A week had passed since the Soul Lens test. The familiar scent of my mother's cooking lingered in our apartment, a comforting warmth I knew would soon be replaced by the sterile air of the Academy. My parents, Kiyo and Masato, were filled with a quiet pride that settled like a soft weight in my chest. "Make us proud, son," Dad had murmured, his handshake firm. Mom's hug was gentle, lingering. Their blessings were a silent promise I carried, a reminder of the quiet life I was leaving behind. Outwardly, I was composed, my travel pack secured, but a quiet tremor of anticipation ran beneath my calm demeanor. This was it. No turning back.
I headed to the gleaming transit hub, a hub of bustling activity. This was where the mag-lev trains departed – advanced vehicles that used magnetic levitation to glide silently above their tracks at incredible speeds. A flurry of excited chatter and nervous energy greeted me. Kaito, ever boisterous, was already there, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He spotted me and waved enthusiastically. "Akira! Took you long enough! Emi's already found us seats." His Comms-slate was active in his hand, a holographic display showing what looked like complex battle formations. My sister, Emi, offered a small, determined smile, her own pack slung efficiently over her shoulder. "Ready, boys?" she asked, a hint of nervousness in her voice that almost matched the nervous energy humming around us.
"Born ready!" Kaito declared, pumping a fist. "Soon to be Spectra Knights! Imagine that, a team of three, unstoppable!" He launched into a rapid-fire fantasy of our future heroics, his voice a giddy mix of excitement and anticipation. I listened, a faint smile playing on my lips. Their youthful exuberance was a stark contrast to the forty years of experience simmering beneath my own surface, a lifetime of memories I carried in a body that was only sixteen. Yet, despite the chasm between our experiences, I found a strange comfort in their shared, boundless ambition as we boarded the sleek train with dozens of other young recruits.
The city blurred outside the reinforced windows, then gave way to sprawling, manicured landscapes. Gradually, the horizon was dominated by a colossal structure that seemed to pierce the sky – the Elite Forces Academy. Its design was a study in imposing, minimalist power: sleek, dark lines of advanced composites and reinforced energy fields. It didn't just stand; it commanded. A fortress designed for the forging of weapons, not the nurturing of students. Its sheer scale dwarfed everything around it, a silent, stark promise of the intense, demanding journey that awaited us within its walls. The hum of the mag-lev deepened as it approached its destination. Our new life was about to begin.
The mag-lev hissed to a stop, its doors sliding open to reveal a bustling, almost overwhelming scene. I joined the stream of recruits pouring out onto a vast, gleaming platform. Uniformed personnel, moving with crisp efficiency, guided us through an initial check-in process that felt more like a meticulously orchestrated cattle drive. My Comms-slate, activated moments after stepping off the train, buzzed with new data – basic Academy guidelines, and the specific living quarters section where my luggage was already being routed.
Moments later, I found myself in a sterile, spacious changing room. My Academy uniform lay folded on a bench: sleek, functional, and predominantly black. Along the seams, a vivid emerald green piping traced sharp lines, the color mirroring my Spectra type. Kaito emerged from a nearby stall, adjusting his own black uniform, its vibrant electric blue accents a stark contrast to my green. Emi, ever practical, was already securing her hair, her uniform's green lines a subtle echo of my own. She and Kaito, as siblings, often mirrored each other's quiet efficiency, despite Kaito's outward bluster.
"Ready for the big show?" Kaito grinned, his blue Spectra lines practically glowing with anticipation.
"As I'll ever be," I replied, feeling the fabric settle comfortably, yet imposingly, on my skin. This uniform felt like a second skin, a tangible symbol of the leap we were taking.
We followed the flow of newly uniformed recruits into an enormous Auditorium, a space so vast it felt like a cathedral of polished steel and light. Hundreds of us filled the tiered seating, a mosaic of black uniforms accented by every hue of Spectra. The air hummed with a palpable mix of nervous energy and raw ambition.
A figure, radiating immense authority, stepped onto the central stage. The Academy Director, I presumed, though no introduction was needed. His presence alone commanded silence. His voice, deep and resonant, filled the hall without effort. He spoke of the Academy's legacy, the rigor ahead, and the absolute necessity of unity. He quickly reiterated that full living quarter assignments and detailed schedules were already accessible on our Comms-slates. Then, his voice sharpened, "But your immediate and most critical assignment begins now. You will be formed into squads, each led by an Elite Professional. This Professional will be your forge master, your guide, and your relentless challenge."
