Morning had risen lazily over training field number 3. A thin mist hovered above the reddish ground, slowly dissipated under the pale sunlight. Menma, dressed in his training uniform, stepped forward hesitantly. He wasn't quite sure what to expect.
Calem was already there, arms crossed, his long black coat falling neatly to his knees. A thin stream of steam rose from a cup of tea resting on a nearby rock. He looked up without smiling.
"You're here. Good. Starting tomorrow, make sure you get here ten minutes before me."
Menma tensed, then nodded.
"I... I'm ready."
I said it without really thinking. Truth is, I don't even know why I'm here. But I don't want to back down. Not in front of him.
"We'll see about that. Do you know why you're here?"
"To… train?"
"Not just to train. To rebuild yourself."
He paused, then added:
"I designed this program for you. Just for you. And since we don't have the luxury of wasting time, this is all you'll be doing here: physical training with me, every day, until the end of the term."
He pointed to a dusty wooden bench.
"For theory classes, go see the other teachers. Tell them Calem sent you. They'll give you notes and study guides. You'll study them at home. Alone. Like a bastard."
Menma blinked.
"Every day… until the end of the term?"
"Exactly. Because by then, you'll face your first major evaluation. And trust me—it won't be an essay."
He picked up a stone weight and tossed it forward.
"I'll tell you more when the time's right. For now, just remember one thing: if your body gives out, your Arche won't go anywhere."
Then he froze, his voice dropping, more serious now.
"Oh, and one more thing."
Calem stepped closer. This time, there was something else in his eyes—not just the cold precision of a strict mentor. A flicker of memory. Challenge. Maybe even… hope.
"Amplification. Your power. You think it's limited to objects, don't you?"
"...Well, yeah. That's what everyone says."
"Yeah. Everyone. But 'everyone' usually means people who've never tried to go further."
He paused. His voice softened, just slightly.
"A long time ago, I heard a rumor. An old theory in a forgotten book... that Amplification could be applied to the human body itself."
Menma stood frozen, frowning. He said nothing, but his thoughts spun wildly.
Is he serious? What's next—amplify dreams too?
Calem watched him.
"I know what you're thinking. That I'm full of crap. Just telling bedtime stories from a dusty archive."
Menma looked down, caught off guard by how accurately Calem had read him.
"But let me ask you this. Have you ever tried? Really tried? No shortcuts. No giving up halfway."
He took another step closer.
"Because I want to see what happens. Not with just anyone—with you."
Menma swallowed. Then, for a moment, something sparked in his mind.
Wait… what if I can amplify the hardness of my bones? Strengthen my skeleton beyond steel? What if my muscles could swell, tighten like cables—
A body forged into a weapon.
Not just control over objects. But a transformation. A full metamorphosis.
Maybe it hadn't been done—not because it was impossible.
But because no one dared think it.
The idea took root.
A future.
An Arche that wasn't laughable anymore.
Calem stepped back, his expression unreadable.
"If you survive this program, maybe you'll understand your power. Maybe I will too. It'll be an experiment."
Menma raised an eyebrow.
"Very reassuring. Thanks…"
"And if you don't explode into pieces before then, maybe we'll even bake a cake to celebrate."
"A funeral cake, yeah…"
"Stuff your sarcasm and start running. You've got an Arche to save."
The following days blurred together like a storm.
Each morning at dawn, Menma met Calem on the field. He ran. He lifted. He fell. He punched until he couldn't feel his arms. Then fell again.
Calem never went easy on him.
"You don't get to quit if you want to amplify a body that can't even stand up!" he'd yell. "It's your mind that carries your Arche! Forge every nerve like a blade!"
And in the evenings, Menma went home. Exhausted. Trembling.
He laid out the professors' notes: alchemy, magical theory, the history of Aeloria. He read. He scribbled. Sometimes he fell asleep on the pages.
And despite everything… he got up again.
One evening, as he collapsed against the wall after another brutal session, a sentence drifted through his mind.
Not from the notes.
Not from Calem.
Just… him.
His own instinct. His own will.
"If I don't get back up… no one else will do it for me."
He opened his eyes. Clenched his teeth.
One step. Then two.
He kept going.
A mantra. Not poetic. Not noble.
But it was his.
One week later.
Menma had just finished a round of strikes against the training dummies. He was panting, on his knees, arms burning.
"You've improved," Calem said. "A little. But it's still not nearly enough."
Menma tried to smile. He didn't have the strength. He let himself fall onto his back, staring up at the pale sky.
And that's when he saw her.
A silhouette. Still, silent. Sitting on a low wall about thirty meters away, at the edge of the field. A girl in a Nova uniform. A book open in her hands.
She seemed to be reading—but her eyes weren't on the pages.
They were on him.
Menma squinted. She turned a page slowly, said nothing, and barely lifted her chin—as if to greet him. Or measure him.
Then her gaze returned to her book.
He stayed frozen.
How long has she been watching me?
Menma tried not to stare. She didn't feel like a threat. Just a quiet presence. Calm. Unmoving.
Everyone had looked up when his Arche awakened.
Everyone… except her.
She had stayed apart.
And now, she was watching.
It surprised him. And strangely—gave him strength.
He found himself hoping she wasn't like the other Novas. That maybe… she was different.
Something in her gaze didn't feel hollow.
He didn't know it yet.
But from that moment, his training wouldn't be the same anymore.
Elsewhere, in the Nova building…
Two students whispered in a hallway between classes.
"Have you heard about that Orion kid? Training with Calem every day?"
"The one with the messy black hair? Yeah. They say he shows up at dawn and leaves half-dead."
"What's his Arche again?"
"Amplification. Supposedly useless."
"Well, Calem wouldn't bet on a loser. Maybe he's hiding real potential."
"Or maybe Calem just wants to prove even a nobody can get strong."
"Or maybe... he saw something no one else did."
"…Could be."
A silence fell.
One of them glanced out the window. In the distance, on field 3, a figure collapsed to the ground—then slowly got back up.
"Either way… he's not giving up."
For several days now…
Ayame Miyazono, a Nova student, has lingered near Field 3.
She says it's boredom. That classes are dull.
But really, she sits there on the old stone wall beneath the oak tree. A book in her hands. Her gaze drifting toward the same place.
Toward him.
Her Arche—Alteration—is rare and powerful. She could be doing far more. But she doesn't. She stays there. Quiet. Unseen.
At first, it was idle curiosity.
But lately, something in him keeps catching her attention. Insistent. Mysterious.
She won't admit it. Not to anyone. Not even to herself.
But this curiosity… might just change everything.
Appendix: Archives – Amplification
The Amplification Archetype is often dismissed as weak—limited to enhancing physical objects.
Yet ancient texts suggest a possibility: applying it to the human body itself—bones, muscles, nerves.
No proof has ever been found.
But if such mastery were possible… it could change everything.
Just as it might… for him.