Whoooosh—
Silence blanketed the training ground, broken only by the dust swirling from the intense shockwave.
"..."
Not only the instructors, but even the cadets who had been goofing off from boredom stood speechless, mouths agape.
At the epicenter of the dust cloud stood Do-yoon, his straight punch extended in a flawless stance, utterly unshaken.
"...Impressive."
A single voice echoed across the training ground. It wasn't the testing instructor, but the Dean up on the platform.
Scattered around Do-yoon were the shattered remnants of the iron plates. Not a trace of blue remained—every piece gleamed a vivid red.
The Dean gazed at those fragments.
'How many years has it been since one of these iron plates was smashed to pieces...?'
At least twenty years, easily. Not once had it happened during his tenure as Dean. He'd have to dig through the records to find out.
"D-Did he really just break it?"
"That thing looked kinda soft, though. Maybe it was weak?"
"You haven't tried punching it yourself, dumbass. The moment you hit it, your power just drains right out."
"Human? Is that a human? How could a human...?"
A fresh wave of murmurs rippled through the cadets.
"Quiet! Settle down!"
The instructors tried to calm them, but this uproar wouldn't be quelled so easily.
Do-yoon's punch had been perfection incarnate—devastating in its execution.
The cadets lacked the insight to grasp the profound depth and nobility infused in that fist. Yet the Fist Emperor's technique was more than enough to stir awe in their hearts.
The close-combat instructor, in particular, couldn't snap out of his shock.
'How in the world...?'
His mind was a whirlwind of chaos.
He was skilled enough to recognize much of that fist art.
The ultimate exaltation of bodily potential made his own frame tremble. The fact that someone who could unleash such flawless technique was just a fresh-faced Apostle in his early twenties—it moved him to his core with the sheer overwhelming talent on display.
But he couldn't savor that rapture for long. Something was far too off.
'How on earth did that cadet... use the Holy King's fist art...?'
Holy King.
The king of the Labyrinth Kingdom and, alongside the Lion King, one of the Alliance's top powerhouses.
This instructor had witnessed the Holy King's fist just once, on the battlefield. The straight punch Do-yoon had just thrown was uncannily similar.
No mistake about it.
That wind pressure from the fist had reshaped the battlefield's terrain—a destructive force that was the most thrilling sight of his life as a fighter, etched vividly into his memory.
The sensation, the thrill—he felt it again from this cadet's fist.
No, this punch was even more ruinous, domineering, and exalted, surpassing the original in everything but raw power. It was as if the Holy King had been imitating this cadet.
Ridiculous even to his own ears, but that's exactly how it felt.
"What do we do? This cohort's close-combat class is gonna be insane..."
"Instructor Kang's got it made..."
The instructors on either side buzzed excitedly about the parade of close-combat prodigies, but he couldn't hear them.
His mind was far too chaotic.
Then, a dazed mutter rang out across the training ground.
"No way... He definitely had a Mana Handicap...?"
The sharp senses of a few instructors zeroed in on the archery instructor.
"What!? What do you mean by that?!"
"Mana Handicap?!"
The commotion exploded even larger this time—not from the cadets, but the instructors themselves.
The archery instructor flinched at the sudden reactions, struggling to respond.
"Y-Yeah? I mean, it was definitely..."
"That kid has a Mana Handicap?"
"You're saying that destructive power came from pure physical strength, no mana? From a first-week Cradle cadet?"
"That's impossible!"
Some instructors even stormed the testing area, swarming Do-yoon. They were all top-tier talent scouts sponsored by major guilds.
Each poured mana into Do-yoon's body to check, then clicked their tongues in amazement.
"It's true! Mana Handicap! His channels are completely blocked!"
"Name... Han Do-yoon? Think carefully, Cadet Do-yoon. Do you know the cause of your Mana Handicap? Back in your original world, did you go through any major mana-related incident as a kid?"
"Our guild can cure you! Our guild..."
"Might be a dimensional sanctity issue. Hey, where's your home dimension from? Huh?"
Confirming the Mana Handicap sent them into a frenzy of cheers and despair, spittle flying as they pressed Do-yoon relentlessly.
This cadet having a Mana Handicap implied two things.
'Talent like this with a Mana Handicap? No way! Please!'
'This level without mana? An unprecedented genius in history! Fix it, and jackpot!'
Some hounded him about odd childhood experiences. Others slapped hands on his back, sweat beading as they diagnosed his condition.
