Simon slowly replayed the fight in his mind. Since Hongfeng had sealed her power, their strength and speed had been equal—or perhaps he’d even had the upper hand with his Jet-Black Internal Ignition. And yet, he had lost. While the difference in experience and skill was undeniable, the core issue was simpler: Hongfeng knew all of his techniques and could counter them effortlessly, while hers were completely alien to him, leaving him defenseless. The moves she’d used didn’t seem any more complex than Chwita, Cheonhyung, or Chakgeom. He had been defeated simply because he was predictable.
"A lack of newness," Simon concluded, looking up at her. "The problem is that I don’t have any of my own techniques to create variables in a fight."
Hongfeng’s smile widened as she nodded.
"Exactly!"
At first glance, it seed contradictory. She was, after all, teaching her students the standard combat forms of Chwita, Cheonhyung, and Chakgeom. But he now understood that these were rely the fundantals—the minimum requirent to even stand against the teaching assistants. To actually defeat them, a student needed sothing more, sothing the TAs wouldn’t see coming.
"The techniques I teach are ones the TAs have already mastered," she explained. "They know the applications and the counters. To catch them off guard, you need a novel approach."
The final evaluation for Martial Arts wasn’t just a sparring match. It was a test of innovation: the creation of a personal martial arts technique. Whether it was effective or not, just having one move the TAs didn’t know would dramatically increase his odds of winning.
"That’s a tall order." Realizing the true depth of her lesson, Simon scratched his head. It wasn’t as if he could just invent a new technique on the spot.
"Then shall we begin so special training?" she asked, pulling a wickless candlestick from her pocket. She channeled a bit of jet-black into it, and a serene blue fla flickered to life.
"Zimon," she said, placing the candle on a nearby rock. "By the end of class, I want you to extinguish this fla without touching it."
Extinguishing a candle without physical contact. It seed simple enough, but knowing Professor Hongfeng, there had to be a catch.
"And here’s a question for you: What is the biggest difference between black magic and martial arts?"
Simon answered instantly.
"The presence of a magic circle."
"Correct! Which ans you can’t use a magic circle to put out this fla. You must extinguish it using only martial arts. Well then, good luck!" With a flick of her hair, she turned and headed back toward the main training ground.
"Thank you for your guidance, Professor!" Simon called after her, bowing deeply before turning his attention to the candle.
[Mwahahaha!]
As soon as Hongfeng was out of earshot, Pier’s mocking laughter echoed in his mind. Startled, Simon stamred, "P-Pier! How long have you been watching?"
[I’ve been enjoying the show since you started fighting that woman. More importantly,] Pier’s spectral eyes fixed on the fla. [They still use this classic training thod!]
"They do?"
[Richard did this very sa exercise in his Martial Arts class when he was a student at Kizen!]
A new light sparked in Simon’s eyes.
"How long did it take my father?"
[Two days.]
"Then I," Simon declared, snapping into a fighting stance, "will finish it in one!"
With a surge of confidence, he threw a straight right punch. His fist stopped just short of the fla. The gust of wind made the blue light dance for a mont before it settled back into its steady glow.
"Oh, this might be more doable than I thought."
[Mwahaha!]
Simon retracted his fist, this ti channeling jet-black into it to form ‘Chwita’ before striking. The result was the sa. The fla rely flickered. He tried Cheonhyung next, but it was no different.
"Then how about this...!"
He ford ‘Chakgeom’ with his hand and swung it horizontally. The fla wavered more violently than before, but it stubbornly held on.
[Mwahahahahaha!] Pier roared with laughter. [You’re just like your father, trying the sa useless things!]
"Shut up!" Simon shot back, his face flushing with embarrassnt.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to think rationally. This wasn’t just about putting out a fla; it was about developing a new technique. Simply repeating what he already knew was pointless.
’That was foolish. I was too focused on the result.’
He began to experint, trying different punches, kicks, and stances in front of the candle. He tried a running punch and even a deliberately exaggerated spinning kick, but the fla only swayed mockingly before returning to its original state. Before long, sweat was pouring down his forehead.
"The most effective attempt so far was..."
He placed a wooden board in front of the candle, securing it to the rock with a potion from his Venomology class. When he unleashed Cheonhyung, the fla flickered wildly. That confird it: this fla had to be extinguished not by air pressure, but by jet-black itself.
"Hmm."
He tore the board away and once again stood facing the candle. ’Cheonhyung...’
With a look of intense concentration, Simon held his palm open before the fla. ’Like a focused, straight-line explosion!’
A blast of jet-black erupted from his palm, shaking the fla. It was a definite improvent. ’But this isn’t martial arts,’ he thought. ’It’s just a crude blast of condensed energy.’
It needed proper form. He recalled Hongfeng’s stance from their spar. ’Did she do it like this?’
He placed his right hand on his hip, his left held loosely before his face. From this position, he smoothly rotated his waist and thrust his right arm forward with all his might. ’Now!’
The jet-black that shot from his palm slamd into the candle. The fla danced precariously, on the very brink of extinguishing, before flaring back to life.
"So close!"
[Mwahaha!]
He was hooked. Ideas began to flood his mind, and he moved imdiately to test them.
"Partial Jet-Black Internal Ignition."
He focused an extre amount of jet-black into his right arm and thrust his palm forward. Again, the fla nearly went out but clung stubbornly to life. He was getting sowhere. This was a technique he could use in a real fight. He smiled in satisfaction, though he was panting heavily.
’But the jet-black is still too scattered. It needs to be more precise.’
He concentrated the energy into the tip of his middle finger and adopted the posture for a finger flick. Then, as if launching a projectile, he snapped his finger.
’Twaang!’
