The Halved Testing Chamber
Abel felt utterly wronged. Truly. Surrounded by nothing but weirdos.
“Student Abel. What on earth did you plan to do with this…!”
He'd thought the power measurement test meant using his ability against the professor. But what greeted him upon entering the testing chamber was just a dummy-like device. A flicker of disappointment at first, but then he figured this might be better after all. If he'd really had to go all out against the professor, his body might have instinctively flinched or recoiled. Drawing full power against another person was still tough. That was part of why he'd come to the academy—to overcome it.
“Professor, I'm really innocent here.”
“Innocent?”
“Yes. Didn't you say to hit that device with everything I've got? That I could swing my sword or punch it directly. I just did exactly what you said.”
As soon as the professor's signal dropped, a blue glow enveloped the device. It seemed to measure new students by gauging the rebound force from impacts, and it looked sturdy enough, so Abel drew his sword without worry and swung.
Don't reveal your full strength, Abel.
Kalligo's words from earlier flashed in his mind. Not some plea from a guy who just wanted to lay low. It was sincere advice from one ability user to another, thinking ahead to the future. Flaunt everything here, and sure, he'd make a name for himself at the academy. Bask in the students' attention. But then what? After graduation, he'd be a target for rival nations' ability users keeping tabs. Show too much, and they'd cook up counters—shackling his own ankles.
The academy phase was crucial in an ability user's career, no doubt. But it wasn't everything. Thinking long-term, baring it all here was the act of a cocky rookie—immature, showy, blind to consequences.
What to do? What answer should he give here?
Gripping his sword, drawing it from the sheath. Steadying his breath, thrusting the tip forward. After agonizing deliberations, Abel finally settled into stance, as if resolved.
Whatever. No sandbagging.
Even if it drew excessive scrutiny today. Even if it meant shackles. If he had the confidence to break them eventually, a true ability user charged ahead first.
Conflict resolved, his target sharpened crystal clear. That clarity became his sword path—from above to below, intent on cleaving everything in sight.
He felt it. Instinctively knew. This was a perfect strike.
When was the last time swinging his sword, channeling his ability, had felt this exhilarating? Shivering with that crisp thrill, Abel followed through to the end.
“Student Abel!!”
The problem was, when he sheathed his blade, the device—and the entire testing chamber—had been bisected clean in half.
“Haa…”
Professor Ray pinched the bridge of his nose, eyeing the neatly halved device and the chamber still rumbling as it collapsed. Finally, he spoke.
“Alright, Abel. I'll admit my mistake. I shouldn't have said 'give it your maximum output.' Should've phrased it differently.”
“…”
“So, as your professor and senior, mind if I offer some advice?”
“I'm all ears.”
Thankfully, he wasn't some cocky freshman drunk on his own power. Relieved, Professor Ray continued.
“It's good to give your best, but don't show everything.”
“For the future?”
“Everyone's a fellow student here, but after graduation, you're ability users from rival nations. Might end as competitors—or enemies. Can't give away too much intel.”
In the old days, massive wars were common, with ability user clashes causing heavy casualties. But since the Continental Academy's founding, such ability-led wars had dwindled. Nations' diplomats, wary of catastrophe, had devised this solution. Now they had profiles on foreign ability users, so they weighed costs instinctively. No one wanted to lose precious assets lightly.
Inter-nation disputes still flared, but they rarely escalated to deploying ability users. That was the real reason nations sent their talents here: reveal just enough, hide just enough—for threats, bluffs, talks, and deals all at once.
“I understand what you mean, Professor.”
“Good.”
“That's why I gave my all today—but didn't reveal everything.”
“...What?”
A flicker of annoyance crossed Professor Ray's face, vanishing quickly. He wondered if the kid was lying to his face, but with over a decade as an ability user and educator, he could tell truth from bluff.
“Is that true?”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Hm.”
Sure enough, no sign of fatigue. Too composed for someone hiding exhaustion—no tremor, nothing. He had Physical Enhancement, but this kid was... different.
“Abel Rothschild. You'll get top marks from me.”
“Thank you!”
“But the wary stares and hazing ahead? You'll handle them alone. You know the rules: training spars between students are fine, but serious harm is forbidden. Break it, and it's not just expulsion.”
Abel affirmed again, and Professor Ray recorded his score without further comment, as if dropping the matter.
“More than that, this is awkward.”
“Is it because I wrecked the chamber? Does that fall on you?”
“Not entirely my fault, but that's not the issue. With the chamber like this, the waiting students are the problem.”
Abel shot up his hand, brimming with confidence. “I'll stand in for the device. I've trained my body rigorously since childhood for Ability Awakening, so I'm plenty tough—”
“Student Abel.”
“Yes, Professor?”
“Go stand quietly in line and leave.”
Are all kids these days like this? We're not even twenty years apart—how'd it come to this? Muttering about incomprehensible youth, Professor Ray had no choice but to contact the principal directly about this fiasco.
Senior—no, the principal's face is gonna crumple again.
Abilities were such immense powers that incidents at the Continental Academy always spiraled outlandishly. Even with precautions, injuries piled up yearly; worst cases, fatalities. The latter were rare, thanks to resident healers.
Rummaging his drawer, Professor Ray grabbed the emergency contingency he'd hoped never to use. Then, stepping past the freshmen at the chamber entrance, he addressed the murmuring crowd.
“Attention, everyone. Those scheduled for power measurement in Chamber 3 today—move to Chamber 5 immediately. Next events await, so hustle.”
“Professor! Was that rumble just now—?”
“What happened inside?”
Professors never blabbed academy incidents to students. Not out of secrecy, but because hotheaded kids might get competitive and try recreating them. Guaranteed: mention bisecting the chamber, and some idiot would boast they'd do it too.
“Device malfunction. Nothing major—cut the chatter and move.”
“Aren't academy chambers super sturdy? Devices too!”
“A senior told me incidents like this are almost unheard of in power tests!”
“Enough! Move! Ignoring your professor?”
Under the firm tone, students finally dropped their questions and followed. But silence didn't mean curiosity died. Whispers spread as they probed the mystery.
And amid them shone a particularly brilliant star.
“What do you think, Irshu?”
“Same as you, Tarshu.”
Snow-white hair like fresh powder, silver eyes gleaming. Even stranger: identical looks, like facing a mirror. Always inseparable, as if one being split in two. The twin sisters from the Winter Duchy—enrolled together at the academy, now queued for power measurement at Chamber 3.
“An incredibly powerful aura.”
“A supremely mighty presence.”
“Surpassing any northern powerhouse.”
“Greater than winter's fiercest blizzards.”
From the continent's frozen north—the Winter Duchy, or Nord Duchy—ice and snow wielders. Twins who'd entered the Continental Academy to prove their strength per the north's law of the strongest: Princesses Irshu Scandia and Tarshu Scandia.
“Curious about that man who entered the chamber.”
“The guy who just left—definitely him.”
Names, origins, looks—unknown. But none rivaled Winter Duchy folk at sensing a powerhouse's presence.
Soon, the twins slipped from line, stealthily tailing their target. Like snow leopards stalking prey across the tundra.