The second part of the exam was the physical trial. The instructor stood before the gathered students, her silver hair gleaming under the dull sky. Her sharp eyes scanned the crowd, taking in the nervous energy and the flickers of self-doubt on the faces of many. As the students fidgeted, some adjusting their gear, others checking their surroundings, the instructor remained silent for a moment, allowing the tension to settle.
She waited for the last whisper to fade, the last nervous shuffle to quiet down. Then, when she knew the students were listening, she spoke.
"Today, you're about to face something that will challenge you in ways you can't imagine. Some of you are here because you've been told your whole life that you are destined for greatness. Others are here because you chose to be. For some, this Academy is a dream, a goal that's been burning in your heart for years. For others, it's a way to escape from the life you thought you were trapped in."
Her gaze swept across the group, making eye contact with a few of the students, lingering just long enough to see their nervousness.
"But let me tell you this," she continued, her voice hardening, her tone unwavering. "None of that matters right now. Not your background, not the power you were born with, not your past victories, not your failures. All of it is irrelevant. You're all here for one reason — because you were chosen to prove that you belong in this Academy.
And the only thing that will define whether you make it is what you do next. It doesn't matter how fast you are, how powerful you are, or how many people you've defeated in the past. What matters is your will.
The will to push forward when your body screams for rest. The will to stand tall when the world tries to knock you down. The will to keep moving, even when you feel like you're already falling behind."
The instructor stepped forward, her gaze piercing as she looked into the eyes of the students, one by one.
"Do you know what separates the elite from the rest of the world?" she asked. "It's not talent. It's not skill. It's determination. The ability to keep going when others stop. The heart to keep fighting when others give up. The resolve to look failure in the face and say, 'Not today.'"
A few of the students shifted nervously, the weight of her words beginning to settle in.
"Some of you are going to doubt yourselves," the instructor said, her tone softer now, but no less powerful. "You will see someone pass you in the race, someone with more ability, more talent, more power. You'll wonder why you're even here. You may feel small, insignificant, like maybe you don't be here in the first place."
She paused, allowing the students to digest her words. There was a noticeable shift in the air, a collective tightening of shoulders, a subtle determination building up.
"But let me make something clear," she said, her voice suddenly fierce, like the crack of thunder. "You belong here. Every single one of you. You've made it this far because you have something that no amount of power or talent can give — heart. And heart, my students, is what will get you through. When your body is screaming at you to stop, when your legs ache, when your breath is shallow, when your mind tells you that you can't go any further — that's when your heart must take over. That's when you dig deep and find the strength to move forward."
She took a step back and turned to face the large track that lay ahead of them, the path they would soon run, the obstacles that would block their way.
"Today is about more than passing a test. Today is about proving to yourself that you can push past the limits you've set for yourself. It's about conquering the doubts in your mind, the fears in your heart, and pushing through no matter how hard it gets.
You will face obstacles. You will face creatures that want to tear you apart. You will face other people who are faster, stronger, more gifted than you. And it will feel unfair. It will feel impossible. But that's where the true test lies. How far will you go when the world is against you? How hard will you fight when it seems like the fight is already lost?"
The instructor turned back to the students, her eyes alight with passion.
"So don't worry about what others can do. Don't worry about who's faster, who's stronger, who has more power. You are here for you. To prove to yourself that you are capable of more than you ever thought possible. This Academy doesn't just take in the gifted. It takes in the resilient. The ones who can endure.
Remember, the race isn't over until you cross that line. And the one who crosses that line? The one who doesn't quit? That person is the one who earns their place here.
And that person is you."
She paused, her voice quieting as the weight of her words settled over them.
"Now go, show us who you really are."
The Race Begins
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
The whistle blew. Nehora's heart leaped into his throat, but the instructor's words rang in his mind, steadying him.
"How far will you go when the world is against you? How hard will you fight when it seems like the fight is already lost?"
The words seemed to echo through him, sparking a fire inside. He wasn't the fastest. He wasn't the strongest. But right here, right now, Nehora had something that mattered more, determination.
His legs moved before his mind could catch up. The ground felt hard beneath his feet, but his rhythm was steady, controlled. His breath came in deep, steady breaths, and each time his foot struck the earth, it felt like a promise to himself.
You can do this. Just one step at a time.
As the other students surged ahead, powered by their abilities, Nehora stayed grounded. He didn't try to keep up with them — he focused on his own pace. One foot in front of the other. Keep moving. Don't stop.
Alright, don't think about the others. You're not racing them. Just keep your feet moving.
The path stretched on, twisting through the dense fields around the Academy. Nehora kept his eyes forward, the instructors' voices a faint buzz in the background. His focus was sharp, fixed only on the finish line, which seemed so far away yet so close at the same time.
