Virelia. City of spires, lights, and screens. Where the rich lived in towers that scraped the clouds, and the poor crawled between shadows like ghosts.

Luca had learned two things growing up here:

One — People only respect power.

Two — Power always came with a price.

He just never expected his price to be getting punched in the face on live national broadcast.

“Get up, trash,” the examiner sneered, cracking his knuckles.

Luca wiped the blood from his lip and blinked through the static ringing in his head. The pain wasn’t the problem—it was the shame. He hadn’t even made it five minutes into the Archlight Academy Entrance Trial before getting flattened.

The crowd in the observation deck above laughed. Not a single poor kid had made it in over five years. What had he been thinking?

Still, he rose.

The examiner looked mildly impressed. “Most would’ve stayed down. You can quit now and still keep your dignity.”

Luca smiled through swollen lips. “Didn’t bring any dignity with me. Thought I’d win some here.”

That earned a scoff. The man waved to the side of the arena. “Overcharge boy thinks he’s a comedian. You got a fancy Innate Technique or just that half-baked stat boost of yours?”

Luca exhaled slowly.

Innate Technique: Overcharge.

It wasn’t flashy. It didn’t summon fire, didn’t bend gravity, didn’t slice buildings in half.

It just let him push his body past normal human limits for a few seconds. Strength. Speed. Reflexes. The longer he used it, the more it burned through him. Short bursts. Smart timing. That was how he’d survived the streets—and how he was going to get into Archlight.

“I don’t need flashy,” Luca said, shifting into a low stance. “Just one more second.”

Then he moved.

One step. Two. Duck the counterpunch. Bait the sweep. Slip under the guard.

Overcharge: Active.

A blur of motion, a ripple through the air—and then the examiner’s feet were off the ground.

BAM.

The man landed flat on his back with a grunt, the wind knocked out of him.

Silence. Then chaos.

Voices exploded from the crowd. Screens flickered. Stats updated. Somewhere in the back, a bored-looking proctor scratched his head.

“…Guess we have to let him in.”

Later.

Luca sat alone in the empty waiting room, head tilted back, staring at the flickering lights. His heart was still pounding, not from the fight—but from what came next.

He was in.

He had done the impossible.

Archlight Academy—the most prestigious combat institution in the nation, built to train the elite protectors and peacekeepers—had just admitted a nobody.

The door creaked.

A tall boy with icy blue eyes and perfect posture walked in, sizing Luca up like he was something stuck to his shoe. His coat had silver trim—House insignia. A ruling family.

“Don’t get comfortable,” the boy said coolly. “They let one rat in for every hundred lions. Just to remind us why the cages exist.”

Luca blinked. “Cool coat. Did you lose a bet or do rich people just dress like that on purpose?”

The boy’s lip twitched. “Remember this moment, commoner. I’ll enjoy crushing you later.”

He turned and walked out.

Luca scratched his head. “Man, rich people are weird.”

But as the doors closed behind him, Luca grinned.

He wasn’t here to be liked. He was here to win.