Chapter 14:The Last Bruise Before the Real Fight (2)

I closed the nurse's office door with a soft click, the sterile scent of antiseptics still clinging to my clothes.

For today, I decided to end my training early and get some rest.

After all, rest is part of training too.

The nurse had advised me to take a full day or two off — but that's a luxury I can't afford. Not when I'm this close.

Not when I've finally found a lead.

A direction.

A way to take full control over this body.

...Maybe I should thank that bitch for pushing me.

On second thought — nah.

Still, I'll be fine.

The body of an Awakened heals faster than a normal person's.

Injuries that would take weeks — even months — to recover from for an ordinary guy?

For us, it's just a day or two.

There are healing potions that can patch you up almost instantly, but the academy doesn't hand them out unless it's absolutely necessary.

They prefer letting us heal naturally — says it helps build pain tolerance and accelerates recovery speed in the long run.

Also, there's the other obvious reason:

That shit's expensive.

-----

The hallway felt especially lively today — students moving about in every direction.

Some were coming back from the library, arms full of books.

Others were heading to the cafeteria for dinner.

A few were already making their way to their dorms after training.

And then there was me.

Probably the only fool who stayed late at the training grounds.

But you know what's distracting?

The way they all turn to stare at my face — probably eyeing the patch the nurse slapped on my broken nose.

Yep.

That bitch is definitely not getting a single word of appreciation from me.

I ignore their curious stares and keep walking.

The academy grounds are buzzing — filled with the chatter of students, footsteps echoing, conversations bleeding into one another.

Amid all the chatter, there's one group that draws the most attention.

A group of five — three boys and two girls.

One of the girls is a petite shortie with light pink hair. She's beautiful, sure… but her looks are completely overshadowed by the second girl.

Silver hair.

Violet eyes.

The kind of beauty that could stop any guy in his tracks.

At the center of the group stands a blonde boy — tall, handsome, with crystal-blue eyes straight out of a hero's character design.

And then there are the other two boys.

…I'm not going to bother describing them. Doesn't matter.

Yep.

That's our protagonist's friend group.

They're chatting happily — voices light, faces relaxed, like the world has never demanded anything from them.

All of them are still in their training gear, which means they probably just wrapped up their training session.

Their presence draws attention — not in a bad way, but in the kind you'd expect when admirers look at their idols.

They shine. Effortlessly.

Untouchable in that bright, storybook kind of way.

We really do live in completely different worlds.

There was a time I was like them — at the center of everything. The spotlight found me easily back then.

And sometimes… I wonder.

Do people still think of me when a certain song comes on?

When they walk through a certain town?

Have I become a story someone tells in passing — a name from a chapter they barely remember?

I wonder if I still exist in the minds of people I don't speak to anymore.

If I ever cross their thoughts.

If I still live in their memories, even in the quietest moments.

How many times a day, I wonder, do I pass through someone's head?

I'm still searching for existence —

in someone's memory,

in someone's gaze,

in some forgotten place.

And just like the others… I found myself admiring them.

Just for a second.

Hah.

When did I become this pathetic?

I shake the thought off and start walking again.

At one point, it looked like Leon's eyes met mine as I passed by his group.

"Hello, excuse me—"

I stopped in my tracks the moment I heard the voice.

Slowly, I turned around… and sure enough — it was Leon.

He was the one who called out.

At this point, I'm not even surprised.

"Yes?" I asked, keeping my tone flat.

"Mm… you're Edward Brightwill, right? I wanted to talk to you, but first—what happened to your–"

"Just a practice session," I replied, cutting him off before he could finish the second question.

"Well, what kind of practice is th—"

"Leon."

A sweet voice interrupted him, gentle but firm.

"It's rude to pry into other people's business. And didn't you have something you actually wanted to say to Edward?"

The voice belonged to Selene — her tone calm, but clearly a reminder to be mindf"Hmm… yeah, you're right. Sorry about that," Leon said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" I asked, clearly not interested in whatever mellow drama they had going on.

He gave a small bow — unnecessarily formal.

"I just wanted to say… I'm sorry for the loss of your friend. I meant to tell you sooner, but I never got the chance."

---

...That's it?

That's what this was about?

I stared at him, deadpan.

For a second, I thought it might be something serious.

A warning, a challenge, maybe even some backhanded comment. But no.

Instead, I get… sympathy?

Is he the type that blames himself for everything?

The kind of guy who apologizes for tragedies.

Well, if that's how you wanted to play it…

I narrowed my eyes slightly.

"Hey, mind if I ask you something?" I said, my tone turning serious.

