Intro to Regalia

I hadn't noticed it before, but as we walked into the training area, it became clear that our program had its own secluded zone within Zenith. The facility seemed almost eerily devoid of people, apart from the high school students enrolled in this specific program. It began to make sense—the program was meticulously structured with dedicated zones for our training, which explained the strict instructions about which areas we could and couldn't access.

We had our own cafeteria, training grounds, and dormitories, segregated by gender into two identical buildings. Each dormitory was equipped with comfortable living spaces, study areas, and communal lounges, making it obvious that Zenith wasn't just focused on our physical training but also on fostering our mental and emotional development.

The training area itself was outdoors, a sprawling open field stretching beyond what the eye could see. Despite reading about Zenith's state-of-the-art facilities, designed to simulate complex combat scenarios and Regalia-specific challenges, it was clear that for fresh recruits like us, simplicity and potential mattered more. The raw openness of the field held endless possibilities, untouched and unshaped by anything other than our own efforts.

The sun had yet to rise, leaving the field bathed in the artificial glow of powerful floodlights. The cold morning air clung to our skin, sharp and biting, making me instinctively pull my jacket tighter as we stood in formation.

Cohorts from all levels had gathered in the central field, each group spread out in their respective zones under the watchful eyes of their instructors. The vastness of the field offered more than enough space for each cohort to train without interference. Most groups were already in motion, likely warming up for the day. At least, that was my assumption—I hadn't seen any flashy displays of Regalia yet, just basic drills and stretching.

Standing at the forefront of our cohort was Ms. Hawthorne, her sharp gaze scanning over us like a hawk sizing up its prey. When she finally spoke, her voice carried authority and clarity.

"Good morning, recruits," she began, each word precise and deliberate. "Starting today, we will focus on building your bodies to withstand the demands of your Regalia. For the next three months, your primary focus will be on endurance and strength training. If you wish to practice your Regalia in your free time, you may use this field, but you are forbidden to damage academy property. Understood?"

A chorus of "Yes, ma'am!" echoed back.

Morning training began with a long-distance run through the open fields surrounding the academy. The cold air stung our faces, making every breath feel sharp and invigorating. Afterward, we moved into high-intensity drills—sprints, burpees, and other exhausting exercises designed to push our cardiovascular limits. From there, we transitioned to strength training: push-ups, pull-ups, planks, and other bodyweight exercises meant to build our core and overall stability.

By the time we were done, sweat clung to every inch of us, and even the cold morning air couldn't chase away the heat radiating from our overworked muscles. I stumbled toward the water station, grateful for the brief respite before the next part of our day.

After training, we were given an hour to shower and eat breakfast before heading to classes. The hot shower was a luxury after the chill of the field, and the warmth of the cafeteria was equally inviting. Our schedules were grueling, but the academy ensured we had just enough comfort to keep us going.

Classes followed a more traditional structure, with core subjects like math, science, and history. However, since I was older than most of the cohort, I was placed in advanced courses alongside Takeshi. The education system here was surprisingly efficient—students were encouraged to pass their GREs early, allowing them to dedicate more time to training.

One class stood out: the Regalia Studies course. It was unlike anything I had ever taken, diving into the biology and mechanics behind our powers. It was here that I first learned about Regalia Associated Molecules, or RAMs. These molecules were said to be the source of our powers, flowing into the prefrontal cortex during activation.

According to our instructor, RAMs varied significantly from person to person. While training could increase their quantity, the natural range was unique to each individual. The degradation of RAMs explained why overusing Regalia led to burnout, and replenishment required proper rest, particularly sleep. Someone asked why RAMs couldn't be donated, like blood. The response was both fascinating and sobering—RAMs were unique to each person, tied to the individuality of their Regalia.

The class left me intrigued. For someone who had always been a mediocre student, I found myself unusually motivated to learn more. If understanding RAMs and the science behind Regalia could help me unlock my potential, then I was willing to put in the effort.

As we wrapped up the day, I couldn't help but feel a mix of exhaustion and excitement. The physical training was grueling, the classes intense, but every moment felt purposeful. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I was working toward something tangible—something extraordinary.

•

We ended our day with strength training—lifting weights and performing resistance exercises to build muscle mass and improve our physical power. Deadlifts, squats, bench presses, and other compound movements left our muscles burning, targeting multiple groups at once. Afterward, we moved on to more endurance work, focusing on longer runs and stamina-building exercises. However, the session was cut short by rain.

It struck me as odd. For a program meant to prepare us for combat and the hardships of military life, stopping because of a little rain seemed lenient. It wasn't what I had expected. But as I thought about it, I realized the truth—this wasn't a military camp. We weren't soldiers yet. We were high school students in a government program designed to develop our Regalia and prepare us for potential service in the future.

