Chapter song: Overdue - Metro Boomin ft. Travis Scott
By the next wave, they'd armed themselves; swords, spears, even shock-batons that crackled faintly with electricity. Their movements mimicked his. Every heavy swing, every angled dodge, they were learning from him, adapting to his aggression.
Durian didn't hesitate. He parried a spear thrust with the flat of his blade and turned the momentum into a sideways swing that crushed two dummies together. When another came from behind, he ducked and drove the axe backwards, impaling it before twisting the weapon free.
Sparks lit the air like fireflies as synthetic joints tore apart. The training floor became a graveyard of twitching parts.
"Thirty down," someone whispered.
"Try eighty," Kenneth said quietly, eyes fixed on the counter above. The number was climbing faster than anyone could track.
The last few minutes were chaotic. Dummies poured in from all directions, their movements a blur of steel and algorithms. Durian's breathing grew heavier, but the smile never left his face. He was enjoying it, the rawness of it, the challenge.
He kicked off the wall, bringing his axe down in a devastating arc that cut through three enemies at once. Another charged from the front, he ducked low, swung upward, and sent his arm spinning into the air.
When the timer finally hit zero, the last dummy crumbled at his feet with a loud metallic crash.
The silence that followed was deafening.
All that remained on the training floor was a single man, standing amid the wreckage, chest heaving, the axe still humming faintly in his grip.
Eighty dummies, defeated.
Durian exhaled, running a hand through his hair before resting the axe on his shoulder. Then, as if he'd just finished a light jog, he glanced toward Instructor Matthews and smirked.
"…Uh…are we expected to fight like that?" A girl from the crowd exclaimed.
They didn't have time to catch a breath as the next person was called. "Lennon Addams."
The young man got up, his face tight and jaw set. He didn't bother walking up to the rack of weapons, going directly to the starting line. Instructor Matthews raised a brow but didn't say anything.
A boy in the crowd frowned. "What is he doing?"
"He's not going to use a weapon?"
"Is he trying to show off?"
"What an idiot." They all muttered.
Lennon, with his keen senses, could hear them whispering about him, but he didn't take their comments to heart. His eyes were focused ahead.
Fae's eyes filled with worry. "Is it all right for him to fight without a weapon?"
Kenneth looked ahead and had a slight smile on his face. "He does have a weapon."
They all looked at him, confusion riddling their faces, but Kenneth didn't clarify what he meant. The timer was about to go off.
He stretched his arms and legs, then hopped from side to side. The second the timer hit zero, Lennon moved.
His heel dug into the floor, muscles coiling like a spring before he shot forward, closing the distance in a blur. The first dummy didn't even have time to lift its arm—Lennon's palm slammed into its chest with a sharp crack, the impact echoing through the room. The dummy flew backwards, its torso dented inward before it hit the ground and short-circuited.
The crowd went dead silent.
The same students who'd been whispering seconds ago stared in disbelief.
Kenneth's lips curved. Realization hit Andrei, Yoosung and Fae's faces. When Kenneth was talking about a weapon, he meant his hands.
Fae let out a laugh of disbelief. Hands could be weapons, too.
Lennon rolled his shoulders, the air shimmering faintly around him as his body loosened up. He bounced on the balls of his feet, hopping from side to side, testing his rhythm. Then came the next wave—three dummies rushing him from different angles.
He ducked under the first swing, catching its arm mid-motion and twisting. A clean snap followed before he used the momentum to flip over it and drive a kick into the second's head. His movements were fluid but explosive, equal parts grace and brutality. Lennon pivoted, swept low, and drove his knee up into a dummy's chin. The synthetic skull cracked, fragments scattering across the floor. He used his other hand to palm-strike another square in the chest, the kinetic force sending it crashing into the far wall.
The energy radiating off him was palpable now; focused, rhythmic, alive.
Each motion chained perfectly into the next: a feint, a twist, a downward kick, a backflip to evade an incoming strike. His style was wild, almost feral, but his precision was undeniable. He wasn't flailing. Every hit landed exactly where it needed to.
"Holy shit," someone whispered.
The next batch of dummies came faster. Five this time, approaching in formation. Lennon exhaled softly, his eyes flickering with a dangerous glint.
He rushed forward. The first dummy swung; he spun under its arm and hit it with a spinning heel kick that shattered its neck. He didn't stop, used the recoil to propel himself forward and deliver a flying knee to another's chest. When two more came from the sides, he planted his palms on the floor, twisted his body mid-handstand, and kicked outward, hitting both their faces simultaneously.
He landed in a crouch, dusting off his hands.
The murmurs turned into awe-struck silence. Even Instructor Matthews' expression had shifted, his habitual expressionless face giving way to mild surprise.
Lennon's chest rose and fell, his breathing steady despite the intensity. The timer showed 6:52 remaining.
The system adjusted. More dummies emerged, now wielding staffs and short blades. They encircled him, calculating.
He grinned.
This time, he didn't wait for them. He dashed straight into their ranks, weaving between blows like water slipping through cracks. He disarmed one dummy and used its own staff as leverage, flipping it into another. A blade came for his neck; he caught it with both hands, forced it sideways, and delivered a crushing elbow to the attacker's jaw.
By the time the timer reached 2:10, fragments of synthetic limbs were scattered across the floor. Lennon's palms were red from impact, his uniform slightly torn at the shoulder, but his stance hadn't wavered.
When the last dummy charged, he met it head-on. His fist glowed faintly, a pulse of blue energy rippling outward as it connected. The dummy's chest caved in completely before collapsing in a heap.
00:00.
Silence.
Lennon straightened, his hair sticking slightly to his forehead as he exhaled slowly. Then he turned to face the stunned group, expression calm, unbothered.
Instructor Matthews gave a short nod. "Eighty-two," he said flatly, tapping his datapad. "Not bad…"
Lennon gave him a shy nod before heading back to his spot next to Kenneth.
They all looked at him like they weren't seeing Lennon Addams, the muscly guy with the sheepish smiles and cool looks, but someone entirely different.
"…That's, wow, Addams, didn't know you had it in you," Andrei finally said after a long moment of silence.
Yoosung and Fae nodded their heads simultaneously, while Kenneth smiled. "How many forms of martial arts was that?" He couldn't help asking.
Lennon tilted his head as if in deep thought before saying, "About three? It's a mix of everything, really. Taekwondo, a bit of judo and some Krav Maga."
"Hmm." Kenneth nodded, but he counted at least five different disciplines, but didn't say anything else on the matter.
~*~
Quite a few more students were called forth after that. Since the stakes were high, and the first two performances were both incredible and tough to beat, the pressure was on. A handful of students were able to stay within that eighty range, while some plummeted a little. Still, their performances were an interesting watch, and Kenneth was able to learn quite a bit about fighting styles and techniques.
Things hadn't changed much over the last ten years, which was reassuring to him. He knew that he could fight using the same skills he'd learned as a soldier and special forces officer without drawing any suspicion.
After another ten students went by, it was Fae, Yoosung and Andrei's turns. Fae was nimble and quick on her feet. She was a long range fighter and used a spear to fight. Her moves were elegant and precise. It almost looked like she was gliding and dancing when she was on the field. She got a total of seventy-five dummies, which was impressive.
Next was Yoosung. He was a sword fighter, using his blade to cut down every single dummy cleanly. He weaved through his "opponents" without breaking a single sweat. The entire time Kenneth was watching him fight, he couldn't help but marvel at how skilled he was. Then there was Andrei. His fighting technique was unconventional, but it was straightforward and to the point.
He utilized a lot of stealth tactics, swift and efficient, ending the dummies quickly. They both were able to secure eighty-two dummies.
Finally, it was Kenneth's turn.
He stood quietly, weaving through the cluster of students in his way. His eyes looked forward, jaw set tight as he made his way towards the weapons. His features were soft, but the fiery ambers in his eyes that matched the boldness of his red hair were anything but. Even with his smaller frame, Kenneth seemed to carry a heavy presence in the room, to the point that the other students there couldn't help following him with their eyes. Even with their gazes on his person, he neither cowered nor flinched. It was as if they didn't exist to him, mostly because they didn't.
He grabbed everything he needed, stuffing them inside the pocket of his cargo pants before stepping forward. Instructor Matthews watched him with keen eyes, and the two ended up making eye contact. Kenneth didn't have to utter a single word. He didn't even nod. Alexi Matthews could tell just by looking into his eyes that he was ready.
And so, the timer started.
Kenneth was locked in. His entire surroundings faded into the background. All he could see was the dummy coming his way.
He took a breath, centring himself to this moment, and moved.