Inside one of the classrooms, a teacher stood before a glowing board, his voice steady and powerful.

> “Listen well. Power is divided into ranks and levels.

The Basic Rank has two sub-levels.

The Low Rank, three.

Mid Rank, four.

High Rank, five.

The Supreme Rank, six.

And above all stands a single, almost forgotten state — the Supremortal Level.”

He paused, letting the words hang.

> “If you work hard, some of you may touch the mid-rank. Control of your Orta—your inner flow of energy—decides everything.”

The class scribbled notes. Among them sat Arashi Hyutetsu, eyes bright with curiosity.

“Sir,” he asked, “can someone really reach the Supremortal Level?”

The teacher froze, then chuckled as the room erupted in laughter.

“Dream smaller, Arashi. Even the greatest geniuses haven’t touched that level in over a thousand years.”

Another student, Maks Hyutetsu, smirked.

> “Still day-dreaming, Arashi?”

Arashi said nothing. He simply looked down at his notes and continued listening.

---

That evening, at home, he asked his father, Majin Hyutetsu, the same question.

“Father, is it truly impossible?”

Majin smiled faintly, a trace of sadness in his eyes.

> “Son, even with the finest bloodlines, reaching the Supreme Rank is rare. The Supremortal Level… hasn’t been achieved for twelve centuries. Remember—ambition is good, but don’t let it blind you.”

---

Outside, beneath the fading light, Arashi trained alone—movements rough but determined.

An elderly man approached, white-bearded and sharp-eyed.

> “Kid, your stance is wrong,” the stranger said. “You’re forcing your Orta. Try this instead.”

Arashi blinked. “Do I know you, old man?”

> “No,” the man chuckled. “But I’m a friend of your father. Name’s Zerish. Been wandering these lands for years.”

He held out a small silver token etched with unknown runes.

> “Channel your Orta into this. The technique will reveal itself in your mind.”

Arashi hesitated but accepted it. “Thank you, Mister Zerish.”

Later, at home, he asked Majin about the stranger.

> “Zerish?” Majin said, surprised. “He’s an old friend. If you ever meet him again, thank him for me.”

Arashi wanted to ask more, but his father’s tone ended the talk.

That night, alone in his room, Arashi pressed his hand to the token. Energy pulsed through him—cold, bright, alive. A strange symbol flared across his forehead.

The ground trembled. His breath turned white.

In seconds, his Orta surged, overflowing, lifting him beyond his limits.

When it stopped, he stood trembling, awestruck.

> “Basic Rank… Level One.”

Outside, wind rattled the window as a faint spark flickered in his eyes—

the first light of something far greater.

— To Be Continued —