Morning Light

Morning sunlight streamed through the tall panes of glass along the eastern wall of Form 1 Lecture Hall.
The entire space glowed—bright, still, and reverent—as though the academy itself were holding its breath.

Dozens of first-years filed in, their uniforms crisp, their chatter a mix of excitement and awe.
Some still spoke about the ranking results. Others whispered about the Rift Expedition feed they’d witnessed the night before — Operation Harmonic Collapse: The Fall of Orrhos.

A holographic dome shimmered overhead, faintly reflecting the two moons beyond the glass.
For many, this was the first true lecture of their academy lives. For others, it was the beginning of the long climb toward power.

At the front stood Mr. Ooi Marv — broad-shouldered, back straight, gray at the temples lending him both scholar’s gravity and veteran’s quiet authority.
He tapped the console embedded in his lectern. The hall dimmed, and a holographic globe slowly rotated into view behind him — Earth, ringed by faint arcs of light like a miniature Saturn.

“Good morning,” he said, voice deep, steady, commanding without effort.
“Today, you begin to understand what kind of world you’ve stepped into.
History calls our age The Era of Heroes.
But before you dream of glory—
you must learn what it cost us.”

The hum of conversation faded instantly. Even Aru Aryan, whose boredom was almost legendary, straightened slightly in his seat.

The Beginning of the Hero Age

The projection zoomed toward the northern hemisphere — snowfields, glaciers, and then black rifts tearing across the Siberian tundra.
A hush fell.

“In the year 2092,” Mr. Ooi began, “a mining expedition in Siberia unearthed a shimmering void.
Scientists believed it to be an aurora trapped underground.
It was, in truth, a Riftgate — a wound in space connecting to another realm.”

The globe fractured into scenes of chaos: cities burning, soldiers firing into storms of light, satellites flickering out one by one.

“Within five years,” he continued, “nearly a hundred such gates appeared across the planet. Humanity fought with bullets, bombs, and desperation.
None worked. Then… something changed.”

The hologram shifted again — a lone woman standing amid frozen ruins, her body aglow.

“A few individuals survived exposure to Rift radiation and awakened. Their bodies adapted, producing energy beyond any recorded biology.
The first of them was called Hero Ai. Her origin lies here—on this very continent. She closed the Vladivostok Rift bare-handed, her body blazing brighter than the aurora itself.”

The class leaned forward, entranced.

“That energy,” he said, “was later measured and named the Unified Energy Flux.
That moment began what we now call The Era of Heroes.”

He paused, letting the silence carry weight.

“You’ve seen the Gaelion Archive Entry 03 — Operation Harmonic Collapse: The Fall of Orrhos.
That event is not just history. It is the foundation of the world we stand on — the Virdan Continent itself.”

The students exchanged glances.
Even those who’d grown up hearing the legends now saw them with new weight.
Yesterday, they’d watched Commander Vyran Harith defy a Rift Leviathan. Today, they realized that same legacy lived within their own training halls.

The Foundation World

Mr. Ooi swiped his hand through the air; the holographic globe fragmented into eight ascending layers of light, each glowing a different hue.

“Every hero grows within what the Association calls the Foundation World — the realm of Survival and Growth.
It is the first of many steps toward greater realities, though few ever glimpse what lies beyond.”

He gestured to the lowest, shadowed layer.

“E-Rank — the Apprentice. The beginning of control. Strength to break stone.”

The next layer flared brighter.

“D-Rank — Adept. The ability to project and shape resonance energy.”
“C and B — Elite and Champion. Leaders of squads, defenders of cities.”

Holographic figures flickered into existence:
• A woman punching through a boulder until it shattered into powder.
• A man lifting a tank with one hand, his aura blazing gold.
• Two warriors clashing mid-air, storm clouds spiraling around them.

“Above them stand the Masters and Grandmasters — A and S Ranks — whose very battles reshape landscapes.”

The hall trembled faintly as the hologram expanded: oceans split, mountains folded, continents quaked.
A few students gasped; the vibrations felt almost real.

“And finally,” Mr. Ooi said, voice softening, “the Paragons and Apexes — SS and SSS Ranks.
Figures so powerful they no longer fight for nations, but for balance itself.
Legends say they battle among the stars.”

The projection dimmed, leaving only the faint outline of the globe.
Silence followed — heavy and reverent.

The Science of Breakthroughs

“Now,” Mr. Ooi said, pacing, “you ask how one rises through these ranks.
The process is called Breakthrough.
It is not mystical — it is scientific, biological, and deeply personal.”

