TRIAL BY IRON

The academy's training grounds stretched wide beneath the open sky, an expanse of sand and stone built for one purpose: to forge warriors.

Here, strength ruled.

And Ash Atsuyuki had none.

The students stood in formation, their training uniforms crisp, clan insignias emblazoned on their backs like banners of superiority. Some carried the marks of ancient martial lineages, their names steeped in legend. Others bore the sigils of corporate dynasties, their enhancements paid for by generations of wealth.

All except Ash.

His uniform was plain—no emblem, no crest. A silent testament to what the Shirogiri Clan had lost.

The instructor, a battle-scarred veteran with a cybernetic left eye, paced before them, his presence like a drawn blade.

"Strength," he said, voice grinding like steel against stone, "is not a matter of birthright. It is forged in battle, tempered by pain."

He stopped, sweeping his gaze across the assembled students.

"But strength alone is not enough. To master the martial path, one must embrace the Machine Spirit."

A sharp gesture. The students reacted in perfect unison.

Their AI enhancements activated.

The change was instant—a straightening of posture, a sharpening of focus. A slight shift in stance that made them seem taller, more composed.

It was like flipping a switch.

Movements became unnaturally smooth, reflexes heightened to inhuman precision.

This was the standard.

This was power.

Ash remained motionless.

He had no neural interface.

No sub-dermal machines optimizing his muscle output, no predictive combat analytics correcting his form in real-time.

Just his body. Just his training.

It wasn't enough.

The instructor's gaze passed over the students. "Pair up."

Ash turned. He already knew who he would be facing.

Takeshi Mori.

Broad-shouldered. Fast. Strong. A prodigy of the Mori family—one of the best in the academy.

And worst of all—he hated Ash.

A smirk tugged at Takeshi's lips. His fingers flexed, the joints clicking as his combat parameters adjusted automatically. The faintest whir of servos hummed beneath his skin.

"Hope you're ready, Shirogiri."

Ash said nothing. He simply raised his guard.

He had studied every martial form. Memorized every principle. He understood the mechanics of internal flow, counter-strikes, feints, and redirection better than most.

But knowledge meant nothing if your body couldn't keep up.

The match began.

Takeshi moved first.

A blur of motion. Too fast.

A fist slammed into Ash's ribs before he could react. The impact sent shockwaves through his core, stealing the air from his lungs.

Ash twisted, trying to redirect the attack—but Takeshi was already moving, his AI recalibrating in real-time, anticipating Ash's response before he even finished executing it.

A knee to the gut.

Pain exploded through him.

He staggered.

Chuckles rippled through the watching students.

Reset.

Stance firm. Hands steady. Again.

Takeshi feinted left.

Ash didn't fall for it. He recognized the technique, countered instinctively—but it didn't matter.

Takeshi was simply too fast.

A brutal palm strike crashed into his shoulder. His legs buckled.

Then a kick—sharp, efficient.

The ground slammed into him.

Dust swirled as Ash hit the sand, pain lancing through his back.

Laughter.

Takeshi looked down at him, shaking his head. "Pathetic."

Ash's fingers curled into the dirt. He wanted to get up. He had to get up.

He knew the techniques. He knew how to fight.

But what was knowledge against overwhelming power?

The instructor sighed. "Again."

Ash pushed himself up. His muscles screamed in protest.

The next exchange was the same.

And the next.

And the next.

Again.

And again.

And again.

By the end, his body ached, his breath was ragged, and his uniform was coated in dust.

The session ended. The other students walked away, laughing, chatting, their enhancements deactivating like nothing had happened.

Ash remained where he was, staring at his open palms.

Weak.

The word clung to him like a curse.

And the worst part?

Right now—it was the truth.