As the sun rose on the day of the academy test, I felt a mixture of nerves and determination. Today was the day I would prove myself, despite what others thought of my lack of talent. Entering the arena alongside other hopeful candidates, the director of the school stood before us.
The arena was abuzz with the murmurs and whispers of the candidates, blending into a low hum of uncertainty and anticipation. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves as I found a spot among the crowd.
"The test will be divided into four parts," the director's voice echoed through the arena, commanding attention. His gaze swept over the attentive faces before elaborating on each component.
"The first part will assess general knowledge about fighting, emergency procedures, and various questions about the world through a written exam, testing your theoretical understanding." A few candidates shifted nervously, but the director continued. "The second part will test strength by requiring you to strike a target with maximum force, measured numerically. The third focuses on analysis, where you must replicate moves demonstrated by the instructors, showcasing your ability to observe and mimic techniques."
I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my brow as the weight of the challenges sank in. But it was the final part that truly captured my attention.
"Lastly, you'll engage in one-on-one combat, with victory not being mandatory, but the demonstration of your best effort paramount. This will showcase your practical skills."
With the details explained, the director concluded, "The first part is tomorrow morning. For today, you can explore the academy grounds. The library will remain open until the test starts. Immersing yourself in the books might yield a perfect score."
The candidates absorbed the magnitude of the challenge, whispering and murmuring as they grappled with strategies for success.
"A hundred thousand books... Impossible," someone muttered in disbelief.
"It's not just about reading; you have to retain the information," another countered.
Amidst the uncertainty, one thing was clear: the test would separate the determined from the doubtful, the prepared from the unready.
A realization dawned on me. With my photographic memory, absorbing the books' contents wouldn't be the challenge; it would be the time needed to read them all. But did I even need to memorize them? Couldn't simply reading be enough? A glimmer of hope sparked within me as a plan formed. With determination and strategy, I was ready.
The first test was the written exam on general knowledge. Thanks to my photographic memory, I blazed through the questions, recalling every detail from the library books. My hand cramped from furiously scribbling, but I finished well before the time limit.
Next was the strength test, striking a target dummy with maximum force. I grimaced as my fist connected, the dull thud and flickering number confirming my below-average score. Brute force wasn't my forte.
However, I regained confidence during the technique analysis and replication test. Watching the instructors' movements with laser focus, I perfectly mirrored their forms and combinations, earning top marks due to my photographic memory.
Finally, the one-on-one combat portion. I faced a hulking brute of a candidate. As he charged, fists raised, my "death sensing" ability kicked in. Time seemed to slow as I perceived his intent for a fatal blow. Dodging his powerful haymaker, I aimed for his exposed flank with precise, controlled strikes. Though lacking overwhelming power, my evasiveness and accuracy secured victory, surprising my opponent.
After a grueling day, I was battered but victorious...
Today, the results would be revealed. I felt confident, having aced the first test armed with knowledge of my unique talent. My death sensing proved invaluable in combat, even if I stumbled drunkenly at times. It secured victory, aided by my opponent's underestimation. The second strength test yielded a below-average score, but I hoped to overcome it with high marks elsewhere.
Yet, as the director's announcement neared, anxiety crept in.
Did I...fail?
"And finally...Zephyrus."
I got in! Before I could savor the moment, the director delivered an unexpected twist.
"While accepted, there's a final trial before classes. You'll spend 24 hours in the Tower of Challengers, restricted to the first two floors for safety."
The Tower of Challengers—a foreboding legend, its depths shrouded in mystery and peril. The initial floors housed relatively benign monsters, or so I believed.
As I entered, my peers scattered, leaving three bearing looks of disdain. Their A-class elite status juxtaposed against my lowly D-class fueled their contempt. A chill gripped my spine as I realized their intent—to end me.
Desperation guided me as I fled, only to find myself cornered at the precipice of the Black Hole—a void rumored to plunge to the tower's deepest depths, swallowing all who ventured too close.
Behind me, the three wore smirks...
I see...
they led me here...
This killing intent...
They plan to kill me, then throw my corpse into the black hole...
"There's no place for talentless garbage like you. Curse your shitty luck," one sneered.
Their mocking words lingered as death loomed, a grim testament to my perceived worthlessness.
But in that moment, a vow escaped my lips—an oath to return, no matter the cost.
"I, Zephyrus!
Swear upon my name,
That one day I'll come back...
No matter how much it takes!"
With resolve as my only ally, I leapt into the abyss, bracing for the unknown
...
....
Their sinister laughter faded, replaced by whispered acknowledgment of their cruel intent.
"We needn't soil our hands," they jested, callously indifferent to my fate
....
"Let's go back."
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Photographic Memory
قصص الهواةSendo was an unremarkable man living a mundane life until an ordinary weekly grocery trip with his closest friend Arlo took an unexpected turn. As they navigated the familiar supermarket aisles, bantering and laughing together as usual, Sendo's worl...