A wireframe body appeared in midair, its veins pulsing with threads of light.

“Physically,” he explained, “your cells undergo accelerated apoptosis and regeneration.
Energy-wise, your bio-field expands under stress.
Spiritually—or cognitively—your neural lattice reorganizes to process higher energy data.”

The figure brightened, then burst into light.

“Think of it as upgrading a processor without changing the casing. Too much power, and the vessel burns.”

Jenny raised her hand.

“So… breakthroughs are like rewriting the body’s code?”

“Exactly,” Mr. Ooi said. “But the rewrite must harmonize with natural law.
The ancients called it Heaven’s Calibration.
Science calls it metabolic resonance stress.
The price of imbalance… is death.”

A collective shiver moved through the hall. Even Aru, usually smug, looked unsettled.

A Warning from History

The hologram shifted again — a ruined city, towers melted into glass.

“This was Tokyo Sector Nine,” Mr. Ooi said quietly. “Seventy years ago, an A-Rank attempted to leap two stages in one day. His core imploded.
The blast erased half the city.”

The hall fell silent.
No one even dared breathe.

He shut down the projection and turned to face them.

“Remember this: Power is neither a blessing nor a curse. It is a burden.
The Association exists because the world learned that truth too late.”

Talent and Effort

Zachary raised his hand.

“Sir… is talent fixed? Or can effort compensate?”

Mr. Ooi smiled faintly, drawing five luminous circles in the air.

“Talent determines efficiency of learning — not destiny.
The Association classifies it in five tiers: Normal, Excellent, Genius, Super Genius, and One-in-a-Million.
Each tier multiplies absorption rate and control precision.
A Genius at C-Rank may rival an Excellent B-Rank. But even the rarest gift means nothing without discipline.”

Jenny hesitated.

“Then effort still matters?”

Before Mr. Ooi could answer, Tom spoke softly from the back row.

“Effort reveals talent.”

Heads turned. His tone carried no pride — only quiet certainty.
Mr. Ooi studied him for a long moment, then smiled.

“Correct. You’ll find the world agrees with you more often than it admits.”

The Demonstration

“Words are wind,” Mr. Ooi said. “Let’s see truth.”

He tapped the lectern again. The lights dimmed, and the ceiling unfurled into a full-dome holographic display.
What followed made hearts stop.

E-Ranks hammered steel pads until metal dented like clay.
D-Ranks released bursts of azure energy that scorched training fields.
C-Ranks dashed across rivers as if the water had turned solid.
B-Ranks unleashed shockwaves that flattened forests.
A-Ranks carved storms across skies, trails of light arcing behind them.
S-Ranks vanished into halos of clouds, moving faster than light could chase.
And above them — the Paragons — descending from orbit, impacts blooming like miniature suns.

The air pressure in the hall dropped. The heat felt almost real.
Someone gasped, “It’s… beautiful.”

Then Mr. Ooi clapped once.
The simulation collapsed into silence.

“That display was scaled down by a factor of one thousand,” he said calmly. “Any higher, and this building would cease to exist.”

Reactions

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then Aru exhaled loudly.

“My family’s line will reach Paragon again. It’s only a matter of time.”
Kaito muttered, “You’ll blow up first.”
Laughter rippled through the hall until Mr. Ooi raised a brow — silence returned instantly.

Jenny flexed her hands as though expecting sparks.

“It feels impossible,” she whispered. “And yet…”

Aira’s eyes reflected faint light, scanning the data like a machine.
Zachary scribbled furiously, muttering about “field harmonics” and “aura ratio models.”

Only Tom sat still. The holographic storms had stirred something deeper — a memory too distant to share.
Foundation World, he thought. How small it still feels.

Mr. Ooi’s Closing

The hologram faded; daylight returned in a slow bloom of warmth.
Mr. Ooi clasped his hands behind his back.

“Now you’ve seen the path — from stone-breaker to star-walker.
But remember this: the higher you climb, the narrower the ledge.
Tomorrow, we’ll study how energy interacts with flesh — and how to sense it within yourselves.”

He looked across the hall, his tone softening.

“Do not seek glory. Seek balance.
Only then will power stay in your hands instead of consuming them.”

The end bell chimed — soft, melodic, like the first echo of dawn.
Chairs shifted. Voices rose in a hesitant wave of awe.
Students left in small clusters, whispering about ranks, dreams, and destinies.

Tom lingered at the back, watching the fading holograms shimmer like ghosts.
He walked toward the exit, sunlight pouring over him, and thought quietly: