Dimensional Overseer: I Can Manipulate DNA!

After Mr. Judge's announcement, the class was led to the shooting range. A wide, open area lined with targets at various distances awaited them. Rows of bows rested neatly on racks nearby, each one plain and unremarkable, carved from wood with little attention paid to aesthetic or complexity. They were training bows—functional and nothing more.

Zane picked one up, feeling the unfamiliar weight settle into his grip. It was his first time holding a bow in his life.

He shifted the weapon between his hands, studying it. The grain of the wood was coarse beneath his fingers. When he drew the string back experimentally, he could feel its tension—a resistance that demanded strength and control in equal measure.

'This… doesn't feel right. I've seen bows being used before, but it's not something I ever tried myself. It always looked simple until now.'

"Aim at the target and shoot to the best of your ability," the trainer instructed, his voice echoing across the range.

Zane nodded slightly to himself and stepped forward. A single arrow was provided. He nocked it against the string, his form tense, hands slightly unsteady. He tried to mimic what he had seen in videos or sparring matches over the years.

He inhaled slowly. 'Just breathe. Then shoot.'

He pulled the string back.

Swish!

The arrow left the bow with a lazy wobble, flying toward the target. It struck near the bottom of the wooden ring, far from the bullseye—but it hit the target nonetheless.

"..." Zane blinked at the result, then exhaled. 'Actually… not that bad. I thought I'd miss entirely. Maybe my improved body really is helping—even with things I've never done before.'

Suddenly, a loud agh! echoed nearby. He turned his head and saw other students struggling just like he had. Some completely missed, while a few managed decent hits. Only one person hit the bullseye cleanly—and of course, it had to be her.

Lune stood silently at her lane, her bow already lowered. The arrow she'd loosed stood dead center in the target, embedded perfectly in the bullseye.

"Woah!"

"She nailed it!"

"Is she an archer?!"

"She didn't even try! What the hell?!"

The students reacted with shock and awe. Lune, for her part, didn't acknowledge them. She calmly returned the bow and stepped back, completely unfazed by the attention. Even the teacher raised his brow and scribbled something on his pad.

Zane rolled his eyes. 'Of course she did. Why wouldn't she? She could probably pick up a frying pan and kill monsters with it too.'

The instructor began walking between the students, noting down observations. "That'll be enough for this test," he finally said. "We're moving on to close combat. For those who didn't feel comfortable with the bow, you may request an alternative weapon once assessments are over."

He led the group to the adjacent combat arena. A large square of polished wood marked with soft boundaries, perfect for sparring without causing serious harm.

"You'll be dueling one-on-one with wooden swords. These are light and designed not to injure, but that doesn't mean you can be reckless," he continued. "This test is not about winning. It's about evaluating your technique, reflexes, and adaptability. Matches will be randomly assigned."

"Ugh…"

"Don't pair me with someone strong, please…"

"My luck sucks. I already know I'm getting someone crazy."

The instructor pulled a list from his pocket and glanced at it. "First match—Trevin Ross and Marcus Halstein."

Two students stepped forward, each grabbing a wooden sword from the rack nearby. They entered the ring and stood opposite one another, eyes filled with tension.

"This match will last up to three minutes or until one fighter concedes or is clearly defeated. No intentional injuries. Begin!"

The swords clashed instantly, echoing sharp wooden thuds across the arena.

Trevin was quick on his feet, dodging and weaving with good balance. Marcus, by contrast, had stronger strikes but left himself open between attacks. It quickly became clear they were evenly matched in skill, though their approaches were different.

The fight dragged on for nearly two minutes, back and forth with neither gaining a true advantage—until Marcus slipped during a quick pivot, losing balance. Trevin reacted instantly, his sword stopping just at his opponent's neck.

"Match over," the instructor declared.

"Damn it! I slipped!"

"Haha! Gotcha!"

Mr. Judge jotted down notes and then glanced at the list again. "Next."

And so the fights continued, one by one. Some were close and intense. Others ended in under thirty seconds. The sound of wooden swords striking, the grunts of effort, and the occasional cheer or groan filled the air.

Zane watched carefully, arms crossed, eyes sharp. 'The level's about what I expected. Nothing extraordinary, but no one here is a total amateur either. They've had training—most of them at least. Even if we're from the so-called weakest world, we aren't that far behind.'

By the end of nearly an hour, most of the students had already fought. Only a handful remained—Zane, Elizabeth, Lune, and a few others.

Then, the teacher glanced at the list again.

"Elizabeth Sernfield. Jake Barton. You're next."

Elizabeth froze.

Her hands began to tremble. Her eyes widened in sheer panic as she took a step back. "W-What? I… I don't know how to fight… I've never—what should I do…?"

Her voice cracked, almost inaudible. She clasped her hands tightly together, her fear obvious to everyone around her.

Zane turned his head toward her and sighed quietly.

'Of course she's terrified. She's not a fighter, and this is probably the first time she's ever held a sword. I can't blame her for panicking… but... I kind of feel bad.'

Without thinking, he stepped forward and gently tapped her shoulder.

She flinched at the touch, then looked up at him with wide, watery eyes.

"Don't fear anything," he said quietly, voice low enough for only her to hear. "Just do your best. That's all anyone can ask."

His tone was calm—neither harsh nor overly soft. Just firm enough to cut through the fog of fear clouding her mind.

Elizabeth blinked.

'D-Do my best…? Zane told me to do my best…'

The words echoed in her chest. For a reason she couldn't understand, they filled her with an odd warmth. Not courage exactly, but something close. It gave her just enough to push through the panic.

She nodded slowly and walked into the arena, gripping the wooden sword like it was a foreign object. Her opponent, Jake, smirked at the sight of her trembling form.

'Pfft. This is going to be easy.' Jake casually spun the sword in his hand, confidence radiating off him.

The moment the match began, Jake lunged forward, swinging down with a powerful blow.

Elizabeth panicked, stepping back instinctively. She raised her sword just in time to block—but the force of the impact sent a jolt up her arm and nearly knocked her off her feet.

"Ow!" she yelped, wincing as she stumbled.

Jake didn't stop. He smirked and rushed forward again, sword raised.

Zane watched from the sidelines, his fists clenched.

'Damn it. He's going all in. This fight's going to end quickly if she can't hold on…'

But despite the pain and the panic, Elizabeth didn't run. She didn't cry. She grit her teeth, steadied her shaking legs, and prepared for the next blow.

She had told herself one thing.

'Do your best… I have to do my best…'

And no matter how clumsy she looked, she was going to try.