A month has passed since I first learned about Foresight, and, well, I’ve been training it every day—along with my physical and mental training.

  It’s been a tough routine, but I know it’s necessary for my growth. Every passing day, I push myself to the limit, doing everything I can to avoid slacking off. It’s not easy, but I’m determined.

  I glance at the scale, then step onto it, feeling the familiar cold surface beneath my feet. The numbers flicker for a moment before settling. "138 lbs," I mutter, the weight reading clicking in my mind—62 kilograms. Still below average. The thought nags at me, but I push it aside.

  It’s when I straighten up that I notice something else. I’ve grown. My eyes flick to the height chart on the wall, confirming it—5'8" to 6 feet. It’s not a massive change, but it’s something. A sign that the training is having an effect, even if it’s only in small increments. I nod to myself, accepting it as progress. Every little bit counts.

  I gaze at my reflection in the mirror, taking in the familiar sight. My black hair falls just above my shoulders, and my brown eyes stare back at me. It’s a sharp contrast to my mother’s features—blonde hair, black eyes—yet we share the same stubbornness. I sigh, pushing the thought aside as I step into the shower. The warm water rushes over me, washing away the remnants of sleep and preparing me for the day ahead. School awaits, and I have no time to linger on the differences that set me apart.

  I pull on my usual uniform, the fabric snug against my skin as I move through the routine. Once I’m dressed, I head to the dining table. The smell of breakfast lingers in the air, but it’s my father’s presence that catches my attention. He sits at the table, his expression unreadable, as always. It’s quiet between us—no words yet, just the familiarity of a morning that feels like all the others.

  “Why are you still here? Don’t you have work?” I ask, my voice barely rising above the hum of the morning.

  “Don’t you want me here?” my father responds, his voice a bit sharper than usual. He sets down his coffee mug and looks me in the eye, his brow furrowing slightly. “You should be at the blacksmith’s place by now. You know Keldar’s waiting for you, right?”

  I blink, momentarily caught off guard. I’d forgotten about the meeting. Keldar is the local blacksmith and a friend of my fathers—a massive, burly man with calloused hands and a stern face, though I’ve always found him to be strangely kind beneath his gruff exterior. His forge, a sprawling workshop at the edge of town, always smells of hot metal and coal smoke. It’s a place that’s both intimidating and oddly comforting, where the rhythm of hammering steel never stops.

  “He’s been expecting you for days now,” my father adds, his tone softening just slightly. “You can’t keep putting it off. Your training isn’t going to progress if you don’t get those gauntlets fixed.”

  “I guess I could go now,” I reply, the words escaping before I can fully process them. “My practical exam starts at 2 pm anyway.” The reminder makes my stomach tighten a little. I’ve been putting it off, but the clock is ticking. Keldar’s work might be exactly what I need to make sure I’m prepared.

  My father stands up from his chair, his movements slow but deliberate. Before I can react, he leans down and places a quick kiss on my forehead. The warmth of it catches me off guard, and I blink, feeling a flush creep up my neck.

  “What the hell?” I mutter, swatting at the air as if to dismiss the moment. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

  I can feel his smile, even without looking up at him. He doesn’t say anything, but his silent gesture is enough—he’s proud, I can tell. Still, it doesn’t stop me from feeling a little embarrassed. I’ve never been one for displays of affection, especially not like this.

  I quickly step out the door, the cool air hitting my face as I make my way down the familiar path toward Keldar’s shop. The sound of my footsteps echoes in the quiet morning, and for a moment, I allow myself to lose myself in the rhythm of it. The sooner I get there, the sooner I can get this over with.

  As I approach Keldar's shop, the sight of it immediately pulls me in. The forge is alive with the hiss and crackle of metal being shaped, and the rhythmic clang of hammer against anvil fills the air. It’s noisy, but there’s something oddly calming about it—the steady pulse of the place, the way the fire dances in the open forge, and the smell of burning wood and hot iron. It feels like the world slows down here, even if only for a moment.

  I push open the heavy wooden door and step inside, the warmth from the forge immediately wrapping around me. The sound of hammering metal is deafening, but it’s a familiar noise that fills the air with purpose. My eyes settle on Keldar, hunched over his anvil, his broad shoulders glistening with sweat as he works. The faint glow of the forge illuminates his weathered face, hardened by years of labor, yet his expression softens when he notices me.

  “Ah, Mr. Vaylen,” Keldar says, his deep voice carrying a soft tone as he pauses his work and looks up at me.

  I shake my head, a slight frown pulling at my face. “Please... don’t call me by my last name. Just call me Mat,” I reply, trying to shake off the formality. It’s always felt strange, hearing my last name come from his lips. After all, we’ve known each other for years, and it feels odd that he still insists on calling me by something so distant.

