My Special Ability is Growing Muscles

Professor Elara's eyes swept across the room once more. "You've chosen your electives. Now," she drew her longsword in a single fluid motion, steel singing through the air, "it's time to earn them".

The sound rang sharp in the air.

"This class does not end with lectures," she smiled. "The main reason why I agreed to take Weapon Proficiency 1 is because of the practical aspects of the class".

"That is what excites me most, watching and grooming budding seeds like you to become weapon masters".

"For the next two hours, you will move to the training halls assigned to your electives. There, you will meet your specialist instructors. From today, your weapons will shape you as much as your abilities do."

She flicked her blade into a salute, then pointed to the door. "Move."

The massive training complex of Nexus Academy was divided into dozens of halls, each designed for specific weapon paths. Signs of Spear Arts, Archery Range, Greatblade Hall, Staff Chambers, and more lined the walls like a martial cathedral.

As soon as Professor Elara shoed them away, students filed toward their electives, chatter already turning into competitive boasting.

Adrain went to the Greatsword Chamber, his air of dominance unshaken.

Valek strolled into the Blood Weaponry Hall, the crimson gleam in his eyes making even other nobles step aside in fear.

As for Selene, she disappeared into the Staff Hall, her Moonveil aura faintly pulsing.

Kairo stopped before a smaller hall tucked into the side. A single sign above the entrance read…

[Dagger Discipline: Precision and Survival]

He inhaled sharply. 'Here goes nothing'.

Inside, the space was narrower than the other halls as the walls were lined with racks of throwing knives and short daggers. The air smelled of oiled leather and iron; it felt like walking into an assassin's lair.

Their instructor was a wiry man with a thin scar cutting down his cheek. His eyes were sharp, like someone who saw every twitch and every heartbeat.

"I am Instructor Kaelith. You guys choose my class as your electives for Weapon Proficiency, so you lots should have held a dagger at least once in your lives, right?"

He looked at them and smirked. "Can someone tell me what the dagger symbolizes?"

Without even waiting for them to answer and ignoring the few students who raised their hands, he answered himself. "Daggers aren't flashy," he grinned. "They're not heroic, they're survival, and that's why I love them".

"When your spear breaks, when your sword is gone, when your mana fails, daggers are your last resort".

"Daggers are what keep you alive when all else fails".

He tossed a knife into the air, caught it by the blade, and hurled it backward without even looking.

Thunk!

The dagger buried itself dead center into a straw dummy behind him.

Half the class jumped.

Noting their reactions, Kaelith smirked. "Lesson one, never underestimate a short blade".

The students were handed dulled practice daggers and lined into pairs.

"Stance first". He said loudly as the students immediately imitated his movements. "When it comes to the dagger, your stance is very important, whether it's for throwing or for close range combat".

"Knees bent," he said, demonstrating it to them. "Daggers are all about angles, not brute strength. You cut where your enemy doesn't expect".

"It's a weapon meant for the slick".

As soon as Instructor Kaelith was done with showing them the stance to take, he ramped it up immediately as they drilled the basics…

Forward grip, reverse grip.

Slashing arcs.

Quick feints.

Targeting weak points: throat, armpits, stomach, knees.

Kaelith left nothing untouched as he showed the students the ropes on how to embark on the journey of being a menace with a dagger.

"As you are now, every one of you is an unripe fruit," he smirked. "If you want to mature and become ripe, make sure you follow every single instruction that I give without complaints".

"If you like don't follow it, I'll whoop your ass".

A noble laughed.

"You, 20 pushups, now!"

"Huh?" The noble blinked.

"30 pushups!"

"What I'd do…?"

"50 pushups, NOW!"

This time, Kaelith didn't just talk as he released his aura on the students, pressing on them like a sledgehammer. Only then did the noble realize that he was not joking. With sweat dripping, he quickly did his punishment.

That… thought the other students a crucial lesson about their instructor.

Training didn't stop, it only ramped up even more and sweat broke fast. Unlike greatswords, dagger fighting demanded speed, precision, and constant footwork hence the energy usage and sweat.

Kairo adjusted instinctively. His slum days of scrapping with broken bottles and rusted knives resurfaced, muscle memory guiding his strikes. His movements lacked polish, but they were raw, efficient, and dangerous.

"Pairs, duel!" Kaelith called. "Two minutes each. The first to land a clean strike wins."

Kairo faced a broad-shouldered noble sneering down at him.

"Slumrat with a dagger? You'll gut yourself before you touch me."

Kairo didn't reply. He sank low, reverse grip, eyes locked.

The noble lunged wide, but, too wide...

Kairo pivoted, slid in under the swing, and pressed the blunt dagger against the boy's ribs before the noble even realized his chest was exposed.

"Point." Kaelith barked.

The noble froze, stunned.

Kairo stepped back, dagger loose in his grip. The next duel came, and the next. He won more than half, his instincts driving him faster than students who had technique but froze under pressure.

By the end of the hour, sweat drenched his shirt, arms heavy, breath ragged.

Kaelith stopped him as the class ended, his sharp eyes lingering on him. "You fight like someone who's been cut before," he said, bubbling with satisfaction.

Kairo blinked, unsure if it was a compliment.

"That's good," Kaelith said. "Fearless and instinctive. Keep sharpening it, and your instincts will carry you farther than technique alone."

For the first time that day, Kairo felt a small swell of pride.

Two hours later, the dagger students staggered out of the hall, uniforms plastered with sweat, arms trembling from exhaustion.

Kairo slumped against the wall outside, sliding down to sit on the floor, dagger still in hand.

His muscles hurt, his lungs burn. But… he held his own, and that mattered.

In his periphery, nobles sneered, but he didn't care.

He was exhausted, but not defeated.