As I made my way to our program's designated cafeteria, I noticed someone standing alone in the rain. At first, I assumed it was a straggler from another cohort, but as I looked closer, I realized it was Takeshi. He stood still, letting the rain drench him, staring off into the distance.

I paused, stepping back to observe him. The cold rain prickled against my skin as I stayed in place, watching him. Takeshi's stillness was unsettling—he looked as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Everyone else had already left, but I stayed, lingering under the cover of the walkway. Takeshi remained the only figure in the open field, the rain cascading down in sheets around him. Then, without warning, the air around him changed.

A heavy pressure filled the space, as if the atmosphere itself had thickened. Raindrops seemed to veer away from him, and the intensity radiating from his figure was almost palpable. Takeshi suddenly moved, his body a blur of punches and kicks, so fast and precise that I instinctively activated my Regalia to try to keep up.

He wasn't just shadow boxing—he was training at a level far beyond anything I'd seen before. Each strike was executed with flawless technique, every motion flowing into the next with a purpose that was both deliberate and relentless. His speed and strength weren't just impressive—they were overwhelming. And yet, as I watched, I noticed something else. Takeshi wasn't using his Regalia. This was raw, unfiltered effort. He was pushing his body to its limits, relying entirely on his own strength and skill.

I was exhausted from the day's training. My arms trembled, my legs felt like lead, and my chest ached with every breath. Yet here he was, drenched in rain and pushing himself even further. What drove him to work this hard? What was he chasing?

After a while, Takeshi stopped, his breathing heavy but controlled. He turned, his sharp eyes locking onto me. I hadn't realized he noticed me watching.

"What do you want?" he asked, his tone flat, his expression unreadable.

"Oh, nothing," I said quickly, caught off guard. "I was just watching you train."

"I'd rather you didn't," he replied curtly, already turning away.

"Right. Sorry. That was weird, huh?" I admitted, scratching the back of my neck. "I'll go."

Takeshi seemed satisfied and started to return to his training. But something in his demeanor stopped me. It wasn't just his intensity—it was the look in his eyes. There was a sadness there, a heavy weight he seemed to carry. Was he training so hard because he loved it, or was it something else?

"Why?" I asked, the word leaving my mouth before I could think. Takeshi paused, half-turning back to face me. "Why are you training so hard?"

His gaze was piercing, and for a moment, I regretted asking. "Unlike you," he said finally, his voice tinged with bitterness, "I wasn't born lucky."

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused. "You have the Super Regalia. Power and speed I could never dream of having."

"My 'super' Regalia," he said, almost spitting the word, "is nothing special. It's ordinary. Nothing like what you all have." His tone was sharp but carried a hint of melancholy.

"How can it be ordinary?" I asked, frustration creeping into my voice. "Your power is incredible, Takeshi! I wish I had it."

Instead of snapping back, Takeshi's expression softened, though it carried an edge of sadness. A faint, bitter smirk crossed his face. "You'll probably learn about it soon. The extent of my ability. Then maybe you'll understand."

Before I could respond, a hand landed on my shoulder, making me jump. I turned to see Yukiko standing there, her usual confident smirk in place.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, her tone almost teasing. "I've been looking for you."

"I was talking to Takeshi," I said, gesturing over my shoulder. When I glanced back, he was already walking away. "Or… I was."

"Forget him," Yukiko said, grabbing my wrist and tugging me toward the cafeteria. "Come eat with us. He's just a loner. No point wasting your time."

"Why are you so interested in me?" I asked, genuinely curious as she led me away.

"Because you're strong," she said matter-of-factly. "Probably the only one here who might be able to challenge me. Gotta keep an eye on my competition."

Her words caught me off guard, and I couldn't help but laugh. "You do realize I'm a Tier 3, right?"

"No," she said firmly. "You're a Tier 1."

"Pretty sure the scale says otherwise."

"Those scales are stupid. Completely subjective. And if they're subjective, then my opinion counts. You're Tier 1, Natsuya. You landed a hit on me, didn't you? That's proof enough."

Her confidence was both baffling and oddly encouraging. As we reached the cafeteria, her teasing continued, the two of us falling into an easy rhythm of banter. Despite her cocky demeanor, Yukiko's presence was surprisingly grounding.

By the time we joined the rest of the cohort, the cafeteria buzzed with chatter. The exhaustion of the day's training seemed to melt away in the warmth of food and conversation. But even as I laughed along with my peers, my thoughts drifted back to Takeshi. To the sadness in his eyes. To the relentless way he pushed himself.

And I couldn't help but wonder—what was driving him? What was he fighting for?