Time slipped quietly into the night by the time Smith finally returned home.
Michael was still in the training room, sitting cross-legged, breath steady but face drawn with exhaustion. Smith paused at the doorway.
"Still training? How's it going?"
"Well…" Michael rubbed his wrist. "I discovered a second energy type."
Smith blinked. "…Seriously? You're not joking?"
"No. Why would I?"
Smith approached slowly, inspecting the faint burn mark on Michael's palm. His expression shifted—concern, disbelief, annoyance all mixing at once.
"Michael," he said finally, voice flat, "you… are really stupid, aren't you?"
"Huh? What—"
"No, forget it. It's actually my fault. I didn't teach you this part." He sighed deeply. "But what you tried was dangerous."
Michael frowned. "Why? What happened exactly?"
"You forced two different forces to occupy the same space. Of course they clashed." He tapped Michael's palm. "Your new core tried forming where your green one already is. The stronger one pushed the weaker. And because you were thinking about channeling energy into your sword, everything rushed to your hand and burst out."
"So how do I control it?"
"Sit," Smith said. "I'll guide you."
The two sat cross-legged.
"Since the energies resist each other, balance them. Don't force—move them around each other."
Michael closed his eyes. Immediately the two energies clashed, sparks of pain shooting up his spine—but he held them. Slowly, he guided them.
He felt their difference clearly.
The new energy was dense, steady, unmoving.
The green flowed naturally around it.
Like a planet orbiting a star.
"…This is easier," Michael muttered. "If I let the new one stay still and let green rotate…"
He tried spinning the new core to accumulate energy—but it barely increased.
"It's too slow…"
"That's the wrong gathering technique," Smith said. "Every type has its own method. Yours is a 90-degree rotation. Mine is 180. This one? Only you can figure it out."
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
Smith stared blankly. "…Because you were too weak for it to matter."
"You seriously—"
"Yep. Now keep training."
He stood, turned, and left the room with a lazy wave—like a man clocking out of a long day.
---
Hours passed.
After countless failed rotations, Michael found a pattern that pushed the speed to 200 rpm—but it always crashed back down to 20, forcing him to stop.
Exhausted, he collapsed into bed.
Thirty-one percent…
Finally.
If I keep going… I can become a Guardian.
Meanwhile, in his room, Smith lay staring at the ceiling.
For the new energy to dominate the green… it must be a rare type.
He always had talent.
He just lacked the energy to match it.
But now…
Now he can grow.
---
Days passed.
Clack.
Clack.
Clack.
Wooden swords struck again and again.
Smith parried every strike with ease, eventually knocking Michael on the head with the blunt end.
"There. I win."
"Did you really have to hit my head?"
"Yes. So you understand that you're weak."
"…So you're knocking into my head… that you're stronger?"
"Exactly."
"…You're impossible."
Smith ignored him. "Don't use your new energy yet—it'll overwhelm you. Your thought acceleration is enough for now."
"Oh—right. I have something for you." Smith handed him a sheathed sword.
"You're… giving me this?"
"You'll be fighting monsters soon. You need a weapon."
"Won't you need it?"
Smith gave him a look like the question offended him. "Why would I need that? I'm not weak like you."
Michael sighed as Smith laughed.
He unsheathed it—thin white blade, black handle. Balanced perfectly.
Smith checked his phone. "He's here."
"What?! Why didn't you tell me it was today?!"
"You need to be ready for anything."
"That doesn't mean—ugh."
Smith left the room, and moments later returned with a tall, muscular man—clean black hair, sharp green eyes.
"This is Warren Greystone," Smith said. "B-rank Guardian."
Warren eyed Michael. "Kid doesn't look like much."
"He'll surprise you," Smith replied.
"You think he can beat me?"
"That depends on him."
---
They stepped onto the platform.
"You're B-rank, huh?" Michael said. "So your skill makes up the difference."
"In theory," Warren said. "But the gap between ranks is huge."
He raised his hand.
"Weapon manifest."
A green spear formed instantly.
Narration (Weapon manifestation explanation):
Weapon manifestation is a combat technique that creates a perfect weapon from one's energy. It requires a lot of energy, so few learn it. Anyone who can do it is praised.
---
Smith raised a hand.
"Begin."
His hand dropped.
Michael activated thought acceleration and sprinted forward. Warren struck instantly—the spear tip shot toward Michael's face.
Michael dodged by a hair, swinging his sword toward Warren's side. Warren pulled the spear back smoothly and blocked, then immediately swung downward in a heavy arc.
Michael blocked.
Warren shifted his grip—fast—and struck again. Michael realized what happened only as the spear tip nearly reached him.
He spun, using the momentum to redirect the attack and counter.
Their weapons clashed sharply.
Warren narrowed his eyes.
This kid… he has technique.
But his energy is too low.
---
Michael backed away, breathing hard.
I need more speed…
He closed his eyes briefly—not long enough to fully shift states, but long enough to center his mind. The new energy pulsed inside him, faint but sharp.
Smith shouted, "Why would you close your eyes during a fight?! Are you stupid?!"
Michael ignored him.
He opened his eyes—
—and saw Warren's arm snap forward.
The spear left Warren's hand the instant Michael's eyes opened, slicing through the air in a clean, deadly line.
Move—
Michael twisted his body sharply.
The spear shot past his cheek—so close the wind stung his skin—and embedded itself into the wall with a heavy thunk.
Warren blinked. "…You dodged that?"
Michael tightened his grip, still panting but focused.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I can see better now."