Nehora heard the thunderous footsteps of students with powers, their strides outpacing his. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a girl glowing with soft blue light, gliding effortlessly past him. Another boy, rocks floating around him, telekinetically speeding ahead.
Stop looking at them. Focus, Nehora. Focus on your own pace.
The exhaustion crept in, the ache in his muscles, the sharp bite of wind against his skin. His legs were starting to feel heavy.
No. Not now. Don't think about the pain. Keep pushing. Move your feets.
At the 3-kilometer mark, Nehora's vision began to blur, and the world felt like it was spinning. But he didn't slow down. The ground beneath him felt like it was slipping away, but he held on tight to the rhythm.
The finish line is close. I can't give up now. I came this far.
His legs burned, his chest felt tight, but he refused to stop. Not yet.
The final stretch appeared ahead — just 1 kilometer to go. His body screamed in protest, but his mind was set.
Just a little bit further. You've got this. You won't stop now. Keep moving, don't give up.
With every ounce of energy he had left, Nehora surged forward. His feet pounded the earth in a last burst of speed, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face.
And then, at last, he crossed the finish line. The world blurred in front of his eyes, but he felt it — the rush of victory, the sweet taste of achievement.
He stood there, breathing heavily, his body screaming for rest, but his heart was lighter than it had ever been.
The instructors stood by the sidelines, watching. Nehora caught the briefest nod from one of them — a small sign of approval. That was all he needed.
He had passed the first stage.
The Second Stage, Weight Test
The second stage arrived almost too quickly. Nehora's muscles were still burning from the first race, his body weary, but there was no time to rest. The instructors quickly gathered them and led the students to the next test, another three-kilometer run, this time with a 10-kilogram weight strapped to their backs.
The weight felt oppressive as it settled across his shoulders. For a moment, Nehora thought he might buckle under the pressure, but then the instructor's voice echoed in his mind.
"Heart. Heart is what will get you through."
He tightened his grip on the straps, feeling the weight dig into his shoulders. He didn't let it overwhelm him.
I've been through worse. This is just another hurdle.
Around him, other students were already gaining speed, some moving with ease despite the extra burden. But Nehora wasn't looking at them. His focus was inward — on the weight, on his body, on the pain.
The race started. Nehora gritted his teeth, forcing his legs to move despite the overwhelming pressure. Each step felt like a struggle, the weight pressing down on him like a mountain. His legs burned, and his chest was tight from exertion, but he refused to stop.
You don't get to quit. Not today.
The weight made every step feel like it was dragging him backward, each stride an uphill battle. His breath was shallow, his heart racing, but Nehora kept going. One step, then another. He couldn't stop. Not yet. Not when he was this close.
The other students were still ahead of him, gliding past like they had no burden at all, but Nehora didn't falter. He passed one, then another. Not because he was stronger, but because he refused to give up.
Pain doesn't last. Only the will to fight does.
The finish line came into view, but with every step, his legs felt weaker, his body screaming for rest. His head spun, but he pushed it all away. There was only one thing that mattered.
Just a little bit more. Come on, Nehora. You're almost there.
With the last of his energy, he pushed forward, crossing the finish line with everything he had left.
The instructors were silent for a moment, but then they nodded in approval. Nehora had passed the second stage.
Then third stage right after Nehora crossed the line.
The towering gates of the Academy creaked open, and the remaining students stood in a grim circle before their instructors. The atmosphere was thick with tension, every student keenly aware of the challenge ahead. The instructors stood in a row, their faces stern, their eyes locked on the group of students who would face their final trial.
"Welcome to the third stage," Katsegawa, one of the instructors, announced, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "You've all come this far, but now, you'll face the true test 'The Forest of Shira Tsuru'. Home to creatures both terrifying and magnificent. To succeed, you must collect badgees. But remember," she added gravely, "not all creatures you face will let you walk away."
Nehora's breath hitched in his chest. This is it. This is where it all falls apart, he thought, his palms sweating as he tried to calm his racing heart. There were no tricks here. No shortcuts. The forest was brutal, and every inch of it was filled with threats waiting to claim their next victim.
The instructors continued their briefing, outlining the rules students had one hour. Their objective was simple: retrieve the badgees from the creatures of the forest. There were four types of badgees: Bronze, Silver, Gold, and the most coveted, the Diamond badge.
Nehora's gaze drifted across the group, his mind processing the implications. Bronze, Silver, Gold, Diamond. He had heard rumors of the ferocity of the creatures here—the most dangerous of which wore the Diamond badge. But those were just stories. Stories told by students, by instructors, by anyone who had survived the forest.
To be continue......