Leon blinked, then nodded. "Yeah, sure."

"I heard you had quite the power-up during the dungeon break."

His expression didn't change, but I noticed the tension in his shoulders. I continued anyway.

"So why didn't you use that power earlier? No—let me rephrase."

I took a step closer, just enough to let my words hit harder.

"Let's say you had the strength to save them. Not everyone—just your three classmates. And yet… you didn't. Were you hiding it? Holding back for some grand reason? One so important it was worth letting them die?"

I waited. Expected a reaction. A denial. An angry rebuttal.

But… nothing.

He didn't answer.

Instead, his gaze lowered — eyes fixed on his own hand. Specifically, the silver ring on his left index finger.

The gem embedded in it had dulled — no shine, no light.

Interesting.

I just threw out some half-baked bullshit, something I made up on the spot — and yet, he reacted like it meant something.

Like I'd struck a nerve.

Before I could press further—

"Okay, Edward. That's enough."

Selene's voice cut in, smooth but stern.

"I get that you're hurting — but that doesn't give you the right to throw blame around just to ease your guilt. Leon was only trying to offer condolences."

She crossed her arms, stepping between us.

"And about that 'insane power-up' or whatever you're talking about — I don't know where you heard that, but it sounds like exaggerated rumor-mill nonsense. And I don't know who's spreading it, but it's not true."

Tch.

Well, would you look at that.

Miss baby sister coming to the rescue.

"We're done here," she said firmly, grabbing Leon gently by the hand. "Let's go."

And just like that — they left.

Selene leading the group away, Leon glancing back just once before vanishing into the crowd.

The less they reveal, the more people wonder.

It's funny how that works — silence draws more attention than words ever could.

But I'm not the type to dig too deep.

If it doesn't interest me, I move on.

And honestly?

Leon's too easy to read.

I can already guess what's been spinning around in that head of his.

No mystery there.

With that, I turned away and headed back to my room.

---

Next Day

After some morning practice and class, I find myself back at the training grounds.

(Yeah, yeah. I know. I use that phrase a lot. Sue me.)

There's a little ache here and there, but overall, my body's in decent shape.

Can't say the same for my nose, though. Still sore as hell.

Thankfully, Yelena isn't here today.

Which means I needed to find someone else to test myself against.

So I picked a new training guy.

His name is… I don't know. I didn't ask.

Just saw some tall, muscular dude doing push-ups and walked up to him with one line:

"Spar?"

He looked up, nodded, and gave me a thumbs up.

Guess that's a yes.

I unsheathed my blade and take a deep breath, slowly recalling the feeling from last time.

"Let's begin."

I made the first move.

My sword clashes against his giant blade.

The impact isn't enough to do real damage, but it pushes him back—just a little.

I strike again, this time aiming lower—right at the base of his sword.

It sends a subtle jolt through his grip.

But that doesn't stop him.

He retaliates—fast.

I dodge, and the air tears through the space where I was just a second ago.

Close.

Too close.

He swings again, and this time I meet it head-on.

Our blades collide, and a shockwave runs through my arms.

Yeah—those muscles aren't for show.

He's brute force, through and through.

Relies on power more than finesse.

Which, in a way, makes things easier.

Because with guys like him—there's always a gap.

A moment where the posture falters, just a little.

I don't miss it.

A sharp side-kick lands cleanly in his ribs—

—or at least, that was the plan.

"Damn," I mutter, pulling back. "What's his body made of? Bricks?"

He chuckles, shaking it off like it's nothing.

"You've got quite the moves, Brightwill," he says casually.

"Even though I don't see you practicing much."

"I'll take that as a compliment," I replied, keeping my tone dry.

After that, we stopped talking — only blades spoke.

Each slash came heavier, sharper, more brutal than the last.

Small cuts started showing up across my arms and sides. Nothing serious, but enough to sting.

Bit by bit, I was getting pushed back.

It was clear — I was at a disadvantage.

But not for too long.

Little by little, the feeling started creeping back.

Yeah… it's starting again.

My trait — Adaption.

My body stopped getting pushed.

I started to push back.

Now, my strikes didn't waver. His movements became more predictable — the way he shifted his weight, the way his arms tensed before each swing. I moved with it. Through it.

And the grin on his face?

It twisted — stretched into something unhinged. The kind of smile only a true battle maniac could wear.

And just like that…

The fight turned savage.

With every clash, we both struck harder — as if daring the other to fall first.

We were no longer training.

We were clashing like beasts.

And me ?

I was waking up — piece by brutal piece.