The squad assignments began, names echoing through the hall. When "Akira Ramou, Kaito Tanaka, Emi Tanaka" were called, a collective, subtle sigh of relief escaped us, quickly followed by a reassuring glance between the three of us.
Then, the Director's voice boomed, "Your Professional: Hiroshi Kai."
A man stepped forward from the shadows at the side of the stage. Hiroshi Kai. Lean, sharp, he moved with an almost unnerving economy of motion. His uniform was black, devoid of a specific Spectra color, signaling his Professional status. His dark, discerning gaze swept across the assembly, pausing, I swore, for a fraction longer on me. His expression was utterly unreadable, yet his presence alone exuded an uncompromising expectation that settled heavy in the air. This was no ordinary instructor.
The Director dismissed the assembly, instructing squads to report immediately. The hall erupted in a low buzz as recruits scrambled, seeking out their new mentors. Kaito's earlier bravado seemed to have deflated slightly, replaced by a focused tension. We moved as one, heading directly towards Hiroshi Kai, knowing our true demanding journey had just irrevocably begun.
The vast Auditorium emptied quickly, a low murmur of anticipation replacing the Director's booming voice. Kaito, Emi, and I followed the dwindling crowd towards a set of heavy, reinforced doors that led deeper into the Academy's core. The air grew colder, charged with a faint, metallic tang. Hiroshi Kai stood waiting, a silent sentinel outside the entrance to what I presumed was the training facility. His dark gaze swept over us as we approached, missing nothing.
Kaito, ever eager, puffed out his chest a little, stepping forward. "Professional Kai, sir! Kaito Tanaka, reporting as ordered! And this is my sister, Emi, and our teammate, Akira—"
Kai cut him off, his voice a low rumble, devoid of warmth, yet clear and precise. "Tanaka. Tanaka. Ramou." His gaze, sharp and dismissive, flicked between us. "I know who you are. Your files are far more descriptive than your clumsy introductions. Inside. Immediately."
A sudden chill ran down my spine, not from the cold air, but from the stark precision of his words. He hadn't just known our names; he'd known their order, our family connections. It was a subtle, unsettling display of thoroughness that wiped Kaito's bravado clean away. Kaito's mouth, which had been open to continue, snapped shut. Emi, usually so composed, exchanged a wide-eyed glance with her brother, a flicker of genuine apprehension in her green eyes. He didn't just know us; he saw us.
The doors hissed open, revealing a cavernous, multi-environmental training facility that dwarfed even the auditorium. It was a space of shifting platforms, holographic emitters, and dynamic terrain simulators. Without preamble, Kai gestured to a series of individual stations, each equipped with a solid, chest-high energy block fixed to a track.
"Your first exercise: The Unbreakable Tether," Kai stated, his voice flat. "Your objective is simple: push that block across the designated zone." He pointed to a distant line, hundreds of meters away, across a terrain that began to ripple and shift. "It's not about brute strength. It's about adapting. The block will resist, anchor itself, shift its weight. Brute force will only lead to exhaustion and failure. Find the rhythm. Find the leverage. Move."
Kaito, looking slightly abashed but quickly recovering his competitive spark, positioned himself behind his block first. "Alright! Let's do this!" He braced his hands against the inert mass and pushed, muscles bulging, his blue Spectra flaring weakly around his hands. The block barely shifted. He pushed again, harder, grunting. The ground beneath him began to subtly ripple, small dunes rising and falling. "What the hell is this?" he muttered under his breath, frustration already creeping into his voice as the block seemed to actively fight his efforts.
Emi, more methodical, activated her Green Spectra, a faint, protective shimmer around her, and tried to establish a steady push. She focused, her brow furrowed in concentration, but the block was a stubborn, unresponsive mass. It resisted, sometimes subtly, sometimes with surprising force, throwing her off balance despite her efforts to stabilize herself. She strained, visibly frustrated by its unpredictable nature.
I approached my own station. The weight of the block felt immense, dead. I placed my hands on its cold surface, my own Green Spectra humming faintly beneath my skin. Unlike Kaito and Emi, I didn't immediately try to brute force it. Instead, I focused on the block itself, on the subtle hum I could feel emanating from its core, sensing its shifts. The ground rippled beneath me, making every step an exercise in balance.
