Just because you’ve endured hardship doesn’t mean you’ve grown. Some people just learn to drown more quietly." — Guts (Berserk)

———

"This is so fucking unfair."

Kenshin groaned, though a grin clung stubbornly to his face.

"I know, right."

Dean rolled his shoulders, working out the lingering strain.

"I suddenly regret not training harder."

Aelric stepped in to join them.

"To think you’d waste your talent," Dean teased, summoning a sword from the storage ring on his finger.

A sleek black-bladed katana slid into existence—its gold tsuba intricately worked, its hilt wrapped and segmented, a short chain dangling from the pommel. A dark scabbard, trimmed with gold filigree and set with emerald accents, completed the piece.

"Hey, baby."

Dean caressed the still-sheathed blade with reverence.

Sam, now standing beside Rhaegar, dragged a hand down his face.

"Nice sword," Kenshin said, smiling.

"Hehe. Baby, this is Kenshin. Kenshin, this is baby."

"Eh..."

Kenshin faltered, unsure how to respond to the introduction.

"Hey, what about me?" Aelric pouted.

’Your brother really is a special case’

Rhaegar remarked through their mental link, a faint smile touching his lips.

’Can we focus on the fight?’ Sam groaned.

’Let them be. The professor hasn’t attacked yet. This lull is a gift—we should use it to prepare for the end.’

’Hmm.’ Sam nodded.

’I’ve run out of mana to spam weapons at him, you know’ Zephyr’s voice drifted into the shared connection.

’Same here. I can’t keep using pressure on him—I’m running dry.’

’Ah, yes. Relativity. Using your ability on him must be taxing’ Rhaegar noted, already factoring it into his calculations.

’What about you, Virelle? Can you still fight?’ he asked.

’Yes, I might be able—’

Her voice cut off.

In the same instant, the class turned.

A hand protruded cleanly through her torso.

"Do you believe you could protect whom I wished to kill?"

Zeke withdrew his arm with a casual flick. Virelle’s body was hurled backward, and midair it unraveled—torn apart by unseen force.

[Unseen Severance]

[Instant Dismantling]

Sam snapped his head toward where Zeke had stood moments before.

The figure there dissolved like heat haze—an afterimage fading into nothing.

"A simple combination of illusion and teleportation magic," Zeke said, producing a handkerchief and calmly wiping Virelle’s blood from his hand.

"We were having a moment of respite—that’s unfair!" Dean bellowed.

"Unfair?"

Zeke tilted his head, almost curious.

"Would you expect your enemies to wait while you chatter like children?"

"Or were you under the illusion that I was not your enemy?"

"Did you think I would fight ’square and fair’ simply because I am stronger?"

His gaze swept across them, sharp and unrelenting.

"Your misunderstanding of battle is why your friends have died. It is why you remain subpar."

"Kenshin—why have you not used your ability? Do you crave a contest of strength? Do you believe raw stats will save you?"

"Rhaegar, do you have a weak point in your thinking that you have yet to use your psychic ability on me?"

"Samuel, is your use of magic that weak or you simply reduced yourself to a teleprompter?"

"Seraphin, you came to the academy to be stronger but your mental focus is weak, exploiting your fear of my aura, I was able to weaken your hold on me, physical or magical training is not the key to winning a fight"

"You did not have the zeal the appropriate mentality suited for battle"

His voice hardened.

"None of you did"

"At the end of the day, you’re all children who have yet understand the undertaking your potential has for you"

"You’ve seen yourselves as genius and think the world would wait for you to grow"

"When I had first seen you all, I had noticed your perilous journey"

"You all have troubles that you must have encountered before you were scouted by the old man"

"You survived, yes"

"But instead of letting that sharpen you, you drowned—quietly—in the arrogance of survival."

He stepped forward, measured, deliberate.

"Have you ever considered that what you faced was only the tip of the iceberg? That perhaps something shielded you—allowing only what would temper you to reach you?"

As he spoke, the "dead" students reappeared beside Nyssara within the field anchored by [Reality Anchor].

"Tell me—if this were a true fight for your lives, would you behave this way?"

"Kenshin—you trust your regeneration. But tell me... can you survive this?"

The sky above the crucible ignited.

