Physical Conditioning class was hell.
I wish I was exaggerating.
If hell on Earth existed, it would have taken the form of that class.
Instructor Reichardt, in all his sadistic glory, ordered us to run a hundred laps around the field.
To be fair, that part wasn’t too bad. Most of us breezed through it without even breaking a sweat.
But it was what came after that turned us into unwilling participants in his personal sadist Olympics.
“Warm-up’s over,” Reichardt barked, grinning like a man who’d just found new ways to ruin someone’s day. Specifically, our day.
Then, with a flourish, he summoned his Origin Card and revealed his ability — moderate control over gravity and the density of objects.
We didn’t even get a moment to process the implications before he snapped his fingers, and the world suddenly changed.
It wasn’t just our bodies that felt heavy. Oh, no. It was as if the very air was pressing us down against the ground.
Had the field been anything softer than concrete, our feet would have sunk so deep that we would have had to claw our way back up like worms after rain.
A single push-up now felt like trying to lift a mountain on our backs.
Some of the weaker Cadets collapsed within minutes, their faces plastered to the dirt like they were trying to kiss the world goodbye.
“Come on!” Reichardt’s voice boomed over us like a battle cry. “This is only ten times the Earth’s gravity. You’ll thank me for this later!”
I knew he was exaggerating about it being ten times the normal gravity, but thank him? I could barely breathe!
My arms trembled violently, and my muscles screamed in rebellion as I tried to push against the merciless weight.
Around me, the groans and curses of my fellow Cadets formed a tragic symphony of shared suffering.
One particularly brave — or let’s say stupid — boy dared to mutter, “This isn’t training! This is torture!”
Reichardt’s grin widened, his teeth glinting like a wolf’s under the moonlight. “Good! Complaining burns calories. Keep it up! But let me tell you one thing, every complaint adds ten more push-ups. For everyone. Now, give me ten more!”
The field erupted into a chorus of muffled curses once again, but none of us complained after that.
We all understood by now — this man was truly out of his mind. Batshit crazy.
After the push-ups, he ordered us to run more laps. Running under gravity so crushing felt like being shackled to a freight truck and trying to drag it.
By the time he was finally done with us, we resembled puddles of flesh rather than people, scattered all across the field in defeat.
I, personally, even saw the gates of heaven opening up for me.
•••
Thankfully, their suffering ended just in time for the lunch break.
Leaving the training grounds, the first-year Cadets dragged themselves to the cafeteria like zombies.
The cafeteria was a symphony of clinking trays, chattering voices, and the occasional booming laughs.
The mouthwatering aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the air, almost mocking the weary first-years slumped over their tables like wilted plants.
Most of them didn’t even have the energy to lift their forks, let alone eat.
Some upperclassmen passing by or entering the food court couldn’t help but chuckle at their state, reminiscing about their own first-year experiences.
Samael sat near the center of it all, looking as unbothered in life as ever. His tray of food was completely untouched except for a glass of water.
Jake, however, was the complete opposite. He was a mess of frenetic energy, shoveling pasta into his mouth like it was his last meal.
At the same time, he was drenched in sweat, panting so heavily it was a miracle he wasn’t choking on his food. His cheeks were flushed, and his chest heaved as though he was having a heart attack.
Samael couldn’t fathom how Jake was still alive.
Back in school, Jake used to go to absurd lengths to skip PE classes, but he couldn’t do that here at the Academy.
Watching him now, Samael genuinely thought he would die at any moment now… if not for the fact that he was snickering at the groaning Cadets limping past their table between every mouthful of pasta.
Yes, even in his half-dead state, Jake didn’t forget bitching about others.
“Did you see Parker collapse during class?” He made a gasping sound that could’ve been a chuckle. “Man, he hit the ground so hard, I thought he cracked his skull! What a loser!”
Of course, Jake conveniently left out the part where he collapsed just moments later and was unconscious for the rest of the class.
Samael hummed noncommittally, his attention split between Jake and the bustling cafeteria.
His sharp eyes took in every detail — the Cadets who could barely move, the ones whispering conspiratorially in corners, and the wary glances thrown his way.
Then there was Michael.
He strode in like a brewing storm, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Samael. Even across the crowded cafeteria, Samael could see the tension in Michael’s jaw and the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.
“Here comes the trouble,” Samael muttered, finally taking a sip of his soft drink.
Jake followed his gaze and snorted. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
Michael’s footsteps were steady and deliberate as he approached. When he reached their table, he wasted no time with pleasantries.
“You,” Michael said, his eyes locked on Samael. “We need to talk.”
Jake leaned back in his chair, grinning like he’d been waiting for this. “Oh, we need to talk, do we? What’s wrong, Michael? Couldn’t find your way to the loser’s lounge?”
Michael didn’t even glance at him. “This doesn’t concern you, Jake.”
Jake’s grin only grew. “Oh, it concerns me now. See, you’re standing at my table, talking to my friend, and—”
“Jake,” Samael interrupted in a calm but firm voice. “Give us a minute.”
“…Huh?” Jake blinked, looking genuinely offended. “Wait, you actually want me… to leave?”
Samael also didn’t look at him, keeping his eyes on Michael. “Yes, that’s what ‘give us a minute’ means.”
For a moment, Jake seemed on the verge of arguing, but something in Samael’s tone stopped him. With a dramatic huff, he grabbed his tray and stormed off.