  “Haha, if you say so,” Keldar chuckles, returning to his work without missing a beat. The rhythmic clang of his hammer rings out again as he strikes the metal with practiced precision. “I’m guessing you’re here for your gauntlets?”

  I take a step closer, my voice a little more serious now. “Yes... Are they done?” I ask, eyeing the pile of metal pieces scattered across the workbench, wondering if my gauntlets are among them.

  "Yes," Keldar replies, his voice low as he stops what he's doing. He sets his hammer down and wipes his brow with the back of his hand before standing up. Without another word, he moves toward a door at the far side of the shop—one that leads to what I assume is the storage room. The door creaks slightly as he pulls it open, disappearing behind it for a moment. When he returns, he’s holding my gauntlets, their surface gleaming under the warm light of the forge.

  "Here it is," Keldar says, tossing the gauntlets toward me with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. I fumble, barely managing to catch them, and I almost drop them in the process. The weight feels different, more substantial than I remember.

  He watches me with a knowing look before adding, “I’ve made a few adjustments with mana runes.” His voice is steady, but I can see the satisfaction in his eyes as he observes my reaction. The gauntlets shimmer slightly in the light, their surface etched with intricate markings—runic symbols I don’t fully understand, but I can feel the faint hum of mana coursing through them.

  “Mana runes? What’s that?” I ask, curiosity edging my voice as I inspect the markings more closely. The symbols seem almost alive, pulsing faintly with an energy I can’t quite grasp. I’ve heard the term before, but the idea of runes etched into my gauntlets to enhance mana use is a whole new concept.

  Keldar nods slowly, his expression shifting to something more serious. “Mana runes are basically Mana ores, just infused with mana. It makes it easier for me to craft enchantments from them.” He mutters under his breath, clearly a little frustrated. “Well, if Etherborns didn’t restrict it so much, I could have done a better job."

  He shakes his head, though his hands still hover over the gauntlets, clearly proud of the work he’s done despite the limitations. The mention of the Etherborns catches my attention. Their restrictions on mana use have always been a touchy subject, but I can understand Keldar’s frustration. Magic always seems to come with rules that tie our hands, especially for someone like him.

  “Anyway, the adjustments I’ve made are that it automatically fits your hands when you use them,” Keldar says, gesturing for me to try them on.

  I slip the gauntlets onto my hands, and just as he said, they mold perfectly to my grip, as if they were designed specifically for me. The fit is seamless, snug but comfortable, as though they were always meant to be there.

  Keldar watches closely, a small grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “And if you focus, you’ll notice... it feels like there are chains in your hands now, right?” he asks, his voice a little softer, as if he’s sharing a secret.

  I flex my fingers, feeling the subtle weight shift within the gauntlets. It’s not uncomfortable, but there's an undeniable sensation—like invisible chains binding my hands to something greater, something more powerful. I nod slowly. "Yeah... It’s strange, but it feels... controlled."

  “Those chains you’re feeling make those gauntlets useful for long-range attacks,” Keldar explains, his voice steady but with a hint of excitement. “To make it easier to understand, you can swing them. Just feel it.”

  I nod, still processing his words. “Feel it?” I repeat, a bit unsure, but I try to focus on the sensation again.

  As I concentrate, something strange happens. The gauntlets, as if reacting to my thoughts, suddenly slip off my hands. My fingers freeze in mid-air, and to my surprise, brass knuckles form in their place. The gauntlets clatter to the ground, but the two pieces remain connected by the same faint, glowing chains of mana, like a tether between them.

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  I flex my fingers, now wrapped in the knuckles, trying to comprehend what I just experienced. It's as if the gauntlets didn’t just transform, but adapted to the situation, shifting seamlessly into something new.

  “Mana? How am I using mana?” I ask, still trying to wrap my mind around everything that’s happening.

  Keldar bursts into laughter, a hearty, almost manic sound that echoes around the shop. “Hahaha, don’t be silly!” he says between chuckles, slapping me on the back with enough force to nearly knock me off balance. “That mana isn’t yours, it’s from the weapons themselves. The weapons I made pull mana from the air—that’s how they function! And the mana runes I put into them help with that process, making it all run smoothly!”

  He laughs again, his joy infectious even as it carries a hint of madness. I’m left standing there, blinking, trying to process what he just said. It feels like the gauntlets have a life of their own, drawing energy from the environment itself. The thought is both exhilarating and confusing.

  Keldar’s laughter slowly fades, and his expression shifts in an instant. His eyes narrow, scanning me with a sharpness that catches me off guard.

  “You’ve grown quite a lot,” he says, his voice suddenly serious, the playful tone gone. “I can see it... inside of you.”

  I feel a strange chill run down my spine at his words. It’s as if he’s seeing something in me that I can’t quite grasp, something deeper than just the gauntlets or my physical growth. I shift uncomfortably under his gaze, not sure how to respond.

