Soren woke to sunlight cutting through his window. His body ached in places. The survival scenario had pushed him past exhaustion, and he'd collapsed into bed without even removing his training gear.
His AR display showed 07:23. Assessment day two began at 08:00.
He sat up too fast, winced, and checked his messages. A dozen notifications. Lyra. Mira. Jake. Even Zara.
The one from Instructor Vale was the only one that mattered.
**Vale: Remaining assessment tests today. Strike Accuracy at 08:30. Enhancement Efficiency at 11:00. Don't be late.**
He showered quickly, letting hot water work the stiffness out of his muscles. His shoulder still throbbed where the plasma bolt had grazed him. His legs felt like lead.
The cafeteria was emptier than usual. Most students had finished their assessments yesterday. Only the top twenty were called back for the remaining tests. Soren spotted Mira at a corner table, nursing a protein shake.
"How do you feel?" she asked as he sat down.
"Like I got hit by a building."
"Same." She pushed a cup of coffee toward him. "Strike Accuracy is my best test. Mantis DNA, precision strikes. You've got the speed for it, though. You'll do fine."
"And Enhancement Efficiency?"
Her expression tightened. "That's where you'll struggle. It's about control. Not burning more energy than you need. You're still learning that."
She wasn't wrong.
His AR pinged. Lyra.
**Lyra: Strike Accuracy in thirty. Meet me at Range Four.**
He finished his coffee, grabbed a protein bar, and headed out.
Range Four was an indoor facility, long and narrow, with holographic targets lined up at varying distances. The air smelled like burnt metal. A handful of students stood at the firing line, checking weapons and stretching.
Lyra was already there, her retractable claws retracted, a pair of lightweight throwing knives in her hands. She looked fresher than he felt. Black panther DNA came with faster recovery.
"You look terrible," she said.
"I feel terrible."
"Good. That means you actually tried yesterday." She nodded toward the range. "Strike Accuracy is straightforward. Fifty targets. Moving at different speeds. Different ranges. You have ten minutes to hit as many as possible. Accuracy and speed both matter."
"What's the strategy?"
"Don't overthink. Your perception gives you the tracking. Your burst speed gives you the closing power. Trust your instincts." She weighed a knife in her palm. "I'll be using these. What are you using?"
He looked at the weapon rack. Batons were close-range. He needed something with reach.
"Short blade," he decided. "And batons for close targets."
"Makes sense."
Instructor Vale entered the range, her presence silencing the chatter. "Strike Accuracy assessment. You have ten minutes. Your score is based on hits, speed, and efficiency. Wasted movements count against you. Ready yourselves."
Soren moved to his assigned lane. Targets were already appearing on the holographic display—small, fast. He strapped the short blade to his thigh, gripped his batons, and waited.
"Begin!"
The first target shot across the range, a small disc moving left to right. Soren triggered perception, tracked its trajectory, and threw a baton. It struck the target dead center. The disc shattered.
Three more targets appeared simultaneously. He burst forward, blade out, took one on the left, spun, baton to the second, closed distance on the third. Three hits. Three seconds.
He was burning through his burst reserve too fast. Zara's advice echoed in his head: *Eight seconds. Preserve for later.*
He dropped to perception-only, let his speed return to baseline. The targets were slower now, but there were more of them. He moved deliberately, baton strikes precise, blade work efficient. Each hit cost him less energy than before.
Four minutes in, he'd scored twenty-three hits. His form was clean. His breathing steady.
Then the targets changed.
They got faster. Smaller. Some started moving in unpredictable patterns, zigzagging across the range. Soren triggered perception again, tracked one, two, three—he burst, took them down, pulled back.
Six minutes. Thirty-four hits.
His arms were tiring. The baton felt heavier. He switched to the blade exclusively, using its reach to cover more ground.
Eight minutes. Forty-one hits.
He was running out of time. The remaining targets were the fastest yet, moving in tight circles, impossible to predict. He couldn't chase them one by one. He needed a different approach.
He stopped moving.
Let his perception stretch. Watched the patterns. The targets moved in loops, overlapping, creating windows of alignment.
There.
He burst—full speed, full power. His blade cut through three targets in one arc. He spun, baton extended, caught two more. Landed, rolled, came up swinging. Two more.
The buzzer sounded.
His AR updated.
STRIKE ACCURACY: 47/50 hits
TIME REMAINING: 00:12
RANK: 5
Fifth place. Not first. But solid.
Lyra was already finished, her score higher. Mira had scored forty-nine, placing second. Soren found her at the water station.
"Forty-seven," he said.
"That's good. You beat most of the combat family kids."
"Didn't beat you."
"You're not supposed to." She smiled. "Mantis DNA. Precision is literally my thing."
He drank water, let his heart rate slow. One test down. One to go.
Enhancement Efficiency was held in a different facility—a small, windowless room filled with monitoring equipment. Sensors lined the walls, tracking everything from heart rate to neural activity to stamina consumption.
Soren stood in the center, stripped down to his training gear, sensors attached to his temples, chest, and wrists. A holographic display in front of him showed his real-time stats.
Instructor Mako stood at the console, his shark eyes watching the data. "Enhancement Efficiency. You will be asked to activate your abilities at varying levels while we measure your control. The goal is to minimize waste—use exactly the power you need, no more, no less. Your score reflects how efficiently you manage your enhancement."
Soren nodded.
"Level one. Perception only. Minimum activation."
He triggered his enhanced perception, keeping it as low as possible. The world sharpened slightly, but not enough to drain him.
The display showed a thin green line. Stable.
"Level two. Perception, medium intensity."
He pushed a little more. The world slowed, but not to combat speed. The green line climbed, held steady.
"Level three. Full perception, no speed."
He gave it everything his perception could handle. The room slowed to a crawl. His breathing stayed even. The display showed a spike, then leveled off.
"Good. Now speed only. Minimum."
He activated his burst speed without perception. It felt strange—like moving without seeing properly. His muscles tensed, released. The display showed a sharp peak, then a quick drop.
"Speed, medium."
He pushed harder. His body wanted to trigger perception automatically, but he held it back. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Speed, full."
His legs burned. The burst tried to take him across the room, but he held position, feet planted, controlling the energy instead of releasing it. The display showed a massive spike, then a controlled plateau.
Mako studied the data. "Your control is improving. But you're still wasting about fifteen percent of your output on unnecessary muscle tension. Work on that."
He moved to the next phase: combining perception and speed at varying intensities.
This was harder. His body wanted to go all out or not at all. Finding the middle ground took concentration, and the sensors tracked every inefficiency.
By the time the test ended, Soren was mentally exhausted. His head throbbed from the constant focus.
His AR updated.
ENHANCEMENT EFFICIENCY: 78% efficiency
RANK: 12
Twelfth. Not top ten. But Mako's feedback was clear: he was improving.
[Twelfth in efficiency is fine for now,] the System said. [You've only been training for weeks. Efficiency comes with time.]
I know. Still stings.
[It shouldn't. You're a combat enhancer, not a technician. Your strength is in application, not conservation.]
He walked out of the facility into the afternoon sun. The assessment was over. Five tests. Two days. He'd given everything he had.
Now all that was left was the rankings.
His AR pinged. A message from Vale, sent to all participants.
**Vale: Final rankings will be posted at 18:00. All students report to Main Arena for results.**
Six hours to wait.
He found a bench in the courtyard, sat down, and let his eyes close.
Around him, the academy moved on. Students trained. Instructors lectured. The city hummed in the distance.
And somewhere, in the private boxes above the arena, families were deciding where he would fall.