The electric buzz of Alex's selection as an Apex Academy fighter ignited the activity room, a spark that fueled the students still waiting their turn.
His leap from classmate to martial artist, donned in Apex's sleek uniform, was a beacon of possibility, urging those behind him to pour their hearts into the physical tests.
The air crackled with renewed vigor, the scent of sweat and ambition thick under the fluorescent lights. A handful of students rose to the challenge, their performances sharp enough to catch the recruiters' eyes.
Ironclad Academy claimed one, a wiry girl with a fierce punch, but Storm Academy, Frosthaven's pinnacle, remained silent, its representative's gaze unwavering, searching for something extraordinary.
Then Philip stepped forward, his towering frame casting a shadow across the testing floor.
The Storm Academy representative, Nathan Blake, straightened, his eyes narrowing with intent.
He'd done his homework, his presence at Northview High no accident. Philip was his target, a name among instructors as a prodigy of raw power.
The room stilled, recruiters leaning forward, sensing a shift in the day's rhythm.
Philip's performance was a thunderclap. His fists hammered the strength machine, the mercury column surging with each blow—355kg with his left hand, a staggering 403kg with his right.
His punch speed clocked at 5.7 per second, each strike a burst of controlled fury, and his neural response scored a crisp 0.091/m, his movements precise despite his bulk. The numbers painted a picture of a born fighter, a talent teetering on the edge of greatness.
In Frosthaven's martial hierarchy, the mortal realms—Warrior, Warlord, and God of War—each held nine levels, defined by three pillars: punch strength, speed, and neural response.
A 200kg punch marked a first-level Warrior, the baseline for academy recruitment.
Philip's 403kg right-hand punch vaulted him to third-level Warrior standards, a feat unmatched at Northview.
Though his speed and reflexes hadn't yet reached that tier, his potential was undeniable—a fighter who could leapfrog his peers with training.
The recruiters knew it, their eyes alight with competition.
Ironclad and Apex representatives nearly came to blows, their voices rising in a heated bid for Philip. But Nathan Blake, calm and assured, sealed the deal.
"Storm Academy," Philip declared, his voice booming with pride, choosing the city's elite.
The room erupted in murmurs, a second top-tier signing in one day. Philip's grin was infectious, his future secured, a beacon for those still dreaming.
The tests resumed, but the spark dimmed. No one matched Philip's brilliance, and the recruiters' enthusiasm waned.
As the final student's name loomed, many began packing their notes, their glances cursory, ready to leave Northview behind.
David, the last to test, felt the weight of their indifference, but his heart burned with a quiet fire.
This was his moment, the culmination of his reborn life, his chance to defy Alex's sneers and claim his place.
Alex, seated beside Liam Carter, Apex Academy's representative, leaned in, his voice low and venomous.
"Brother Liam, this guy's got a grudge with me. His scores might pass for a small gym, but I want him crushed. Make sure he's left with nothing."
Liam, a seasoned recruiter with ties to Thomas Ward, nodded, his expression impassive. Thomas, an Apex official and friend of Alex's father, a base city official, had vouched for Alex. "Easy enough," Liam said. "Just another kid with a spark. If a minor gym takes him, I'll lean on them. Apex's name carries weight—no one'll cross us."
"Done!" Alex said, his smile sharp. "Thanks, Brother Liam. Anything you need in the academy, I'm your guy." His gaze locked on David, smug certainty in his eyes. No matter how David performed, his fate, Alex thought, was sealed.
"David, start testing the boxing strength," the invigilator called, voice cutting through the room's hum.
David stepped to the machine, its rubber mat scarred from countless blows, the mercury column glinting like a challenge.
"Three days of mental power training have sharpened my body," he thought, his pulse steady but eager.
"I don't know how far I've come, but now's the test."
In his past life, his punches had barely cleared 200kg—230kg at best with his right hand. Today, he felt different, his spiritual power a silent force within.
