Then Archery is my path

All day, I wandered aimlessly through the park, my mind blank, simply observing the artificial nature and savoring the rare peace that couldn't be found on the bustling city streets.

At one point, a mother and her child passed by me, and I unintentionally overheard their conversation.

"Mom, the doctor didn't fool me. My hand doesn't hurt anymore," the child said, pointing to his elbow.

"Of course, the doctor wouldn't fool you. He always wants the best for you. Next time, you'll apologize for the tantrum you threw in the reception room, won't you?"

The child's face fell, his cheeks puffing out in a show of reluctance. Then, with a trace of determination, he said, "Okay."

Hearing this dialogue sparked an idea in my mind.

It wouldn't hurt to visit the doctor who regenerated my limbs. He'd surely be glad to hear that his theory about the growth of aether arteries was proven true.

August 5, 3108

Yesterday had been a heavy day, ending with a long walk through the park until evening.

This morning, after completing my usual routine—including my now-familiar morning run—I continued jogging through the city streets. Once I returned home, I went online and started researching other academies I might still have a chance of entering.

In addition to Altgard, the most prestigious academy on the continent of humanity, there were three other supreme academies. One lay to the north, another to the south, and the last was under the direct jurisdiction of the national army. This military academy was considered the second most prestigious, but for me, it wasn't an option.

Although studies there were completely free if you passed the entrance exam, graduates were bound by contract to serve as "state guard dogs." You couldn't choose your guild, clan, or future career—everything was predetermined from the moment you enrolled.

That left the northern and southern academies. But the more I thought about not being able to enter Altgard, the more my frustration and stress grew.

Desperate for a distraction, I latched onto an excuse to avoid making a decision about the remaining options.

I should visit my doctor. I hope those old folks haven't flown off to another world just yet.

I arrived in front of the hospital that had once saved my life, restoring not only my physical condition but also my mental stability.

The hallways remained unchanged, and I headed straight for the rehabilitation room. However, I was stopped by a nurse as soon as I reached the necessary floor.

"This area is restricted. You can't enter unless you're a patient or a relative of a patient," she said firmly.

"Excuse me, I was a patient here four years ago, and I've come back to visit the doctor who treated me."

"Really?" she replied with a suspicious look. "What was your doctor's name?"

It was then that I realized I had forgotten his name—or perhaps I had never even learned it.

"Honestly, I forgot. He was a man with black hair, green eyes, and glasses."

"Great description," she said dryly. "That matches almost every doctor here. This facility rarely treats young patients, and you clearly don't belong to the older demographic. Stop wasting time and leave, or I'll have to call security."

"Aahh, sorry for the trouble," I muttered, deciding it was best not to argue.

Just as I turned toward the elevator and its doors slid open, I saw a familiar face step out.

"Hello, Mr. Han! How are your joints holding up?" the nurse asked, addressing him as she kept an eye on me to ensure I was leaving.

"Hello," he replied with a tired smile. "Don't even mention it—every step feels like torture. But why aren't you at your post?"

"Just dealing with another scoundrel trying to leech something off our patients," she explained with a shake of her head.

This hospital primarily served high-status individuals, and it wasn't uncommon for people to try to cause trouble.

Mr. Han's gaze shifted to me, and I decided it was time to speak up.

"Mr. Han, it's nice to see you again. I'm Kail. You haven't forgotten me, have you?"

There was no immediate response as he studied me with caution. But then, his expression softened into one of surprise.

"Kail! It's good to see you. It's been a few years, hasn't it?"

"You know him?" the nurse asked.

"Yes, I know him. You must be new here, which is why you don't recognize him. He was the star of the ward when he was hospitalized."

"Does that mean I can come in now?" I asked, hoping my identity was now verified.

"If Mr. Han says so, then of course," the nurse relented.

Together, Mr. Han and I headed toward the rehabilitation room.

"You've changed quite a bit. I really had to dig through my memory to recall who you are," Mr. Han said as we walked.

"Five years have passed, but I can't say the same about you," I replied with a small grin.

"Ha ha ha, still good with words, I see. But don't let the exterior fool you—inside, I'm already falling apart."

"Don't say things like that," I said, shaking my head.

"In any case, I've already done enough on this earth. Now it's up to Him to decide what to do with this body of mine," he said with a wry smile.

As we approached the rehabilitation room, I turned to him. "I'd like to visit the doctor. Is his office still in the same place?"

"Yes, he's still there, probably whining about something," Mr. Han chuckled.

"Great. I'll go say hello and come back shortly," I said before heading toward the office.

Knock, knock.

"Come in," a thick, tired voice answered from inside.

I stepped in. "Hello, Doctor."

"Hello. Are you Mr. Ronald?" he asked, glancing down at the list of scheduled patients.

"No, I'm Kail, a former patient of yours."

The name didn't seem to jog his memory, as his face remained puzzled. "Which Kail?"

"The one whose limbs you regrew."

There was a pause as he processed my words. Then his eyes widened in recognition.