The effect was undeniable. The fla vanished completely for a mont before sputtering back to life, clinging desperately to the wick.
"One finger isn’t enough!"
He pressed his middle and ring fingers together, supporting his right hand with his left.
"One more ti!"
A heavy thud echoed as the candle fla went out. Simon watched with bated breath, but this ti, it did not return.
"I did it!" he shouted, clenching his fist in triumph.
[Mwahahaha!]
Pier’s spectral form, which had been watching intently, seed to glow. ’This one... he might truly surpass you, Richard.’
---
With about twenty minutes left in class, Simon returned to the training ground, where Hongfeng and the TAs were busy running students through the obstacle course.
’I should rest for a bit.’ He found a spot in the shade and leaned his back against a tree.
"Hey."
A voice startled him. He recognized the student from Class A but had never spoken to him before.
"I’m Philip Ellande." The boy had wavy brown hair. Simon rembered him as the Martial Arts aspirant who had run the course just before him.
"Yeah, what’s up?"
"Oh, nothing much." Philip glanced over at the students being sent flying by the course’s wooden arms, then looked back at Simon. "Just wondering why a Summoning major is so good at martial arts."
Simon frowned, unsure where this was going. Philip just shrugged.
"You’re not thinking of switching majors, are you?"
"Not at the mont, no."
Philip paused, watching as the class president, Jamie, started her run, drawing a crowd.
"The TA really laid into earlier," he finally said.
"Oh?"
"He was yelling about how a Martial Arts aspirant could possibly be outdone by a student from another major. Honestly, this happens all the ti."
The words were laced with resentnt, the implication clear.
"I’m sorry you got scolded, but what are you trying to say?"
"Look, just... let’s keep things friendly," Philip said, running a hand through his hair. "BMATs are one thing, but in class, you should try to read the room."
"Read the room?"
"To be blunt, we’re getting chewed out because of you."
Simon was floored. In Kizen, the ultimate ritocracy, he never imagined he’d be criticized for trying too hard.
"I was just—"
"What are you doing here?"
Both boys jumped and spun around. A student in a black robe worn over his Kizen uniform was approaching them. The gray hair and the scar over his eye were unmistakable.
"Kajan!" Simon blinked in surprise.
Philip scowled.
"Who are you? You’re not in Class A."
He trailed off as Kajan simply stared at him. Kajan didn’t move, didn’t say a word, yet Philip’s face drained of all color, his expression turning ashen as if an invisible hand were squeezing his throat.
"Whatever," Kajan finally said, turning his gaze to Simon. "We need to talk."
"Ah, right."
As Simon and Kajan walked away, Philip was left gasping for breath. ’Wh-what was that? Is he even human? That presence...’
"Hey, Philip."
Another voice, this ti from behind him. He turned to see a female student beckoning with her finger.
"Hector wants to see you."
’Hector? Now? Why would Hector want to see ?’
He didn’t know the reason, but he knew he had no choice. With a knot of dread in his stomach, Philip followed her.
"I’m telling you!"
"Hahaha!"
"It’s all a waste of ti."
Hector was in the back, casually chatting with his cronies. Philip approached him timidly.
"D-Did you call for , Hector?"
Hector didn’t answer, lost in conversation with his group. As Philip stood there shuffling his feet, Hector rose, his massive fra like a mountain.
"Hey."
Philip flinched.
"Yes! I an, yeah!"
"I heard you saying sothing interesting earlier," Hector growled, stepping so close Philip had to crane his neck to look up at him. "Telling people to ‘read the room’ in class? Were you talking to ?"
"N-No! Not you! I was talking to Simon—!"
The playful smiles on the faces of Hector’s friends vanished, replaced by cold venom.
"Oh my, he’s completely lost his mind."
"Does he not know Hector passed the training course too?"
Hector shrugged off his gym shirt, revealing a body of solid, chiseled muscle—the result of relentless effort.
"Grit your teeth," he commanded, raising a massive arm. "This is a dogfight. You’re welco to fight back."
"W-Wait, Hecto—!"
A sickening ’crack’ echoed as one of Philip’s teeth spun through the air, glinting in the sunlight. He staggered and collapsed.
"A martial arts..." Another blow landed with a sharp crack. "...aspirant..." A fist slamd into him. "...is just gonna take a beating?"
Hector’s boot drove into Philip’s face. The wet smack of the impact was followed by the sound of splattering blood. A few nearby students discreetly looked away. Several others subtly used black magic to muffle the sounds and conceal their presence.
"Now," Hector said, lowering his leg, his voice a low growl. "Do you feel like fighting back?"
Philip’s bloodied eyes flashed with fury. With a scream, he scrambled to his feet and threw a wild punch. But just as his fist was about to connect...
’Craaaack!’
Hector’s hand moved faster, grabbing Philip’s head and slamming it into the ground. Even with just martial arts, the difference in their power was absolute.
"Hah. Pathetic."
"You’ll get caught, Hector," one of his friends warned.
The group chuckled as Hector casually dusted off his hands. Philip lay unconscious, his face a bloody ss, his mouth hanging open.
"Clean this up. Leave no trace."
"Yes, yes," a Venomology major from the group uncorked a potion and poured it over Philip’s mangled face.
"You know, you’ve gotten a lot stronger recently," another student remarked from his perch on a rock. "At this rate, you could even take on Simon—"
"Not yet," Hector cut him off, clenching a fist as hard as granite. "I still haven’t worked hard enough."
---
anwhile, Simon and Kajan had found a quiet spot away from the training ground.
"What’s going on, Kajan? Why the sudden visit?"
"Open it," Kajan said, handing him a paper envelope. "New information on Professor Walter."
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