Robin woke at dawn, as always. The eastern barracks were still dark, his classmates sleeping heavily.
The first night in a new place was always exhausting for others. For Robin, it was just another location.
He slipped out of his bunk quietly. Found a corner of the common room where he wouldn’t disturb anyone. Dropped into his routine.
Push-ups. The familiar burn in his arms and chest. His improved strength made the movent fluid.
[PUSH-UPS: 20/20 COMPLETE]
Planks. Core engagent. Breathing controlled. His endurance had climbed enough that the ninety-second hold was challenging but manageable.
[PLANK: 90/90 SECONDS COMPLETE]
Weapon forms. Shadowboxing with an imaginary blade. The movents were instinctive now, Justin’s lifeti of experience flowing through Robin’s young muscles.
[DAILY QUEST COMPLETE: BASIC CONDITIONING III]
[REWARD: 50 EXP]
[LEVEL 6: 455/600 EXP]
Robin finished as the morning bell rang. His classmates groaned, reluctantly climbing from their bunks. Most looked exhausted still.
The weight of being Class F, the bottom tier was already crushing their spirits.
"First day," the scarred commoner muttered. His na was Grol, Robin had learned it last night. "Heard Class F training is hell."
"Every class’s training is hell," another student said. "We just get it worse because we’re worthless."
"Speak for yourself," Robin said quietly.
They looked at him. The boy who’d killed a Scrabbler in two minutes. The F-minus student who’d sohow impressed enough to be accepted.
"Easy for you to say," Grol replied. "You’ve got skill. Rest of us? We’re just cannon fodder."
Robin didn’t respond. Couldn’t tell them he’d earned that skill through nightly hunts in dungeons, killing Void creatures for experience. Couldn’t explain the system or his reincarnation.
They’ll understand eventually. When they see what dedication looks like.
The Class F students assembled in the common room. Twenty-three total. A mix of ages, most were sixteen or seventeen, the typical Academy age. Robin, at ten, was by far the youngest.
Master Torren arrived exactly at dawn. His scarred face showed no sympathy.
"Follow . First lesson starts now."
They followed him through the Academy grounds. Past the main training fields where Classes A and B were already drilling. Past the interdiate yards where Classes C and D practiced.
To the far corner. An isolated training ground. Older. More worn. Equipnt that looked salvaged from other areas.
Of course. Class F gets the worst facilities. Another way to separate us from the real students.
"Welco to your ho for the next year," Torren announced. "This is the Class F training ground. It’s not pretty. It’s not new. But it’s functional. And functionality is all that matters."
He gestured to the equipnt. Practice dummies. Weapon racks. A small obstacle course. Everything weathered and well-used.
"Class F operates differently than upper classes," Torren continued. "They rely on mana enhancent. We can’t. So we focus on three things: technique, efficiency, and survival instinct."
He pointed at a practice dummy. "Technique ans perfect form. Every strike precise. Every movent economical. Wasted motion gets you killed."
Then to the obstacle course. "Efficiency ans using terrain, positioning, timing. Fighting smarter, not harder."
Finally, he looked at them. "Survival instinct ans never giving up. Never assuming you’re beaten. Finding a way to win even when logic says you can’t."
Torren pulled a practice sword from the rack. "Demonstration. Stark, front and center."
Robin stepped forward. No hesitation.
"Attack . Full force. Try to land a hit."
The other students watched with interest. This was a test. For Robin and for them to see what their instructor could do.
Robin raised his practice sword. Assessed Torren. The man was older, scarred, moved with a slight limp. But his stance was perfect. Balanced and ready.
*Forr A-Rank. Broken body but the skill remains.*
Robin attacked. A simple thrust testing. Torren deflected it with minimal movent. His blade barely shifted, just enough to redirect Robin’s strike.
Robin tried a combination. High slash, low slash, thrust. Proper form. Good speed.
Torren blocked all three. Each block was economical. Perfect. His blade always in position, never overcommitting.
He’s showing us sothing. Not just blocking but demonstrating minimal defense.
Robin increased aggression. Faster combinations. More complex patterns. Using footwork Justin had mastered decades ago.
Torren’s expression shifted slightly. His defenses remained perfect, but now Robin had his full attention.
"Enough."
Robin stopped imdiately. Stepped back. Lowered his blade.
Torren turned to the class. "Stark has no mana. F-minus rank. But his technique is solid. Not perfect but far from it. But better than most students I see."
He pointed his practice sword at Robin. "Know what that tells ? He’s been training. Probably for months. Maybe longer. Drilling forms. Practicing basics. While most of you relied on your mana to carry you, he worked on fundantals."
Torren walked along the line of students. "That’s the Class F advantage. You have to focus on technique. You can’t rely on mana as a crutch.
So if you survive the training, you beco technically superior to upper-class students at the sa level."
He gestured to the practice equipnt. "Pair up. Partner drills. I want to see your current skill level. Stark, you’re with ."
The class paired off. Robin faced Torren again.