He drew a deep breath, his left fist surging forward, striking with a resonant hum.
The mercury column shot upward, faster than any before, drawing gasps from the recruiters. Their casual glances sharpened, pens pausing mid-air. The screen flashed: "298kg!"
"Whoa!" a Blue Horizon Academy representative exclaimed.
"That's a keeper, left-handed or not. Blue Horizon wants him!"
David's heart leapt, but he tuned out the noise, focusing inward.
Blue Horizon, a mid-tier academy, had been his home in his past life, a decent but unremarkable path.
Today, he aimed higher. The Ironclad representative, voice sharp, cut in: "Hold off, Blue Horizon. I checked his file—he's not left-handed. Ironclad's open to one more."
Alex's face darkened, his fists clenching. "How'd he get so strong?" he muttered.
"He was nothing compared to me before." Liam Carter's eyes flickered, a hint of interest betraying his promise to Alex.
David summoned his strength, his right fist a blur as it struck. The machine shuddered, the screen blazing: "368kg!"
The room erupted, recruiters scrambling, phones already in hand.
The score, second only to Philip's, marked David as a standout, a potential third-level Warrior.
Blue Horizon, Galeheart, and smaller gyms buzzed with excitement, while Ironclad's representative dialed his superior, voice urgent. Even Storm's Nathan leaned forward, his calm facade cracking. Only Liam, torn between duty and ambition, hesitated, glancing at Alex's scowl.
The invigilator, momentarily stunned, recovered. "Boxing strength test complete. Start testing punch speed, David. One second, full speed, no holding back."
David nodded, a spark of joy igniting within.
His spiritual power had transformed him, amplifying his strength, but speed and reflexes were his true edge. He faced the target, fists flashing—left, right, left, right—in a relentless storm. The machine roared: "266kg, 311kg, 251kg, 309kg, 255kg, 320kg, 267kg!"
"Test complete, 7.6 punches per second, all effective!" the invigilator announced, voice tinged with awe.
The recruiters surged, their restraint crumbling.
David's speed outstripped Philip's, his agility a rare gift.
Phones lit up, voices overlapping as gyms vied to report the find. Ironclad and Blue Horizon led the charge, but smaller academies saw a chance, their offers ready.
Only Storm and Apex held back—Nathan calculating, Liam wavering under Alex's glare.
"Last test, neural response," the invigilator called. David entered the chamber, its walls sealing with a hiss, infrared emitters glowing ominously.
The test mimicked rifle fire, bullets moving at lethal speed.
Dodging was a fighter's lifeline against mutant beasts—academies didn't train short-lived heroes.
David's past life had seen him falter here, barely dodging, but now his spiritual power sharpened his senses, tracing the beams' paths.
The first red light shot forward. David twisted, the beam grazing his shoulder by millimeters.
A web of lights followed, a deadly dance. He moved with instinct, his body bending, twisting, sometimes catching the beams, sometimes not.
"I can't stand out too much," he thought, caution from his past life tempering his actions.
"My spiritual fighter secret stays hidden—for now."
Yet he wouldn't sabotage himself. Controlled but deliberate, he wove through the storm, balancing brilliance with restraint.
A minute passed, the chamber falling silent.
The results flashed: "Sixty bullets per minute, 33 effective hits, 27 dodges, 50 effective evasive actions, neural response 0.064/m!"
The room exploded. Recruiters leapt from their seats, contracts in hand, surrounding David like a tide. Ironclad's representative waved a tablet, shouting terms.
Blue Horizon's team pushed forward, their offer generous. Galeheart and smaller gyms joined the fray, their voices a cacophony. Nathan's eyes gleamed, his hand on his phone, while Philip, beaming, shouted, "Brother Nathan, that's my buddy! Bring him to Storm!"
Liam stood frozen, Alex's fury burning beside him. David's scores—a near-genius trifecta—shattered their plan. As the recruiters closed in, David stood calm, his heart alight with triumph, ready to choose the path that would redefine his life.