Semesta Academy – Zone C Training Hall
The training hall of Zone C buzzed with tension — a storm trapped beneath steel rafters.
Five hundred students, each a prodigy back home, stood in disciplined rows that felt too narrow for the pressure weighing on their shoulders. The air smelled faintly of oil, sweat, and charged metal — the kind that prickled against skin and quickened every heartbeat.
At the far end stood twenty towering frames of alloy and crystal — R-Meters, machines capable of translating raw strength into precise numbers. Their reinforced pads glimmered beneath the fluorescent lights, cables humming with stored energy. Each unit linked to a holographic display stretched across the wall above, waiting to broadcast results that could shape destinies.
Among the crowd stood Tom Anderson, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. Around him, voices whispered — sharp with nerves and excitement. He neither fidgeted nor spoke.
To most, this test was a turning point.
To him, it was merely another ripple in the long river of his existence.
The Weight of Genius
Only five hundred had earned the right to be here — from tens of thousands who dreamed of entry. In their hometowns they were celebrated as the brightest of their generation, champions of local contests and heirs of small legends.
But Semesta Academy was not a place for hometown legends.
It was a forge meant to hammer those legends into something harder — or break them completely.
From the glass-walled observation deck above, Erhard Vale leaned on the railing, gaze flicking between screens and the restless crowd.
“They look confident now,” he murmured to Natasha Reign, his colleague beside him.
Natasha smiled faintly. “They’re all called prodigies, aren’t they?”
“Prodigies, yes,” Erhard replied, tapping his tablet. “But this academy doesn’t seek prodigies — it hunts for the genius among geniuses. The gap between number one and number five-hundred is a canyon. Ordinary prodigies climb steps. True monsters leap entire staircases.”
Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Then let’s see who can leap.”
Jeremy’s Command
Below, Instructor Jeremy Chang strode onto the podium, shadow stretching long beneath the lights. The chatter died instantly when his voice thundered:
“Silence!”
His gaze swept through the hall, cool and merciless.
Jeremy gestured toward the glowing machines.
“Each of you will deliver three strikes with fists and three with legs. The system measures force in Reson Units (RU) — one RU equals roughly the force of ten Newtons, enough to shatter a wooden board. Rankings will update in real time.”
He let the explanation settle before his tone hardened.
“This is the foundation of your academy life. Those who score well will earn opportunity. Those who fail…” — his gaze sharpened — “…will learn how cruel the world can be, even here.”
Fear flickered even among the confident.
“Form groups of twenty. Begin!”
Rivals Step Forward
Lines shifted. Shoes squeaked on polished floors. Whispers turned to low, electric murmurs as famous names spread through the hall.
At the front, a red-haired boy leaned against his R-Meter, grin sharp.
“That’s Leon Drake,” someone whispered near Tom. “From the Steel-Fist Drake Family. They say his family technique can crush iron plates.”
Leon’s gaze slid across the room with a smirk — challenge accepted.
Beside him stood a tall silver-haired girl, movements crisp and disciplined.
“Sylvia Ardent, heir to the Northern Knight Order,” murmured another. “Awakened sword-aura at twelve.”
Sylvia’s eyes were cold steel, scanning the hall until they stopped on Tom Anderson for a heartbeat — her brow tensed, as if sensing something unusual.
Other names rippled through the crowd:
Kai Ren, silent and sharp-eyed.
Lena Torrin, broad-shouldered, famed for brutal self-training.
Gareth Lowell, loud and boastful, already declaring that rank #1 belonged to him.
Tom observed them all — rivals, obstacles, potential allies… or future enemies.
A Shy Gaze
Not every gaze on Tom was sharp.
At the back, Tisya Faelan, a small-framed girl with short black hair, fidgeted with her resin bracelet. Her fingers trembled; she chewed her lip nervously.
When Tom’s calm eyes met hers, color rushed to her cheeks. She turned away too fast, nearly dropping the device.
Tom said nothing. But he noticed.
In a hall built on pride, quiet courage had its own kind of resonance.
Early Tests
Groups stepped forward. The R-Meters flared alive.
The holographic display flashed each record in real time; students craned their necks to watch the rankings climb and fall.
A trembling boy swung hard.
Some clapped. Others smirked.
The tests continued, one student after another, strength flashing in bursts of light as the board constantly updated.
Kaito Ishida stretched his arms, amused. “Not bad — for warm-up.”
Then came Mei Ling, strikes fast and precise.
Hiroto Tanaka followed, muscles coiled like spring steel.
Then Jenny Cross — the same girl Tom met at the café — stepped forward. Eyes steady, stance perfect.
From behind, Rina Morales gasped. “Her strikes are incredible!”
Mika Reen adjusted her glasses. “Impressive… but rankings shift fast.”
Next came Kaito Ishida again. His blows cut through the air like blades.
He turned, smirk aimed straight at Aru Aryan — silent provocation.
Both had been rivals since junior school.
“Show me what you’ve got, Aru!”
The ranking board pulsed. Kaito still held Rank #1.
“It’s okay, you’re in Top 50, Aira,” Kaito laughed. “This isn’t your stage anyway.”
Aira Ai, descendant of Hero Ai, ignored him. She belonged to another department entirely — and needed no defense.
Aru Aryan – The Prodigy
Then came Aru Aryan — the hall’s storm.
Every movement was refined, honed through elite training camps. His fists crashed into the pad like thunder; his kicks shook the R-Meter’s frame.
Gasps rippled through the hall. Even Kaito’s grin faltered.
From the observation deck, Erhard Vale nodded.
“Grandson of Hero Aryan. Already mastering the Seventh Blade Swordsmanship. Born inheritance at its finest.”
Natasha Reign’s lips curved. “A prodigy indeed. Let’s see who can reach him.”
Down below, Aira chuckled. “Still the same as the Junior Championship, Kaito — you’re number two again.”
The Call
One by one, the groups finished; rankings shuffled. Yet whispers kept circling back to the boy who hadn’t struck yet.
Finally, Jeremy’s voice echoed:
“Lane Three — step forward! Everyone else has finished.”
Silence.
Hundreds of eyes turned toward Tom Anderson.
Rina clutched her notebook tight. Mika held her breath. From above, even Natasha leaned forward. Aru Aryan tilted his head, curiosity shadowing his pride.
Tom walked forward, calm and unhurried. He placed his hand on the pad.
Inside him, the seal stirred — a faint ache, like chains grinding against his soul. Even a fraction of his strength risked exposure.
He exhaled slowly, containing the surge.
Jeremy’s eyes gleamed — sharp, expectant.
“Begin.”
⚡ Author’s Note:
Thank you for reading Chapter 2 of The Sealed Player of the Eight Worlds!
Who do you think will top the next ranking — Aru Aryan or someone entirely unexpected?
Leave a comment, tap the ❤️
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