"Now I attack," Torren said. "Defend."
Robin raised his guard. Ready.
Torren’s strike ca fast. Not enhanced by mana, but a lifeti of experience behind it. Robin barely blocked it.
The second strike ca from a different angle. Robin redirected it, but the impact jarred his arm.
"Better," Torren said. "You’re reading the attacks. Good situational awareness."
The third strike was a feint. Robin started to block, realized mid-motion it wasn’t the real attack, then adjusted....
Torren’s blade tapped his ribs. Light contact. Controlled.
"Dead," Torren stated. "You read the feint too late. By the ti you realized, I’d already committed to the real strike."
Robin nodded.
"But," Torren continued, "you did read it. Just slow. That’s trainable. Most students never read feints at all until I beat it into them."
They continued. Torren tested Robin’s defense from multiple angles. Found weaknesses. Exploited them. Each ti explaining what Robin had missed.
He’s teaching while testing. Every strike is a lesson.
Around them, the other students struggled through partner drills. Most were sloppy. Poor form. No real training beyond basic instruction.
Torren called a halt after thirty minutes.
"Assessnt complete. Most of you are exactly what I expected; untrained, relying on mana you can barely control, terrible fundantals."
He walked along the line. "You have one month to fix that or you’ll be transferred out. Class F doesn’t carry dead weight."
He pointed to six students. "You six transferring to Class D next week. Your mana is adequate, your technique is salvageable. You don’t belong in F."
Relief and pride on those faces. Being pulled from the bottom tier was a victory.
"The rest of you? You’re mine. And I’m going to break you before I rebuild you."
Torren’s gaze settled on Robin. "Stark. You’ve got skill. More than you should for your age. But you’re weak. Slow. Your body can’t execute what your brain knows. We’re going to fix that."
"Yes, sir."
"Also, see tonight. After dinner. My office. We need to discuss your... unique situation."
"Yes, sir."
The first day’s training was brutal. Hours of drilling basic forms. Torren corrected every mistake ruthlessly. No praise. Just identification of flaws and demands for improvent.
By lunch, half the class was exhausted. By dinner, several were questioning their decision to attend the Academy.
Robin was tired but functional. His improved endurance carried him through. And unlike the others, he’d been training like this for months.
They’re just starting their real education. I’m continuing mine.
Evening ca. The Class F students retreated to their dormitory. Most collapsed imdiately. A few tried to practice more. Most just stared at the ceiling, processing the reality of their situation.
Robin made his way to Torren’s office. A small room near the training grounds. Spartanly furnished. Weapons on the walls. A desk covered in training notes.
Torren was waiting. Gestured to a chair.
Robin sat.
"I reviewed your entrance exam files," Torren began. "Written exam: forty-seven correct. Top ten percent. Combat trial: two minutes kill using a technique not in any textbook. Mana aptitude: worst in Academy history."
"Yes, sir."
"The instructors who evaluated you were divided. Half wanted to reject you outright. Said F-minus is automatically disqualifying regardless of other factors."
Robin said nothing.
"Headmaster Stone overruled them. Know why?"
"No, sir."
"Because he’s seen this before."
"Valerius thinks you’re similar. Raw talent hampered by mana deficiency. He wants to see if proper training can overco that limitation."
Torren leaned forward. "I’m going to train you harder than anyone else in Class F. Not because I like you. Because you’re my test case. If I can make you into sothing functional, it proves the Academy’s thods work even for the most hopeless cases."
"I understand, sir."
"Do you?" Torren’s scarred face was serious. "This isn’t going to be fun. I’m going to push you past your limits daily. You’ll hate . You’ll want to quit. And if you do quit, it proves the skeptics right. That F-minus is impossible to overco."
Robin t his gaze. "I won’t quit, sir."
"We’ll see." Torren pulled out a schedule. "Your training starts at dawn. Before the others. You get private sessions until you catch up to baseline. Consider it special attention."
"Thank you, sir."
"Don’t thank yet. Dismissed."
Robin returned to the barracks. His classmates were mostly asleep. Exhausted from one day.
He lay in his bunk. Thought about Torren’s words.
Private training. Extra sessions. Harder work.
His status screen flickered in his vision:
┏━━━━━━━[ Host Profile ]━━━━━━━┓
│ Na: Robin Stark
│ Level: 6
│ EXP: 455/600
│
┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛
First day complete. He’d proven competent. Earned Torren’s attention. Established himself as skilled despite his limitations.
Now the real work begins. Now he build on this foundation.*
Robin closed his eyes. Sleep ca quickly.
Tomorrow would bring more training. More challenges. More opportunities to grow.
And every day, he’d get stronger.
Every day, the cursed child would beco more dangerous.
Until the day he was ready to face what ca next.
Class F. Bottom tier. Perfect camouflage.
Let them see the struggling student with no mana.
While he beco sothing they’ll never see coming.
Robin smiled in the darkness.
Day one complete. Hundreds more to go.
And every single one will make him stronger.
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