"Kail… Kail… KAIL! Cindercrest!"

"No," I corrected him. "I've been Vaylith for five years now."

"Undress!" he suddenly barked.

The abruptness of the command left me startled. "Why?"

"Just undress!" he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Without further questions, I complied, pulling off my jacket and shirt.

The doctor immediately began a thorough examination of my limbs, testing my reflexes, muscles, the manaventis that surrounded them, and their reactions to various stimuli.

"Wonderful. Your body hasn't experienced any adverse reactions?" he asked, his tone now more professional.

"Not as far as I know. I've had a pretty strict regimen, though, and persistent muscle soreness."

"That's normal," he nodded before pausing briefly, then continued. "You're the only one who managed to regrow such perfect limbs."

"There have been other patients?"

"Of course, but the results varied. Some couldn't regrow all their fingers, others couldn't control their new limb—or parts of it—but your outcome is the only one that's ideal."

"Why is that?"

"I don't know for certain," he admitted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "It could be that you were still in your intense growth phase at the time. Or perhaps the serum came from the blood of a noble Therianthrope. Many factors could have played a role."

"I have some news for you."

"What news?" the doctor asked, leaning slightly forward.

"Do you remember the theory you told me the day before I left?"

"Not really. It's been years."

"My ejection fraction increased."

At my words, his face transformed—first astonishment, then suspense, and finally joy.

"Seriously?"

"Yes," I confirmed, already thinking of pulling out the documents I had received from the other clinics. Before I could, he interrupted.

"Let's go."

"Where?"

Without answering, he quickly called someone using his watch and inserted an earpiece into his right ear.

"I need all the testing equipment in the basement... I don't care if there are already appointments for today. Tell them there's a technical defect and reschedule everything by a day... I'm telling you, once I enter, the doors will lock, and no one else will get in."

With that, he ended the call and turned to me.

"We're going to run some tests."

"But I've already done tests at other clinics. I can give you the results."

"Those charlatans have no idea about your situation. The tests they ran are for ordinary people. They only gave you basic information, which is useless to me," he said firmly.

His insistence left no room for argument. For the next two hours, I endured a series of tests using advanced equipment, one of which involved entering a claustrophobic capsule. Just as I started to consider escaping, I caught sight of the doctor's eyes burning with suspense, and I reluctantly stayed put.

Finally, he walked into his office, where I was resting after the exhaustive process.

"The results are ready," he announced.

"Ejection fraction?!" I asked, jumping straight to the detail that mattered most to me.

"79%."

I froze. "Then what was the point? It's the same as before."

But he continued, "However, it could be 82%."

My head snapped up at his words. "What do you mean? Can my arteries grow even more?"

"No," he explained. "Right now, your medium and small arteries are already expanded to their maximum capacity. But in your major arteries, you're accumulating residual aether. You're absorbing and transporting more aether than you can eliminate."

Then I remembered a little girl—a girl so inattentive that she once whispered a secret to me, a secret no one was supposed to know: 110%.

Caught up in the flurry of thoughts swirling in my mind, I unintentionally whispered,

"Lia."

The doctor's expression instantly stiffened, and his voice turned sharp, almost commanding.

"What Lia?"

Realizing there was no way to take back my words, I answered carefully,

"The little girl who was treated here and came several times a week. One day, she told me her ejection fraction. But I never shared it with anyone and warned her not to, either."

A long, tense pause followed. The air felt thick, charged with unspoken thoughts.

"Are your words true?" he asked, his tone heavy with suspicion.

"Yes," I said earnestly. "After I left here, I trained with my master far away from human civilization. If you hadn't brought up my situation now, I wouldn't even have remembered her."

The tension in the room eased slightly, though the doctor's eyes remained calculating. Finally, he said,

"Indeed, your current condition is similar to hers, though with a smaller amount of residual aether. Over the years, Lia tried to develop a technique to utilize residual aether, but I've lost contact with her. I don't know where she is now."

"So, I can increase my ejection fraction," I concluded, "but to do that, I need to find her."

"You just want to get into Altgard, don't you?" His voice was both accusatory and knowing.

"Yes," I admitted. "Even if I'm just 1% below the threshold, as long as my documents say 79%, they won't even consider me."

The doctor leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. Then, with a deliberate tone, he said,

"I'll prepare documents that state your ejection fraction as 80%. But hear this: if any information about Lia's ejection fraction ever surfaces—no matter who shares it or under what circumstances—I'll claim that you falsified the documents."

I hesitated. "But then you'll be penalized too."

"The worst they can do to me is revoke my medical license," he replied with a calm, almost defiant shrug. "That's not a problem for me. You, on the other hand, should think carefully about what they'll do to you."

I nodded solemnly. "Thank you for this."

"You understand," he said sternly, "that this is barely enough to get you into Altgard. The documents alone don't even represent a fifth of the challenges you'll face."

"I know," I said confidently. "But you'll see. For the first time in history, someone with 80% will be admitted to Altgard."