; the material grew harder.
Seria didn't realize it, but these were scions of influential families from their nations—nobles versed in abilities via family, relatives, or hired experts. Different starting lines meant different paces.
A closer look would show commoner freshmen struggling too. But Seria lacked the spare attention.
...I wonder how Abel's doing.
Thinking of the one who'd cheered her on, she naturally sought him out.
He'd started front row but moved back due to his height—which just highlighted his striking build. Hardly a loss.
Seria knew some girls had glanced his way before class.
"Some say operational level trumps raw output in wielding abilities. From now on, we'll cover precise deployment in split seconds..."
The back row naturally caught less of the professor's presence. Some half-listened; others nodded off, fighting morning drowsiness. A bit chaotic.
Yet Abel scribbled furiously, eyes resolute, determined not to miss a word.
"Alright, any questions so far?"
"Yes, Professor. I have some."
"Good, Abel. What is it?"
"Several, but first..."
He wasn't just note-taking. He grasped the content, questioned the tough parts, probed further—desperate to take something away.
"Ease up already."
A student behind Seria grumbled irritably. He figured the professor wanted a break, but questions were dragging it out.
Seria bristled briefly at him. Ease up? On that amazing display?
"Impressive passion for the lecture, Abel. I'd love to chat more, but it'll cut into break time. Twenty minutes—dismissed."
As Professor Ben left first, then students bolted up in relief, Seria still stared at Abel in the back.
Tall, warm in encouragement, giving his all. Once just a kind person—now, something more.
"...Ah."
Too long? He glanced around, sensing it. Their eyes met dead-on.
Seria startled, dropping her gaze. Heart pounding, cheeks burning—nothing wrong, yet.
He saw? Of course. Staring like that—what'll he say? Please, no...
"Miss Seria."
"Ah, Abel! Um, that is, I..."
Not on purpose! Just happened to look, then couldn't stop. See, it's like—
"Looks like you and I are on the same page."
"...Pardon?"
As she scrambled excuses in her head, Abel spoke first—with baffling words.
"After theory, don't we need some hands-on practice?"
"Eh, yes?"
"Twenty minutes is plenty. Shall we?"
She knew what he meant: test ability control.
Yet somehow, it sounded... different. Dazed, Seria nodded unwittingly.
"Oh, Kalligo. Coming along?"
"Why me?"
"Since Miss Seria's joining."
"What are you waiting for?"
Regrettably, it wouldn't be just the two of them.