Or at least, he tried. It took him several seconds to get out of his chair, and his legs shook like a newborn deer as he stumbled away.
Once Jake had walked out of earshot, Michael sat down across from Samael.
Around them, Cadets glanced over curiously, sensing something was about to happen, but no one dared to get too close to eavesdrop.
Samael leaned back in his chair, exuding a nonchalant air as he crossed his legs. “So, what’s so urgent that you’d come here to ruin my lunch break, Michael?”
Michael leaned forward, his voice lowering as he spoke. “You said we could negotiate for that Card after class. I’m here to talk terms.”
“Straight to business? No small talk? How utterly boring! Have you not seen any movies? It’s always so dramatic when the hero and villain try to make a deal,” Samael arched an eyebrow.
Michael gave him an exasperated look. “Don’t waste my time.”
Samael’s lips curled into a faint smile, his fingers lazily tapping the table. “Fine, terms it is. But first, humor me with a question.”
Michael’s brows furrowed. “What question?”
“Why don’t you look as drained as everyone else?” Samael’s tone was casual, almost disinterested, but his eyes gleamed with sharp curiosity.
“What?” Michael barked out a forced laugh, leaning back in his chair. “I’m just as exhausted as everyone else.”
“Really?” Samael tilted his head as his smile widened a little. “Because I’ve been watching you. During class… You weren’t struggling like the others.”
Michael stiffened, but he quickly masked it. “You are thinking too much. I’m just good at pacing myself.”
Samael chuckled softly. “Sure, let’s pretend that it’s true. But it’s not, is it? During the Evaluation Exam, even after hours of fighting, you weren’t tired at all. And let’s not ignore how much you’ve progressed in such a short time after Awakening. I’ve trained under the finest instructors since I could walk, been in more fights than you can count, and yet you matched me blow for blow when we fought. You outperformed me, even. Care to explain how?”
Michael didn’t answer right away, which only encouraged Samael to keep speaking.
“Here’s my theory,” a toothy grin spread across Samael’s face. “Someone is helping you. You’ve found a mentor, perhaps. I don’t care who it is. What I do care about is your secret.”
Michael lingered for a second, but immediately denied. “What secret? I have no idea what you’re going on about.”
“Come now, don’t insult my intelligence.” Samael laughed out loud. “Look, I’ll trade you the Card you want if you teach me the secret behind your freakish endurance. Simple as that.”
Michael said nothing this time, but his silence was answer enough.
The truth was, Michael did have a secret.
He could circulate Spirit Essence through his body.
Every Awakened had the ability to absorb Spirit Essence naturally from the atmosphere. After all, it was what allowed them to use their Cards and wield their innate powers.
But there was more to it. If properly circulated throughout the body, Essence could strengthen an Awakened, enhancing their overall physical abilities and empowering their attacks.
The catch, however, was that most Awakened couldn’t even sense the Essence until their Soul reached [B] or [A-rank].
But Michael, despite being a mere [C-ranker], had learned how to cultivate Essence — thanks to a little help from someone.
So, yeah, while he did have a secret, he couldn’t just give it away to anyone. Especially not to this smug bastard!
(Just kill him.)
It was then Michael heard a voice in his head, deep and twisted, as though it belonged to something far more malevolent than what any human could ever be.
He shook his head. ‘No! We’re not killing anyone!’
(Why not? He’s practically begging for it! You’d be doing the world a favor.)
Michael breathed in deeply and focused on the corner of his eye.
In his peripheral vision, he saw a dark silhouette. An imposing figure of a demon shrouded in layers and layers of sinistrous darkness.
That shadowy fiend was Xaldreth.
A few months ago, when Michael was still being bullied by Samael and his lackeys at school, he found an unusual sword among the belongings left behind by his parents.
But it was no ordinary blade — it was cursed. It was a sword bound to a demon from the Spirit Realm.
The demon introduced himself as Xaldreth. He claimed he wouldn’t harm Michael and even went so far as to declare himself a good demon.
Michael was skeptical. A good demon? The concept was laughable. No such thing existed.
But Xaldreth delivered on his promises. He bestowed Michael with power and knowledge that no one in the world should know.
He was the one who gave him the secret technique for cultivating Spirit Essence. He was the one who taught him how to fight.
Xaldreth had given Michael everything he’d ever wanted. How could Michael throw away such a boon? And so he didn’t.
And yet, Xaldreth was still a demon. He had the tendency to whisper some outrageous suggestions into his ears every now and then.
Like….
(I don’t see the issue. Just torture him until he hands over the Card, then kill him. Clean, quick, problem solved.)
Michael gritted his teeth. ‘No. Shut up. I told you, we’re not killing anyone! Not even… not even him, as much as I want to!’
(You’re too soft. Mercy is a weakness, always remember that.)
Before Michael could continue arguing with the demon in his head like a madman, Samael’s voice cut sharply through the air, pulling him back to reality.
“I’ll give you some time to think,” Samael said coolly. “But don’t take too long. Three days. After that, I’ll destroy the Card.”
Michael’s eyes shot wide. “What?!” he blurted. “Why would you destroy it?!”
Samael arched an eyebrow as if the answer was obvious. “Why else? Because it’s useless to me.”
Without another word, Samael stood up and grabbed a… a walking stick from beside his chair.
As he walked away, his legs trembled like those of a frail old man.
‘That bastard!’ Michael sat frozen in disbelief. ‘He’d rather destroy the Card than let me have it!’
