Choose Your Poison!

The massive combat arena of the Combat Techniques School fell silent, tension thick in the air.

The wager had been struck, the terms laid bare for all to hear.

The surrounding students, who had paused their brutal training regimens to eavesdrop, now stared at Daniel with a mixture of disbelief and uneasy curiosity.

A week to master an A-rank skill? It was an impossible boast, a fool's errand.

They had seen geniuses spend half a year just to grasp the fundamentals of such complex arts.

Vice-Principal Travis Standen, his face a mask of fierce satisfaction, clapped his hands together with a sound like a small explosion.

"BOOM!"

The sound resonated through the hall, a punctuation mark on their audacious deal.

"Excellent!

I do love an aspirant with a spine, even if it's about to be systematically rearranged during our… sparring sessions… next week!"

He grinned, a flash of white teeth in his scarred face.