Kai began to pace, his dark gaze sweeping over the struggling recruits. His voice, calm and even, was a precision instrument of psychological torment. "Look at you, flailing like newborns," he drawled, his words landing with brutal accuracy. "You think strength alone makes an Elite? A common groundhog has more ingenuity than most of you are showing right now. "You want to protect? You can't even move a rock. What will you do when the very ground betrays you, whelp?"
I ignored his words, focusing my mind on the task. The block shifted again, anchoring itself. Instead of pushing harder against its immediate resistance, I leaned into it, testing its give, then, with a small, precise burst of Spectra, I leveraged my weight against a suddenly stable point on the shifting ground. The block slid a few inches. It wasn't much, but it was progress. I repeated the process, analyzing the subtle changes in its resistance, anticipating its next anchor. My movements were economical, my focus absolute.
After nearly ten grueling minutes, the air filled with the sounds of strained breathing and the grunts of futile effort. No one, not Kaito, nor Emi, had managed to move their block more than a few feet. My own progress, while more substantial, was still measured in mere meters, a testament to my patience rather than overwhelming force.
Kai's dark gaze, which had been impassive throughout, sharpened almost imperceptibly as he observed my consistent, albeit slow, movement. His eyes lingered on my block, then on my focused expression, a flicker of something unreadable—perhaps calculation, perhaps a faint, grudging acknowledgement—crossing his features. His voice suddenly cut through the heavy air, devoid of inflection. "A waste of time if we continue like this," he stated, and the machines clicked, freezing the blocks in place. "This exercise is over."
"Enough. You've shown me your limits. Now, let's see you shatter them." Kai's voice cut through the strained silence that followed the first exercise.
Without a break, he gestured to a new set of stations that lined an adjacent wall of the vast facility. My muscles screamed in protest, every fiber burning with residual fatigue. Kaito and Emi looked equally spent, their faces streaked with sweat.
Each new station featured a massive, cube-shaped machine, standing at least six and a half feet tall. Suspended within its center was a boulder-like mass of dull, heavy metal, roughly square, hovering ominously. Below it, the floor was clearly marked for a user to position themselves directly underneath the suspended weight. The air in this section felt heavier, somehow, charged with an oppressive stillness.
"Your next exercise: The Ascent of Burden," Kai announced, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Approach your stations."
We staggered to our designated spots. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the weariness. I could feel Renji's quiet, analytical focus within me, but it was battling against a physical exhaustion I hadn't felt in this body before. I positioned myself beneath the suspended mass, planting my feet firmly, my hands ready.
"The objective is simple," Kai continued, his dark gaze sweeping over us. "That weight, that burden, will be lowered onto you. Your task is to push it back up into the machine using only your hands. Just enough to fully retract it and clear yourselves. Failure to do so means the weight drops below a certain point, and the machine will auto-retract to avoid harm, resulting in a failure. Succeed, and you take one step closer to becoming something more than a common civilian." The implication was clear: this burden was immense, requiring full Spectra and then some to even budge.
Before anyone could fully process his words, the machines whirred to life. With a groan of hydraulics, the heavy slabs began to descend. I braced myself, my muscles tensing. The sheer mass of it was instantly apparent.
The weight pressed down on my outstretched hands, forcing my chest towards my knees. My breath hitched. It was monumental, crushing. My Spectra flared, an emerald shield around my body, but it felt like a single leaf trying to hold back a tsunami. Every ounce of strength, physical and Spectra-born, poured into resisting.
Beside me, I heard Kaito grunt. His blue Spectra flared violently around him, a desperate, valiant surge. He pushed, his face contorted in a grimace of pure effort, but even with his powerful offensive Spectra, the weight was too much. A final, strained roar escaped him, then a defeated sigh as his machine hummed and the slab slowly, almost mercifully, began to retract upwards, lifting the burden from him. Kaito slumped forward, gasping for air, his shoulders heaving. He had failed.
