The Beast King Squadron’s branch base sat on a small isle in the East Sea, a quiet stone amid blue.

The Dragon God Pioneer had piled the seabed’s shallows into land, like a reef raised by hands.

No map dared mark it, as if the world’s ink refused the secret.

Signal jamming veiled the island like sea-mist; optical camouflage shimmered like heat-haze.

A foolproof last trump, a tucked-away paradise behind a curtain of waves.

The isle ran about two square kilometers, compact as a chessboard by the surf.

Six single rooms. A mess hall. A training field breathing dust and sun.

A research lab humming like a hive; a warehouse stacked like winter granaries.

An armory, a command post doubling as an assembly hall—steel and voices under one roof.

Even an automated indoor farm, green rows glowing like bottled spring.

They toured in order, three shadows crossing rooms like migratory birds angling south.

Ling Yi lit up at the training field, sparks jumping behind her smile.

Yekase kept cooler—until the lab’s door swung like a curtain of light.

Then she started babbling, winded with glee: “combining robots,” “rocket punch,” jargon like confetti.

With the housekeeping done, Professor F finally announced the first drill, voice like a drum.

“Lesson One—an island loop run!”

...

At the training field, Yekase, Ling Yi, Crimson Field, and the Dragon God Shark sank into varying shades of silence.

“That’s it?” The question hung like a lone gull over a gray sea.

Yekase, the only face visible among the four, arched a brow with naked disdain, a thin blade.

She’d expected a professor to drop steel-forged insights before armies, not a basic run across dust.

Could this even train heroes in suits and armor that make infants into powerhouses? It felt off.

Professor F finally pivoted, voice unhurried, a river turning: “It’s not just a simple run. There are add-ons.”

“Oh! Now we’re talking!” Her delight leapt like a spark on dry straw.

“Let’s relight the blaze!” The words cracked like kindling under heel.

Ling Yi and the Dragon God Eagle—Crimson Field—both red-as-fire types, clicked like strangers finding the same rhythm in a mall.

Beside Yekase, the Dragon God Shark folded his arms, mute, a cool tide against Crimson Field’s boiling blood.

Was their teamwork really okay, or would waves and flames clash?

Professor F snapped her fingers, the sound sharp as flint.

A robot strode over like a dutiful steward and handed wrist bands to the three—everyone but Yekase.

“It’s not two easy laps on the coast road. Robots placed beacons in woods, beaches, and gullies.”

“Follow your bands; touch every beacon to clear the run.” Fireflies to chase in hidden places.

“Cross-country it is?!” The words kicked like gravel underfoot.

“Still not that hard…” Ling Yi could fly in any form, so she spoke with airy confidence, wings in her voice.

Professor F cut in at once: “It’s a run, after all. No flying.” The rule fell like a gate.

“Ugh—aaah…” A groan drifted like steam from a kettle.

“Alright, start now! Finish too late and you’ll eat leftovers. Run, run!” Her shout cracked like a whip.

“Oh-oh-oh?!” The reply tumbled like marbles across tile.

“Move it, move it!” Feet beat dust like drums.

“Dinner… is nonnegotiable.” The resolve sat like a stone in a bowl.

Professor F shooed them forward, hands fluttering like chasing sparrows.

Crimson Field bolted first, a red arrow.

Ling Yi kicked in her thrusters and tailed him, a flare under a hawk.

The Dragon God Shark followed close, a wave chasing a wave along shore.

Yekase stuffed her hands in her pockets and watched their backs shrink on the road, like ditching class to watch others sit through a lecture.

Warm satisfaction swelled, like harvest sun on wheat—soft and golden.

“Dr. Yekase, you take the road.” The call landed like a pebble in a pond.

“—Wait, what?!” Her comfort snapped like a dry twig.

“Five kilometers. Gentle slopes. No add-ons. Do your best.” Professor F was smiling, yet Yekase felt an icy sting under her skin.

Cold sweat trickled down her back, thin as silver threads.

She pushed back, voice shaking like a reed: “Why do I have to run too?! I’m soft, fragile support staff.”

“I won’t set foot on a battlefield! Aren’t we—aren’t we the same?” Her words clattered like loose bolts.

“Hm? I heard Twin Towers City has a mysterious figure called the Singing Wrecking Lady.”

“She used to ambush mechs from various groups. Lately she’s been making waves, even teamed up with Flashblade Red in public…” The rumor fluttered like a red banner.

“Uh—I’d love to meet her too—” Yekase’s gaze drifted to the far sky, a kite with cut string.

Her amateur acting couldn’t fool Professor F. They held a silent standoff for less than thirty seconds.

Yekase crumpled, shame warming her cheeks like an ember.

“What’s wrong with that getup… I covered myself so tight. How can anyone see through me…” Her mutter bristled like a wet cat.

“To strip heavy mechs that easily, you must have deep mastery of humanoid war machines.”

“That narrows suspects to every craftsman in Twin Towers City.” The net spread like a web.

“Dozens of groups in the city. At least fifty people could do that. It doesn’t have to be me!” Her protest skittered like a beetle.

“True. A voice-changing mask and the like are standard in the shadows. That proves nothing.” The night gave nothing back.

“Mm-hmm.” Her assent was a small stone tapping glass.

“Even factoring her tie to Flashblade Red—she’s a pure girl who trusts too easily. She could be used.”

