My Special Ability is Growing Muscles

Valek Drakar sat alone in his dormitory chamber.

The curtains were drawn, the crystal lamps dim. He hadn't dismissed his servants, nor had he spoken to anyone since it happened.

With the help of advanced potions and healing special abilities, he didn't stay for long in the Academy clinic. Just a few hours after the duel and he was back to whole like nothing happened to him.

His fast recovery was also because unlike Kairo who got multiple lacerations on his body, all he got was one single, brutal knockout.

Recovering from it was much simpler, but the scar remained on his jaw. It would heal naturally with time.

Physically, Valek may no longer be in pain but psychologically, he felt like a surgical blade cut through his brain, drilling a hole in his pride.

He just sat there, staring into the mirror across from his bed.

His reflection stared back at him, bruised and swollen, his once-pristine jawline marred by the fist of a slumrat... Kairo Vale.

The name was a poison on his tongue.

All his life, he had grown up knowing, not believing, knowing that nobles were always superior. His father told him so; his mother whispered it when she tucked him into bed since he was a toddler.

Every tutor, every sparring partner, and every blood-soaked lesson reinforced it. Nobility wasn't just wealth, it was fate, it was destiny.

And he, Valek Drakar, wasn't just a noble. He was the heir to a Diamond-grade guild.

Staring into the mirror from across his bed with hollow eyes, Valek could almost see it replaying in his mind as flashbacks of his past stacked with the present.

He saw a reflection of himself on the mirror, ten years old.

Valek was ten when he first held a blade.

The weapon wasn't steel, it was obsidian, carved by the master smiths of the guild itself. It was heavy, sharp, and thrumming with mana though he was yet to Awaken and gain access to mana then.

His father, Lord Drakar, stood before him, arms folded, voice like molten iron.

"You are blood of Drakar. You will not lose. If you stumble, you rise. If you bleed, you feast on it. That is our creed."

Valek swung the blade.

It was too heavy for his underdeveloped muscles, too awkward.

He fell.

The guild warriors laughed, but his father didn't. He placed a hand on Valek's shoulder, cold and crushing.

"Remember, boy. Even nobles can fall, but you? You are Drakar," his voice was cold and unyielding. "You will not fall son, ever".

That day, Valek swore he would never bow. He would never kneel, and he would never lose, and he believed it.

But he had lost, first to Adrain Cross.

Adrain Cross… the golden prodigy of the new generation with celestial power and time-bending gifts. That humiliation stung, yes, but it was explainable. Adrain was the genius, the chosen. Everyone said so.

Since then, though it stung to admit it, Valek managed to accept reality and saw himself as the second best of the new generation.

Losing to Adrain? That he could rationalize.

But losing to Kairo Vale?

A gutter-born slumrat with an unranked ability? A boy who smelled of dirt and hunger? A boy who ate like a beast, talked like a brute, and fought like a street dog?

Valek clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms until blood dripped.

In his head, rage, despair, and denial clashed till it felt like a drill was boring into his head. He was losing it; he felt like he was going crazy.

"How?" His voice cracked in disbelief, whispering to the empty room. "How could I… lose to him?"

The memory replayed in endless loops, never leaving his head… Kairo's grin, that maddened roar, the fist that broke through his conjured serpent and the elbow that knocked the lights out of him in front of the whole Academy!

The Serpent Prince… humbled.

Maybe, just maybe if it happened in a private setting, the humiliation would not have hit this deep but it happened in front of the whole Academy.

'What would father think?' He clenched his fists even tighter.

For the first time in his life, Valek felt it… doubt. It gnawed at the corners of his mind, whispering insidious thoughts.

'Maybe nobility isn't enough,' he thought, the mere realization feeling like ripping out a part of himself.

'Maybe bloodlines don't decide everything afterall'.

'Maybe…,' he hesitated. 'Maybe I am not the strongest'.

"No," he spat aloud, slamming his fist against the desk. Blood splattered from his wounded palm, staining parchment and silk.

But the thoughts didn't leave. Rather, they festered.

Valek staggered to his feet, pacing. His serpentine phantom stirred at his back, coiling restlessly as if it sensed his turmoil.

"Obsidian Serpent, Blood Tyrant… you are mine," he muttered, veins bulging as he forced his abilities to manifest.

The serpent hissed, its body writhing in shadows, fangs dripping with venom. Chains of blood snaked across his arms, tightening and constricting erratically.

For a moment, the power surged, reassuring.

He was Valek Drakar… he was the Serpent Prince.

But then the memory came again, that single punch… that filthy grin. That slumrat's fist shattering his pride.

The phantom flickered, wavering.

Valek collapsed onto the bed, trembling.

Pita! Pita!

He touched the corner of his eyes, slightly confused as he thought. 'What is this? Am I… crying?'

Valek felt even more miserable.

He hated this feeling, he hated the weakness. He hated that his reflection no longer looked like the unshakable noble heir, but like a boy with broken certainties.

Valek gritted his teeth as the tears now flowed unrestrained.

He clenched his fists tightly.

He would heal, he would return, and he would carve Kairo Vale into dust one day.

But not tonight.

Tonight, the Serpent Prince sat alone in the dark, clutching his chest where pride used to be, and whispered the same word again and again, as if repetition could make it truth.

"I will not fall. I will not fall. I will not fall…"

But deep inside, where pride could not reach, the scar remained.