  Keldar mutters under his breath, almost as if talking to himself. “You’re almost at the first stage.”

  “Sorry?” I ask, my confusion evident. I lean forward, trying to catch his gaze, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His words hang in the air, heavier than the hammer he uses on the anvil.

  He pauses, as though realizing he’s said something he hadn’t meant to. Slowly, his eyes flicker up to mine, and he clears his throat. “Nothing. Just... keep at it. You’re making good progress.” He smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and I can’t shake the feeling that he’s hiding something.

  Keldar chuckles once more, the sound now lighter, as though he’s brushing off the moment. “Hah, now get out of my shop. I still have work to do,” he says, waving me off with one hand.

  His tone is casual, but I can tell he’s already turning his attention back to his forge, the hammer in his hand ready for the next strike. I hesitate for a moment, still unsure about what he said earlier, but I nod and turn toward the door. Whatever he meant by the “first stage,” it’s clear he’s not going to explain it right now.

  As I walk toward the academy, I focus on the gauntlets, trying to feel the strange sensation Keldar mentioned earlier. But as I flex my fingers, it just feels like... well, normal gloves. The subtle hum of mana isn’t there. The chains he spoke of seem to have vanished, leaving me with the impression that it’s just another pair of protective gear.

  I frown slightly, trying to concentrate harder, but no matter how much I focus, the sensation doesn't return. Maybe I was just imagining it in the heat of the moment.

  BZZZZT BZZZT

  A sudden ring, pulling me from my thoughts. I quickly pull my phone out of my pocket, seeing Kyu’s name across the screen. I swipe to answer, holding the phone up to my ear.

  “Hey, man! The practical exam’s about to start. Where are you?” Kyu’s voice comes through, sounding a little rushed.

  I glance at the time on my phone, blinking in confusion. “What do you mean? It’s only 11:30…” I respond, a frown tugging at my lips. The exam doesn’t start until 2 p.m. What’s he on about?

  “Well, it seems like Professor Raynor has different plans. Hurry up,” Kyu says, his tone urgent. Before I can respond, he hangs up, leaving me standing there, staring at the now-blank screen of my phone.

  I blink, trying to process what just happened. Professor Raynor? Why would he change the schedule? Without wasting another second, I slip the phone back into my pocket and break into a quick jog toward the academy. It looks like I’ll need to hurry if I want to make it in time.

  I make my way to our classroom, only to find it empty. My heart skips a beat, and I check the time again—still only 11:40. Confused, I quickly turn on my heel and rush toward the training grounds.

  As I approach the area, the distant sounds of shuffling feet and murmurs reach my ears, and I know I'm getting closer. The training grounds are always bustling with activity, but this time, something feels off. I quicken my pace, my nerves picking up speed along with my footsteps. If Kyu's right, I don't want to miss whatever’s happening today.

  I finally catch sight of everyone gathered, all lined up in a neat row. Kyu stands at the front, his eyes scanning the others, looking every bit as prepared as I should be. The air is thick with anticipation, and I feel a knot form in my stomach as the reality of the exam hits me.

  Suddenly, Professor Raynor’s voice rings out across the training grounds, his tone sharp and commanding. “Today, our practical exam will consist of physical assessment duels, and I will be checking on how far you’ve trained your foresight. Now, everyone pick a partner—keep in mind, you’ll be dueling them.”

  His words send a ripple through the group, and I can feel the tension rise in the air. Everyone begins to move, looking around to find their partner for the duel. I glance at Kyu, but he’s already looking over at a guy from the other side of the field. Looks like he’s got a partner. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.

  “Hey, kid,” a deep voice sneers at me, snapping my attention to a tall, muscular figure looming over me. His broad shoulders and intimidating stance make him impossible to ignore.

  “Looks like we can be sparring partners again.”

  I blink, confused. I take a step back, scanning his face, trying to place him. “Who are you?”

  His expression falters for a split second before he grins, crossing his arms over his chest. “Hey, don’t you remember me? We sparred last time and got yelled at by Raynor. It’s me, Rook.”

  The name clicks in my mind, and I instantly recall the last time we were paired up for a duel.

  Professor Raynor’s voice cuts through the murmurs of the crowd, his commanding tone silencing everyone in an instant. “Now settle down,” he announces, his eyes scanning the students. “Today, we will be doing our practical exam with Class 4—Etherborn's.”

  A wave of confusion ripples through the students, followed by several incredulous mutters.

  “Etherborns? How are we gonna duel them?” one of the students calls out, disbelief clear in their voice.

  “That’s not fair!” another adds, his tone laced with frustration.