“That hardly narrows the pool. So I only guess: ‘it couldn’t be you… right?’” The tease smiled like a crescent moon.

“Just a guess?!” The words jumped like startled fish.

“Thanks for the confirmation.” The smile stayed, a blade under silk.

Yekase almost dropped to her knees before Professor F, a puppet with cut strings in a courtyard breeze.

Her gut twisted; had she lied too much lately? Was this karma snapping back like a bent branch?

“Your fitness is too poor. That’s not a ‘quirk’ worth keeping. Overcome it with your own strength.”

“But jumping straight to five kilometers is a bit…” The line trailed like smoke.

Professor F smiled: “That depends how you define ‘your own strength.’ I’ll wait at the finish.”

She sat on a floating disc and flew away, like a pale moon sliding behind clouds.

...

“How to define… my own strength…” The seed rolled in her chest.

The hint landed. Tools and spells were fair game, like ropes and bridges across ravines.

In real battle, no one tanks with bare stats; using tech in training was only natural, like sharpening before the hunt.

So, there was room to breathe, a pocket of shade under noon.

In the days after the annexation fight, Yekase hadn’t drifted idle. She’d grown, like a sapling drinking rain.

The Levitation Spell was nimble and useful. But clinging to one low-tier spell and ignoring the wider arts would be backwards, like rowing with one oar.

Bailu’s promised materials hadn’t arrived. She refused to muddle her basics by grabbing spells at random.

So she picked a few practical ones from the charred-cover textbooks she still had, ashes flaking like moth wings.

Dancing Light. Arcane Sensitivity. Oz Floating Disc.

Dancing Light creates a few motes of light, fireflies in a palm.

They don’t harm; they only shine. The cost is low—lower than the Levitation Spell.

She could distract foes at range, opening windows for Ling Yi, red silk parting.

She could even change colors; in a pinch, fake Infinite Power’s glow to bluff enemies.

Arcane Sensitivity lets you tell if someone has learned Celestial Speech—the absolute mark of a magic-user.

It also reveals the name of the spell they’ve used most lately, a footprint in fresh snow.

Yekase valued the addon: it makes you feel Sorcery’s flow more keenly, like sensing currents under a bridge.

She meant to use that to study Sorcery’s nature, river to source.

Oz Floating Disc creates a floating disc at a fixed spot, a hidden step in empty air.

At first glance it overlaps the Levitation Spell, mirror to mirror.

Yekase saw wider uses. The disc is woven from Sorcery—formless and colorless, like glass water.

That alone is a blade. Plant discs at sly angles to trip foes; launch someone, let them slam into an unseen disc.

Endless uses. Low cost, too, like tossing pebbles instead of stones.

—But.

These three new tricks, simply put, were useless for a long run, swords in a library.

Damn.

“…Celestial Speech, Levitation Spell.” The words settled like chalk on slate.

In the end, it was still Levitation. Thank you, Levitation. Old friend, simple rope.

Yekase drew a deep breath and hopped in place.

Sorcery lightened her body; she sprang three meters up with ease, a leaf caught by an updraft.

It felt like a trampoline under sky-blue silk, buoyant and clean.

She trimmed the upward push, held it to a level where each step forward felt weightless, feather to road.

She started running, feet pattering like rain along the lane.

She couldn’t play with her phone; no one lingered nearby, only cicadas and sun.

Her body moved like a machine, and her mind emptied; the background unfurled with starfield patterns, cold and deep.

Forgotten corners of memory stirred, like leaves in a night breeze.

As a toddler, held in arms, pushing through plastic door curtains like jellyfish strands.

A brick house back home, wind leaking through all four walls, winter whistling.

A construction crane’s black-and-yellow hook, swinging like a wasp over steel.

A classmate who stole money—hip-thrown, his head pinned underfoot, anger like iron.

High school afternoons cut from class, hiding in the library’s sun-dusted aisles, pages breathing.

A university that left no marked memory, a blank page in a rain-warped notebook.

Ah… ah. Breath pooled like warm water.

When was the last time she ran this honestly toward a goal—like an arrow arcing for a distant drum?

Childhood friends who sketched robots in draft books—how were they now?

Had they built their dream machines, or let the blueprints fade like chalk in rain?

“…huff… huff, huff…” Her breaths rasped like sand in a bottle.

Even with the Levitation Spell, the gap in stamina didn’t vanish.

Yekase’s breathing turned rough, like sand grinding in glass under heat.

The road and the sun grew unbearable, hot irons laid across her shoulders.

If she could burst Mind Energy like Ling Yi, she’d coast the whole loop, wings on ankles.

Too bad. Yekase lacked that gift. Talent can be cruel; no matter how you shout, the absent never conjures itself.

Two options remained, stark as forked paths in a pine grove: quit, or find another road.

She’d abandoned so much already—even her old identity. As Yekase now, she didn’t want to drop anything else.

Yet to carve a new path through five kilometers, she had no idea, mist thick in front.

She stopped in the road’s middle, a stone in a stream, water nudging her edges.

In her oxygen-starved brain, one thought budded, a spark in thin air.

Right. Beyond those two roads—no, before them—there was a path she’d never considered, a gate straight ahead.

Frontal breakthrough.

“Celestial Speech… Levitation Spell!” The words rang like bells in a valley.

“Even if the sun sinks… even if dinner goes cold… I’ll finish this and make you see…!” Her vow burned like a red thread stretched to dusk.