Emi, ever resilient, went silent. Her green Spectra flared, not in an offensive burst, but in a dense, defensive aura, attempting to solidify her stance, to create a bedrock beneath her. I saw the pure concentration on her face, the way she tried to work with the weight, to distribute its pressure, but it was a losing battle. Her efforts were incredible, but the burden was simply beyond her current capacity. With a soft whir, her machine also began its slow ascent, freeing her from the crushing load. She dropped to her knees, panting, eyes squeezed shut in exhaustion and frustration. She, too, had failed.
And then there was me. I was still beneath the weight. My muscles trembled uncontrollably, my teeth gritted so hard my jaw ached. My Spectra was a raging torrent, pushing against the burden, but it felt like the slab was fused to the earth itself. It wouldn't budge. The machine's soft whir indicated it was nearing the retraction point, but still, I held. My arms locked, my entire body a vibrating column of defiance. Neither up nor down, I simply maintained, a stalemate against impossible force.
Kai's voice, cold and precise, cut through the roaring in my ears. His footsteps approached my station. "Ramou," he drawled, his tone laced with chilling disappointment. "Look at you. Barely a fraction of what a true Elite carries. Your friends, your squad, they gave up. They knew their limits. Why do you cling to this pointless struggle?" His dark gaze flickered to Kaito and Emi, then back to me. "This isn't about strength, boy. It's about conviction. Or perhaps... you simply lack the conviction to bear any burden at all, clinging to a false hope."
His words struck a raw nerve, a deeper wound than any physical pain. Burden. The word echoed in Renji's memories, memories of failure, of not being strong enough. The vision of Renji's last stand, his desperation, the overwhelming forces he couldn't push back, flooded my mind. Not strong enough. Not strong enough to protect. Kai's taunt about Kaito and Emi only fueled the fire, linking my current failure to Renji's, to our shared inability to protect those we cared about.
A guttural sound tore from my throat, a primal scream that ripped through the exhausted silence of the chamber. It wasn't a scream of pain, but of pure, unadulterated rage and absolute refusal to yield. My vision swam, tinged with a furious, incandescent green. My very soul seemed to ignite. My eyes flared, turning a vivid, almost unnatural emerald hue, shimmering with an intensity that vibrated. The green aura around me surged, no longer faint but pulsating violently, crackling with raw, untamed power. Along my hands and arms, glowing green lines traced intricate patterns, like veins of pure, concentrated energy, pushing outwards.
"AAARGH!" I roared, channeling everything, the frustration of the block, the crushing weight, Renji's failure, my own desperation to be enough. With a terrifying, controlled power that surprised even myself, the machine groaned in protest as the immense slab began to slowly, agonizingly lift. It was only inches, but it was moving.
I heard a subtle, almost imperceptible intake of breath from Kai. His dark, discerning gaze, usually so unreadable, flickered with genuine surprise. He saw the anomalous surge, the raw, untamed force that defied the limits of my physical form and even the expected output of my Spectra. His eyes lingered on the pulsating green lines, the pure, unyielding drive. A fraction of a second later, a near-silent "Good," escaped his lips, barely a whisper, almost lost in the whir of the machine.
The moment the weight cleared, the machine confirmed success, its hydraulics whirring to hold the slab suspended. I collapsed forward, gasping, every muscle screaming, but the triumph, the pure, raw defiance of it, surged through me.
Kai simply turned, his back to us, dismissing the session with a curt, "Training is concluded for the day. Debrief in your quarters at 0700." He exited the facility with the same silent, economical movements he'd entered with, leaving the three of us utterly spent and bewildered.
A battered Kaito, struggling to his feet nearby, slammed a fist against the metal casing of his own failed machine. His voice was hoarse with fury, but his glare was fixed on the unresponsive metal. "This is insane! How is any of this going to help us fight in a real battle?!" He turned to us, his frustration raw and exposed. "We're Elite recruits, not lab rats being crushed! What even is the point of this, Akira? Emi? I don't understand any of it!"
I pushed myself up, my own body aching, but a clarity settling over my mind. "Think, Kaito," I managed, my voice raspy but firm. "He's not just training our bodies. He's testing us. Our physical limits, yes, but also our mental resolve. Our frustration. He wants to see how we react when we're pushed beyond what we think we can do, when the situation seems impossible." I glanced at Emi, who nodded slowly, her eyes still holding a hint of their earlier frustration but now also a dawning understanding. "This isn't about moving a rock or lifting a slab for its own sake. It's about what happens inside us when we can't."