System, please just shut up

Thorne scratched his jaw, his gaze assessing. "So what has our star student been up to?"

Kael shrugged. "Stuff."

"Like?"

"Sleep."

Thorne snorted, a genuine sound of amusement. "Good. You're normal."

Rheya rolled her eyes, a flicker of exasperation, and set the rune-scroll down with a soft thud.

"There's something coming up in a while that you will have to prepare for." Her tone had lost its casual edge.

Kael straightened, a prickle of unease. "Define something."

"We can't tell you much," she said, her pale eyes meeting his now, direct and unwavering. "All you have to know is that it is going to happen in a few months, and it will be part of your midterm projects."

Thorne leaned back against the window, the soft morning light catching the silver streak in his hair. "You don't need to worry too much about it. Just focus on your personal growth, on learning and mastering what you can." His words were oddly reassuring, yet the gravity in his gaze contradicted their easy delivery.

Kael squinted, sensing the evasion. "That sounds… vague. And suspiciously important."

"Good," Rheya said with a half-smile, a fleeting ghost of amusement. "You're supposed to be suspicious."

'Fantastic,' Kael thought rubbing his temples. 'Another thing added to the long list of stuff I need to prepare for, on top of not dying.'

Rheya picked up another file from the desk, its cover stark and official, and held it out. "This is your updated regimen. Focus drills. Weapon practice. Tactical analysis. No slacking off."

Kael took the file and flipped it open. Then blinked, his eyes widening slightly. "You've increased the physical sets again?"

"You didn't collapse last week," she replied, perfectly calm, her logic unassailable. "Which means you can handle more."

"I didn't collapse publicly," Kael corrected, a dry retort.

Thorne grinned, pushing off the windowsill and clapping him lightly on the shoulder as he passed by, heading for the door. "That's the spirit. Keep your complaints funny and your form tighter than your metaphors."

Kael gave him a blank stare. "You are the reason I have trust issues, you know that right."

Thorne merely winked, an enigmatic flicker in his eyes, and exited the office, leaving a faint scent of tea and mischief in his wake.

Rheya glanced back at Kael, her tone sharpening just slightly, losing all trace of humor. "Make sure you stay focused. You may have potential. But potential has a short shelf life when it's not sharpened. Especially yours." The implication hung unspoken.

Kael nodded.

He wasn't going to argue with that. And something in her tone… not ominous, exactly. But not casual either. A deep, quiet warning.

He tucked the file under his arm and made for the door, pausing just before stepping out, a last, lingering question on his mind. "One last thing," he said, looking over his shoulder. "This thing we're prepping for… is it dangerous?"

Rheya didn't smile this time. Her pale eyes held his, steady and unblinking. But her answer was clear, delivered with a chilling directness.

"Yes."

The door clicked softly shut behind him.

And Kael walked back down the hall, already regretting getting out of bed this morning.

******

In a world shaped by the Archive, power wasn't just given.

Leveling up or ranking up increased your stats, sure—but it wasn't the only way.

Physical attributes like Strength, Stamina, and even parts of Agility could be pushed higher through sheer effort.

Actual, brutal, old-fashioned effort. You trained. You sweat. You bled.

That was why the academy's gyms were always packed—massive, high-ceilinged halls where the air hummed with effort and latent mana. Rune-carved weights, spell-threaded resistance bands, enchanted feedback mirrors that tracked growth with glowing readouts—it was the one place where your relentless grind translated into real, numerical gain.

Kael adjusted his grip on the hex-bar, the cold steel biting into his palms. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the familiar stretch, then pulled.

The weights were rune-etched, dense and humming softly with static mana, making them feel heavier than their stated mass. They weren't just heavy—they were designed to resist you more the longer you lifted, demanding absolute focus.

Thirty reps.

Steady breathing.

Smooth, controlled rhythm.

He dropped the bar on the mat with a solid thud, the impact reverberating slightly, yet he wasn't even winded.

Beside him, Theo tilted his head, a wry amusement playing on his lips. "Okay, showoff."

Kael looked over and smirked, a flicker of genuine challenge in his eyes. "That was my warm-up."

Theo chuckled, a low, easy sound, and stepped forward.

His shirt clung slightly to his chest—mild sweat from earlier sets outlining the lean planes of his physique—but his movements were fluid, balanced, inherently graceful.

For a mage, he had the kind of build that would make a couple of thousand knights jealous.

Sleek muscle. Defined lines. Like someone had sculpted him with symmetry in mind, a quiet strength that belied his primary focus.

And yet—still undeniably a mage.

He grabbed the bar, exhaled slowly, and began his reps.

Smooth. Clean. Controlled.

But by rep eight, his arms were beginning to slow, the effort visible in the slight tremor of his muscles.

By ten, he locked the bar back in with a decisive clank and staggered a step back, exhaling sharply.

Kael gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Respectable."

Theo wiped his hands on a nearby towel, a knowing smirk mirroring Kael's. "In translation: not as good as me, but you tried."

Kael shrugged, a faint smile touching his lips. "I mean… you said it, not me."

Theo grabbed a towel from a rack and tossed it lightly at Kael's head. "One of these days, I'm going to outlift you, Darven."

"Yeah...." Kael caught the towel effortlessly, his smirk widening. "We both know that's not happening."

They both sat on the padded bench, breath evening out, watching another pair of students run agility drills on the mirrored floor panels, their movements reflecting endlessly.

Kael leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze thoughtful. "So. You're still working that new spell of yours?"

Theo nodded, a slight frown of concentration. "Got it to last ten seconds before destabilizing. Better than last week."

"Progress."

"Barely."

Kael offered him his water flask. "Still counts. Every second is a breakthrough."

They lapsed into a short silence, broken only by the rhythmic clangs of weights, the soft hums of magic-infused training equipment, and the distant shouts of instructors—a symphony of effort all around them.

This was their usual spot. Their usual hour.

It wasn't about showing off, not really.

It was habit.

Balance.

Sanity.

And a quiet reminder that while the Archive tracked every task and every numerical gain, some things—like friendship, the comfort of routine, and the simple bragging rights between training partners—weren't measured in numbers at all.