Mana Handicaps varied—some treatable, some not. It was a critical issue for them.
Do-yoon tried to speak, but questions drowned him out. The onslaught continued until he furrowed his brow.
Then, a thunderous voice shook the earth.
"Enough!"
The profound mana laced into the shout battered their eardrums, sending cadets clutching their ears.
All eyes turned to the platform.
"All instructors except the testing instructor, return to your positions. Bring spare iron plates and resume the test."
It was the Dean's command.
The instructors finally came to their senses, smacking their lips reluctantly as they shuffled back.
'Not bad.'
Do-yoon murmured admiration at the mana infused in that shout. The Dean had some real skill.
"Cadet Han Do-yoon, your test is complete. Please return to your spot. I apologize on behalf of the instructors for their unbecoming behavior."
The Dean bowed slightly toward Do-yoon.
Bowing to a cadet—and in public, no less. No trace of stuffy authority in him. Do-yoon liked that.
But liking it didn't mean he wouldn't collect what was owed.
"What about the promise from the instructor earlier?"
"Hm?"
"Unlimited class skips."
The testing instructor flinched.
"Ah... So that was your goal."
The Dean pondered briefly before speaking.
"A promise is a promise... Yes. Cadet Han Do-yoon, you have the right to freely skip future classes. Excluding evaluation days. You must attend on those, or you'll be treated the same as other cadets."
Do-yoon nodded. Clean and satisfactory.
But the Dean continued.
"However... The Cradle's curriculum is designed for cadets' adaptation and growth. Skipping classes won't benefit you, Cadet Han Do-yoon."
The Dean glanced at the scattered red shards.
"...If you join close-combat class and skip it, I'd understand. In that subject at least, you might have nothing left to learn here."
He eyed the close-combat instructor—a statement that could sting.
But the Dean knew him well. As expected, he nodded calmly in agreement. Pride meant nothing here.
"Other classes, like [Basic Knowledge] or [History], will surely help you. Regardless of your combat prowess, you're a fresh interdimensional arrival. I hope you'll choose wisely."
Those classes were utterly useless, really... But Do-yoon listened to the sincere advice in silence.
'How old do you think I am?'
The Dean was human, not an elf. No way he was older than Do-yoon. Do-yoon's age had at least a 2 in the hundreds place. Hundreds, that is.
Telling him to take [Basic Knowledge] was comical. But Do-yoon didn't argue.
No point revealing he was Enoch Războinic, and no need to mock well-intentioned advice.
"Yes, I'll keep that in mind. I don't plan to skip everything. Just have an urgent matter to handle first. Once that's done, I'll attend all classes diligently."
Mana Handicap. Assuming full skips, a week would suffice.
The Dean's eyes gleamed. He wanted to know—and help—with whatever it was, but this was too public.
"I don't know what this matter is, but... if you need help, say the word. Instructors are always ready to assist cadets."
"Yes. Noted."
The Dean gave a wry smile.
"Noted." It sounded like casual agreement, but this cadet clearly wanted no outside help.
Even from their brief exchange, he could tell. The type who handled his own problems with his own strength—and took responsibility for others' too.
'Guess we'll have to take the initiative here.'
He smiled contentedly at the promising talent before him.
Meanwhile, one figure glowered at Han Do-yoon amid all the attention, face twisted in fury.
Torn the Minotaur.
'That puny human bastard...'
He snorted hot breaths, his golden nose ring clinking wildly.
Everything grated on him. That iron-plate smash should have been his moment—stolen by that punk. The Dean and instructors fawning over him. Even Sophie, that eye-rollingly fine female, stealing glances at him.
And the center of it all being a puny human.
His ominous aura made nearby cadets edge away.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Do-yoon slipped away from the training ground alone and returned to the dormitory.
The next class taught sensing mana and storing it in the heart—a total waste for him.
Better to hole up in the dorm and spend the hour clearing his channels.
'Ugh...'
He clenched his trembling right hand.
His muscles burned like fire, bones aching. His right arm was worst—moving it was a chore. The Hecleus Style's backlash had wrecked his internals pretty good.
Not a real problem. Pain was no obstacle after seventeen deaths on battlefields.
The inconvenient right hand was a minor hassle, but he'd be dorm-bound anyway. It'd heal soon enough.
He tapped the system window with his relatively fine left hand.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙Skill 'Hecleus Style Fist Art - Straight Punch' has been created.