The instructor, in his black tunic with white-trimmed edges, barked orders while punishing the last Aspirant to arrive, a scrawny kid gasping as he ran laps around the field.
The others, lined up in a straight row, watched in silence.
Charles, glancing sideways, counted his peers.
'About 40 of us,' he thought, surprised by the number.
The punished kid finished his laps, face red and sweat dripping down his forehead. He rejoined the line, breathing hard, as the instructor shot him a disdainful look.
"Everyone, run!" the man shouted. "Five laps around the field, now!"
The Aspirants moved instantly, forming a messy group that started jogging along the field's edge.
Charles, still a bit disoriented, took a few seconds to react but soon joined the others.
His boots thumped the dirt, and the crisp morning air filled his lungs. Though tired from the earlier push-ups, his body felt tougher than he'd expected.
As they ran, the instructor paced the field's center, yelling.
"What's your goal?" he roared, his voice echoing across the space.
"Awakening!" the Aspirants replied in unison, except Charles, who stayed silent, confused.
'Awaken what?' he thought, frowning.
The instructor kept shouting.
"And how will you do it?" he continued, arms crossed.
"Training till we die!" the Aspirants answered, again in perfect sync.
Charles's eyes widened, a chill running through him.
'Train till we… die?' he thought, a mix of disbelief and alarm.
He couldn't help muttering, "System, why's this guy making us chant like robots?"
A blue panel appeared, visible only to Charles:
[At the Aspirant rank, Storm Clan members undergo intense physical training to awaken their elemental power. The clan believes pushing the body to its physical and mental limits can activate latent abilities.]
Charles blinked, processing this as he kept running.
'So this rank's for people without powers,' he thought. 'Why am I here if I've already got lightning?'
The answer hit him almost instantly.
Lira Cole.
'Oh, she must've put me here to avoid suspicion.'
It made sense: if anyone found out he already had a power, it could draw unwanted attention.
But that left another issue.
'How am I supposed to train my ability if I'm wasting time on these pointless routines?' he thought, frustrated.
The group finished the five laps, many Aspirants panting, tunics clinging with sweat.
Charles, though tired, was less winded than the others.
His prior training and Control Level 2 gave him an edge, but he didn't want to stand out too much.
He deliberately slowed his pace, faking heavier breathing to blend in.
'Better fly under the radar,' he thought, huffing to mimic the others.
The instructor clapped his hands.
"One minute to rest!" he shouted.
The Aspirants collapsed onto the ground, some gulping water from canteens, others just trying to catch their breath.
Charles sat on the dirt, wiping sweat from his forehead. He glanced around, noticing several peers eyeing him warily.
'Still mad about the dining hall?' he thought, sighing.
The minute passed quickly, and the instructor gave no quarter.
"Up!" he bellowed. "Push-ups, one hundred! Start!"
The Aspirants groaned but obeyed, getting into position.
Charles joined, feeling the burn in his arms from the first reps.
'This is insane,' he thought, but he kept pace, drawing on the strength from his earlier training.
After push-ups came jump rope.
Each Aspirant got an old rope, and the field filled with the sound of cords slapping the dirt.
Charles, no expert, maintained a steady rhythm, jumping carefully to avoid tripping.
Some peers fumbled, tangling in their ropes or falling, but the instructor showed no mercy.
"Keep going!" he yelled, weaving among them.
Then came crunches, squats, and an exercise hauling sandbags across the field.
One by one, Aspirants started collapsing.
Some lay sprawled on the ground, gasping, while others vomited from the strain.
The instructor ignored them, focusing only on those still moving.
Charles, muscles trembling, forced himself to keep going.
'I can't go down,' he thought, gritting his teeth.
In the end, only three remained standing: Charles and two kids.
One was tall, with long hair tied in a ponytail, and the other was shorter but muscular, with a determined glare.
All three were exhausted, tunics soaked, breathing ragged, but they followed the instructor's orders.
Finally, the man clapped his hands.
"Enough for today!" he shouted.
The three stopped, nearly collapsing with relief.
The instructor eyed them, his expression more curious than approving.
"Don't forget to focus," he said seriously. "After each session, try to materialize your power. Sit, close your eyes, and visualize the energy in your body. If you don't, you'll never awaken anything."
The two kids with Charles sat on the dirt, crossing their legs and clasping their hands, like they were meditating.
Charles watched, confused.
'Materialize their power?'
He decided to mimic them to avoid looking out of place. He sat, crossed his legs, and clasped his palms, faking focus.
The two kids had their eyes closed, faces serious, like they expected something magical to happen between their hands.
Charles, still pretending, thought, 'This is nonsense. I don't need to awaken anything.'
But curiosity got the better of him. He decided to give it a shot.
He closed his eyes and visualized the electricity he already knew, the spark flow he'd learned to control.
He imagined the energy pooling between his palms, like when he used acceleration.
But for some reason, the sensation started to shift. His hands began to tremble, until…
BOOM!
A sudden explosion erupted from his hands, a blue light flash illuminating the field.