Training

"Move those tiny bodies of yours!" A ragged voice bellowed, laced with fury and impatience.

The freshborns struggled to keep pace with their relentless instructor. He was their assigned trainer, the one responsible for strengthening their muscles, fortifying their bones, and forging endurance from their fragile forms. Some of the freshborns whimpered as they fought through their push-ups, their tiny arms trembling beneath their weight. Tears welled in their big, round, innocent eyes, but the trainer had no patience for weakness.

"I want to see you soft-boned freeloaders put those three hundred bones to use!" he roared, his voice reverberating across the harsh training grounds. "All that excess body fat needs to burn away! You think the Peravo-tech is a gift? It's not! It's an investment, and you'll either make use of it—or break under it."

Abunar, like the others, was locked in this brutal regimen. It was the most grueling experience of his short life, a nightmare that turned his every muscle into a screaming mass of pain. But even through the suffering, he couldn't deny the necessity of it.

The Peravo had revolutionized everything, gifting their bodies an influx of nutrients and high-level energy, accelerating their growth to unnatural levels. But such power came with a terrible price—if a freshborn failed to burn off the excess, their own bodies would betray them. Cells would collapse, bones would splinter under their own unnatural weight, and in the worst cases… they would simply explode.

So this training wasn't just necessary.

It was survival.

But still… easier said than done.

Abunar's arms quaked as he forced himself through his hundredth push-up. His breath was ragged, his vision blurred with sweat. He could feel the hatred radiating from his fellow freshborns, a deep, burning resentment aimed squarely at their merciless trainer. Their first true experience of hate.

The trainer hadn't even introduced himself. No name. No words of encouragement. Just the brutal routine that had stretched on for hours.

"You."

A voice to his right caught his attention. He turned his head, sweat dripping from his brow. A silver-and-orange-haired boy sat beside him, his flabby cheeks puffing as he gasped for air. Like the others, he had the round, cute face of a freshborn—but the exhaustion in his eyes made him look far older.

"How are you doing this so easily?" The boy's voice was strained, desperate. He looked ready to pass out at any moment, but fear kept him conscious. He had seen what happened to those who collapsed. Abunar had seen it too. He shivered at the memory.

Another voice chimed in—a girl without irises. Her entire eyes were pure white, yet she could see just fine. Some inherited traits from their bloodlines, after all.

"Yeah, do you have some sort of cheat ability or something?" she asked, her tone skeptical.

Abunar wiped his forehead and sat cross-legged, waiting for the next set to begin. He looked at them both, then exhaled.

"What is the meaning of this?" His voice carried neither arrogance nor irritation—just cold certainty.

The trainer, watching from a distance, flicked his gaze toward Abunar, his expression unreadable. He made a subtle gesture, some form of appraisal flashing across his eyes, but he dared not reveal anything to these brats.

"Come on, the lot of you!" The trainer's voice exploded across the field, sending chills down their spines. "You think those monsters will hesitate just because you're young? They won't. Because they are your age. Your age-mates out there can already go toe-to-toe with professionals. And you can't even manage a hundred push-ups? Pathetic!"

Abunar's gaze flickered toward his accusers. His dazzling green hair shifted with the breeze, framing his face in strands of emerald fire. His eyes, deep and unreadable, held a sharpness far beyond his years.

"I am absolutely not using any cheats," he said, his voice even, calm.

Then, he smiled.

"I'm simply better than you."