Chapter 9: The First Trial

The piercing sound of a gong shattered the silence, yanking Jackim from the depths of his restless sleep. His entire body ached, the bruises from yesterday's beating throbbing like fresh wounds. Every muscle in his frame protested as he forced himself upright, wincing as a sharp pain flared in his ribs.

For a brief moment, he considered lying back down. Maybe if he rested for just a little longer—

"No excuses."

Han's cold words rang in his ears. Jackim clenched his jaw.

He had been through worse.

Dragging himself to his feet, he stumbled toward the courtyard, where the others were already gathered. The morning air was crisp, the sky still cloaked in darkness with only the faintest traces of dawn creeping along the horizon.

Han stood motionless at the center of the courtyard, arms crossed behind his back, his eyes like steel. Victor was next to him, an approving smirk playing at the edges of his lips. Liang, the arrogant brute who had beaten Jackim to a pulp the day before, was stretching casually, as if waiting for his turn to break another newcomer. Selena stood with her arms folded, her gaze unreadable, but there was amusement in her smirk.

Jackim swallowed hard and stepped forward.

"You're late," Han said, his voice devoid of emotion.

Jackim exhaled, steadying himself. "Didn't know sunrise meant before sunrise."

A small chuckle escaped Selena's lips, but Liang scoffed, shaking his head. "You won't last a week."

Han didn't react. He simply lifted a hand and pointed to the vast courtyard. "Fifty laps."

Jackim's breath hitched. Fifty?

His body was already screaming from yesterday's battle. His legs felt like lead. Every step sent jolts of pain through his muscles.

But he didn't hesitate.

Without a word, he started running.

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The first few laps were manageable. His breathing was controlled, his steps steady.

By the tenth lap, sweat trickled down his forehead, his shirt clinging to his back.

By the twentieth, his thighs burned like fire, and his lungs ached with every inhale.

By the thirtieth, his feet felt like they were dragging through wet cement, and his vision blurred at the edges.

Just stop. A voice in his head whispered. No one will care. No one will blame you.

But then he remembered—

His ex-girlfriend's cold, indifferent gaze as she walked away from him, disgusted by his poverty.

The way the hotel receptionist sneered when they threw him out, as if he were filth.

The countless whispers at every gathering, calling him worthless, invisible.

Jackim clenched his jaw. No. Not again.

He forced himself to keep moving, pushing past the burning in his chest, the protests of his muscles.

By the forty-fifth lap, his breath came in ragged gasps, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. His legs wobbled, threatening to collapse beneath him.

His knees buckled.

He stumbled.

But he didn't fall.

Not yet.

The last lap felt endless, but he pushed forward, dragging himself across the finish.

And the moment he finished, his body gave out.

Jackim collapsed onto his hands and knees, his entire frame trembling violently. His breath came in harsh, uneven pants. His heart pounded so hard he thought it might explode.

The world spun around him, but through the haze, he saw Han standing before him, unmoved.

"Not bad," the master said, his voice as impassive as ever.

Jackim barely had the strength to glare at him.

Victor, however, nodded in approval. "You're not weak, just unrefined. But now, we begin the real training."

Jackim groaned inwardly. What was all that if not real training?!

Liang smirked. "Welcome to hell."

Jackim swallowed thickly, his body still trembling from exhaustion. He had survived the first trial.

But deep down, he knew—

This was only the beginning.

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