Shattered Blade

Long after the other students had departed, Hwak remained seated in the weapons classroom, lost in his thoughts. Humiliation and despair washed over him in waves. He wanted nothing more than to leave this place that so clearly didn't want him—to return to the familiar comfort of his settlement where, if nothing else, he understood his place in the world.

But what then? The settlement offered no future beyond the one his father already lived—endless labor for meager rewards, always looking up at a world just out of reach. He had come to Neonspire to escape that fate, to forge a different path. If he gave up now, how could he face his father's disappointment?

These thoughts circled endlessly as the minutes ticked by. The bell's sudden ring startled him back to reality. His wristband flashed a warning—ten minutes to reach martial arts class. A digital map appeared, plotting the quickest route through the academy's sprawling campus.

Hwak arrived breathless at the martial arts facility, a space unlike any he'd seen before. The large hall featured a circular mat at its center, surrounded by padded walls designed to absorb impacts. The room had the ceremonial feel of a traditional dojo, yet with technological enhancements visible in the subtle glow of impact sensors embedded in the mats.

Today's lesson, according to the schedule displayed on the wall, would feature sparring matches—practical application of the training they'd supposedly mastered yesterday. Hwak swallowed hard, remembering his dismal twenty percent completion rate.

The first match featured two boys already positioned on the mat. One had wild, dark hair and a muscular build; the other possessed piercing blue eyes and a leaner frame. Each assumed a distinctive stance—one with hands raised defensively, the other with weight distributed to favor kicks. Their different postures suggested specialized Evolan adaptations or core strengths concentrated in different body parts.

The dark-haired boy launched himself forward with a pressurized jump that seemed to defy normal human capabilities, executing a kick aimed directly at his opponent's face. Blue Eyes raised his hand, creating a small energy field that absorbed the impact. The attacker landed and began circling, looking for openings while Blue Eyes remained centered, tracking every movement with a defensive posture.

Another explosive jump, another side kick—this time Blue Eyes blocked with one hand while delivering a devastating punch with the other. Dark Hair crashed to the mat with a groan.

"Match over!" called the instructor, a striking woman in a form-fitting white and blue uniform adorned with silver stars along one side. Her crystal-clear complexion, ice-blue eyes, and short blonde hair gave her an almost unearthly beauty. "Next match!"

The display screen flashed the next pairing: "Hwak vs. Harry."

Hwak's stomach tightened as he stepped onto the mat. Across from him stood Harry—shorter than most boys in their class but with lean, defined muscles and alert eyes that darted constantly, seeming to catalog every movement in his field of vision.

They faced each other in the center. Hwak assumed what he hoped was a proper fighting stance, cobbled together from vague memories of action movies and yesterday's brief holographic training.

Laughter rippled through the watching students. Harry didn't even bother to take a proper stance. Instead, he yawned dramatically and slipped his hands into his pockets.

"I'll give you three chances to hit me," Harry announced, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Three free shots."

At that moment, the instructor's wristband chimed. She checked it, frowning. "I'm needed in the office. Continue the match—I'll be back shortly."

As she departed, Hwak gathered his courage and threw a tentative punch. Harry dodged it with minimal movement, not even removing his hands from his pockets. The watching students erupted in laughter.

"You couldn't even hit a mosquito with that punch!" someone called out.

Desperate to prove himself, Hwak attempted a jumping kick like the one he'd just witnessed. His execution was poor; he lost balance mid-jump and tumbled to the mat. The laughter grew louder, more derisive.

"He'd lose a fight against himself!" another voice jeered.

Red-faced but determined, Hwak scrambled to his feet for his third attempt. He aimed directly for Harry's face, putting all his weight behind the punch. Before it could connect, Harry's fist shot out like lightning, burying itself in Hwak's stomach.

Hwak collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath.

"You had the nerve to aim for my face?" Harry sneered, delivering a brutal kick that sent Hwak sprawling. Blood trickled from his lip as he hit the mat.

Harry wasn't finished. He placed his foot on Hwak's chest, gradually increasing pressure while Hwak struggled for air, pain blossoming through his ribcage. A cry escaped him—half pain, half frustration.

In that moment of desperate clarity, Hwak's gaze drifted toward the doorway. There stood Leena, surrounded by friends, laughing as they entered the training hall. Something in her presence triggered a change in him—the same inexplicable transformation he'd experienced during their private training session.

His expression shifted, a confident smile replacing the grimace of pain. In a perfectly calculated move, Hwak hooked his leg around Harry's ankle and pulled sharply, disrupting his balance.

Harry toppled forward, unprepared for the sudden counterattack. Hwak rolled, maintaining his grip on Harry's leg while twisting it into a submission hold he'd never been taught but somehow executed flawlessly.

Leena and her friends stopped at the edge of the mat, witnessing Harry's unexpected predicament. Hwak caught Leena's eye and smiled, casually brushing his hair back with his free hand while maintaining the painful hold on his opponent.

The watching students fell silent, their expressions ranging from shock to disbelief. Some dismissed it as luck, others as a cheap trick, but none could deny the outcome—Harry was tapping the mat in submission, his face contorted in pain and humiliation.

The instructor returned, surveying the scene with raised eyebrows. "Winner: Hwak," she announced, unable to hide her surprise.

As the class dispersed, Hwak rose to his feet, the confident persona already fading like morning mist. He couldn't explain what had happened or how he'd executed a perfect takedown he'd never learned. All he knew was that, for a brief moment, he'd glimpsed a version of himself that was everything the settlement boy was not—confident, skilled, and worthy of Neonspire Academy.

Leena lingered by the door, her ruby eyes studying him with newfound interest. She'd heard about his disastrous morning from her friends, but what she'd just witnessed contradicted everything. The boy who couldn't complete a basic training routine had somehow bested one of their more capable fighters.

As their eyes met across the hall, a question passed between them, unspoken but clear: who was Hwak, really? And which version was the truth—the struggling charity case or the sudden victor with the mysterious smile?