  Professor Raynor doesn’t flinch, his gaze hardening as he waits for the murmurs to die down. The tension hangs thick in the air, and for a moment, it feels like the entire class is holding its breath.

  “Don’t worry,” he continues, his voice steady but firm. “You won’t be dueling them. They will just join our physical assessment today.”

  The murmurs subside almost immediately, but the confusion still lingers. We’re not sparring with the Etherborn's? I glance over at Rook, who seems just as perplexed as I am. It’s hard to wrap my head around—Class 4 Etherborn's are some of the most skilled, capable individuals, and the thought of having them join our physical assessment feels a little daunting, to say the least.

  Professor Raynor’s voice rings out, clear and precise. “Now, when your name is called, please fall in line on the track.”

  He begins reading off the names, each one drawing attention as the students respond by stepping forward.

  “Kyu.”

  Kyu steps up, his posture relaxed but determined. He shoots me a quick glance as he takes his place.

  “Rook.”

  Rook sneers confidently, clearly expecting to show off his strength. He steps forward with a proud stride, his muscles flexing with each movement.

  “Jin.”

  Jin gives a small wave as he steps into the lineup, his usual laid-back demeanor present as always.

  “Gilbert.”

  Gilbert adjusts his glasses, giving a short nod before joining the others, his movements precise and calculated.

  “Zerion.”

  Zerion’s presence commands attention, his sharp eyes scanning the others as he steps forward with an almost regal air about him.

  “Mat.”

  I hear my name called, and my heart skips a beat. I step forward, trying to keep my nerves in check as I make my way to the track. The others are already getting into position, and I fall in line with them, feeling the weight of the moment settle on my shoulders.

  Professor Raynor’s voice cuts through the air once more, sharp and commanding. “Get ready. Remember, this is an exam. 100-meter dash. Average time—8 seconds.”

  The words hang in the air for a moment, the pressure building. My stomach tightens as I glance at the track ahead. Eight seconds. It’s a benchmark that many in this class have already proven they can hit with ease.

  I try to steady my breath, pushing aside the nerves that are creeping up my spine. This is just a physical test, right? No need to overthink it.

  “Take your marks!” Professor Raynor calls out, his voice sharp as he watches each of us carefully.

  I crouch down into position, my feet digging into the track as I prepare myself. The pressure of the moment builds with every second.

  “Set!” The command is clear and immediate, and I hold my breath, waiting for the signal.

  “GO!”

  The starting pistol fires, and the world blurs into motion. The crowd erupts into cheers, but everything seems to move too fast for me. My legs push off the ground, and I can feel the power surge through them—but not as quickly as I’d hoped. The others are already ahead, their bodies moving with ease. I struggle to catch up, the weight of my gauntlets still unfamiliar and awkward.

  I push harder, trying to make up for lost time, but the gap between me and the others only widens. My breaths come faster, but it’s not enough. The finish line approaches, and I can already feel the burn in my legs.

  Everything else fades, the cheers, the sound of my heartbeat—until I cross the line, gasping for air.

  The times are called out one by one, each student’s performance being measured as they catch their breath.

  “Kyu, 8.58,” Professor Raynor announces, his tone neutral.

  “Jin, 6.52,” he calls next, Jin grinning as he walks back, clearly pleased with his time.

  “Rook, 7.89,” the professor continues, Rook cracking his knuckles, seemingly satisfied with his result.

  “Gilbert, 7.12,” comes the next call, and Gilbert adjusts his glasses, clearly content with his performance.

  “Zerion, 6,” Professor Raynor says, his voice carrying the usual weight of praise. Zerion simply nods, his focus already shifting to the next challenge.

  Then, my name is called.

  “And, Mat… 10.12 seconds…”

  The words feel like a weight on my chest, heavier than I expected. I don’t need to see the looks of disappointment from the others; I can feel them. My time is the slowest by far.

  A few heads turn in my direction, but I just stand there, forcing myself not to let it show. This isn’t the end. It’s just the beginning.

  One by one, the others run their 100 meters, and as expected, each one scores either an 8 seconds or below. Kyu, Jin, Rook, Gilbert, and Zerion—all of them push past the line with impressive times. It stings a little more each time a new result is called out, each one reminding me how far behind I am.

  It’s clear now—I need to train harder. I’m not going to let this be my limit.

  As the last of the students finish their run, Professor Raynor steps forward, his expression unreadable but stern.

  “Good job, everyone,” he says, his voice cutting through the tension. “We will continue the test tomorrow, as we have passed the allotted time. Make sure to come back tomorrow and don’t be late!”

  His words ring in my ears as the students start to gather their things, chattering amongst themselves. They all seem unfazed, maybe even excited about tomorrow’s challenge. Me? I can’t help but feel the weight of my failure, knowing that tomorrow, I’ll have to push myself even harder if I want to catch up.