A massive sphere of fire churned overhead. Colossal ice lances formed beside it, each larger than the last. Spell circles layered upon one another until the sky itself seemed sealed—no gaps, no escape.

"And this is not even the extent of my power."

"Do you think I resorted to fistfights because I lacked answers to your abilities?"

"I prolonged the battle so you could learn."

His tone sharpened, cutting.

"But expecting anything from spoiled brats accustomed to crushing weaklings may have been too much."

"Feast your eyes on magic beyond your comprehension."

"Can your abilities match this?"

"Abilities are advantages, yes—but possessing one does not make you limitless, nor does lacking one make you weak."

"If abilities defined everything, no other art would exist."

"You have disappointed me."

Zeke turned his back.

Above them, the spells began to fall.

"These are merely C-rank spells, enhanced by my mana. Tell me, Dean—can your ’baby’ negate something so simple? It is beneath S-rank, after all."

A pause.

"Oh. Right. He can’t answer. They are dead."

He waved a hand dismissively and approached Nyssara, Virelle, and Daemion.

"Lady of magic who has yet to learn magic."

Nyssara shrank under his gaze.

"Do you think your fragile echo bodies can shape a battlefield? Where is your spellwork? Your weapon skill?"

He turned to Virelle.

She said nothing, eyes lowered, shoulders heavy.

Then to Daemion.

"You chose to save clones—replaceable assets. It’s a commendable trait. But logic must be precise when you are the weaker party."

"There was nothing you could have done. The plan accounted for your nature before it began."

With a flick of his hand, the rest of the class appeared behind them.

"You fought well—for weaklings. But you lost."

"Not simply because I am stronger, but because of the mindset you carried into this fight."

"You believed you would try your best—that you might win. Yet beneath that, you had already accepted defeat."

"You fought to lose with pride."

"Not consciously—but as a reflex of your collective thinking."

"You could have made this easier for yourselves. Instead, you clung to contempt. And when punished, your fighting spirit collapsed."

"You continued on embers."

"You fought because you had no choice. Because you wanted it over."

"I am disappointed."

Silence settled.

One by one, the students lowered their heads.

{Go easy on them, man} Zero’s voice echoed faintly.

’Do you think going easy on them is what would make them grow?’

’You are sorely mistaken, these traits they have yet to curb will be their ending"

"That is why as their teacher I must guide them to change themselves’

’Haven’t you heard?’

’A teacher for a day is a father for life’

"Hmph."

Zeke snorted.

"Why are your heads down? You lost to me—not to just anyone."

"Do you think I am lecturing you to shame you for losing?"

"Stand proud. Few can claim they have lost to me."

"You simply must not lose to anyone else."

A pause.

"From now on."

His gaze fixed on Dean.

"I myself have yet to lose a fight."

The class slowly raised their heads. Something warmer replaced the weight in their chests—pride, relief, even admiration.

Their professor was back.

And they were glad—absurdly glad—to be his students.

To be students of a super duper professor

’’Super duper’ is a childish phrase, Dean’ Sam remarked through their link.

’Meh.’

Dean’s mental response was a blatant tongue-out.

"As a class, we apologize for any disrespect in our expectations of this battle."

Nyssara stepped forward and bowed deeply.

The others followed.

"We are sorry!!!"

Their voices rang out in unison.

"Oh, stop it."

Zeke waved them off, turning slightly, almost embarrassed.

A single snort of laughter broke the tension—

—and then it spread, swelling into a chorus of unrestrained laughter.

Zeke watched them, smiling.

Clap.

The world shifted.

In an instant, they stood back in their classroom.

"For the next few months, our lessons will take place in the crucible," Zeke announced. "I will personally oversee your combat training—as well as your magecraft."

"Whoo!" Aelric whistled.

"Don’t get too excited. My training involves neither flowers nor whatever nonsense that analogy usually includes."

The class stifled their laughter.

’Samuel.’

Zeke’s voice brushed against Sam’s mind.

’Fret not. We’ll have our discussion in time. For now... deal with your brother.’

A faint pause.

’And enjoy yourself. You’re still a child.’

Zeke smiled once more at the class—

and vanished.

————

You survived. But survival is not growth. It is simply the prerequisite. What you do after—whether you sharpen or rust—that is the only question that matters.