This guy. He's different. He has that aura of confidence, the one I wanted to have since I entered.

  But the truth is I'm scared. Scared that something like that fight happens again. I'm scared of killing someone or letting someone die, and more importantly, I'm scared that I'll be unable to summon my dragon at the final stage.

  With that in mind, I stand up, determined to show my worth in the other fields.

  I look up at the sitting Mylo.

  This guy, can I trust his judgment? Is he lenient enough to let me pass this stage?

  I take a deep breath, then look at Melissa. "Would you like to celebrate after we receive the results?"

  "Is that a date?" She stands up.

  "No, it's just that I made a good friend, so I thought we could hang out after this." My voice comes out nervous.

  "Are you sure you're alright? If you're traumatized by the scene, it's completely normal. Don't force yourself."

  "Don't worry, I'm fine. More importantly, do you think you can beat that guy?"

  She looks at number 202.

  "He looks young, just like me. I can even bet we're the same age, but I might be mistaken."

  "He sure looks tough, but he showed nothing on the level of the man you fought before. That guy killed an actual soldier with a single blow. That's already lieutenant-level strength. If I assume everyone here is at least officer level, then I have nothing to be scared of." She moves forward. "It looks like all the fighting is over."

  The crowd gathers to look up at Mylo. I follow them. The look on their faces is terror, fear of being eliminated for a bad performance. Surely those thinking like that are only those who lost. That isn't the case for me.

  I hope. But I can't bring myself to agree with that. Even though I won according to the rules, that man was much stronger than I am, and I even almost killed him. What if I faced anyone else and lost or won? Would my mindset be the same? Would I still be questioning whether I deserve the approval?

  Mylo stands up, coming closer to announce the next step. "The recent events put you in an unpaired group. But let's see the good part." He smiles. "None of you thought it was a great idea to cause any trouble."

  No one dares to object.

  He's right. Everyone right now probably thinks: "If I do anything, I'll be next." That scene helped them remember this guy is a captain. But how strong is one?

  He continues. "I've been watching all of you intently and already see some people who can be dispensed from the next stage."

  Everyone straightens.

  This is an alert. Anyone dispensed means they're most likely already accepted.

  He then points at the crowd, his finger seemingly aimed at number 202. But 202 doesn't move. He lowers his head as if disappointed. Then the finger settles on a tall man with disheveled black hair behind him. He has brown fur draped over his neck. Number 09.

  "Yes, you, number 09. You're remarkably doing fine, just as if you're experienced in combat. I fear you'd break the other participants if you were to participate in the next stage."

  Number 09 stares blankly, his brown eyes almost detached. No, more like he's exhausted. "I got employed pretty easily, huh." His smile is appeased.

  "Who told you you were?"

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Ignoring Mylo's protest, he leaves the crowd, going to the side wall. He sits down and closes his eyes.

  I clench my fist.

  Was he doing all those things half asleep? How strong are the people I'm facing?

  No, I'm asking the wrong question. Something is clear. They all took this moment seriously. I can't blame Ernest for being scared to let me run toward my goal. But these guys, they're all running toward theirs, maybe even harder than me, and they've been dedicating more time and effort.

  "Crap, I'm still behind."

  Mylo's voice echoes. "Forty-eight participants left. Now we're going to move on to hand-to-hand combat. The rules are just like the sword fight. Let's pair you up now."

  The pairing unfolds, and I end up having to face number 202.

  Is he trying to say since we look young we deserve each other? That would've been the case if this guy wasn't this good. I'll have to show all I know. May your book show results now, Ernest.

  We're the second group to fight. Waiting for the first one to finish, I observe him. His build, there's no real difference from me. Then the difference is at the level of skill?

  I feel a tap on my back. "Your opponent looks more serious than you. Good luck, my boy." Melissa says with a worried look. "Sadly, we fight at around the same moment. I won't be able to see you fight this time."

  "Don't worry, it's fine. I just hope I won't lose badly."

  "Are you already being defeatist?"

  "Of course not. I just take this situation with a hint of rationality."

  "You're not acting your age, taking this too seriously again."

  "You can't understand. This is my dream slipping away. I'm not sure I'm going to have another chance."

  "If that's the case, why didn't you prepare harder?"

  I turn to her in shock.

  What can I even reply to that? Call out my father? That's just a petty excuse.

  "Sorry, I said something out of line." She excuses herself before walking away.

  Number 202 sends us a side glance. For a moment, he looks at us. Not so focused, huh.

  Soon the fight ends, and number 39 comes out victorious.

  It's our turn. I have to show this guy what I'm made of.

  The supervisor raises his hand.

  We stand in our guards. My right leg goes forward, bending slightly. I clench my fists, raising them to the same height as my face, the right in front of the left. The boy puts his left leg before his right, bending until his knees almost form a right angle. He raises his hands to the level of his face as well. Instead of fists, his hands are open, spread out enough to see his head behind them.

  This position is weird.

  The supervisor gives the signal.

  Without wasting time, I launch at him.

  Rule one of the book: "When you have no idea of your opponent's skills, make minimal effort while being offensive. Jabs will do the work."

  My punches fly wild at the level of his face. Every attempt is ducked or deflected by his hands. I shift sideways to the left. He finds himself behind me. I see a clenched fist ready to hit me.

  My balance is too unstable to dodge since my left leg hasn't touched the ground yet. The punch comes with velocity. I pull my leg down, falling to my knee, barely evading the punch. I feel the breeze and hear a pop sound ringing in my ear.

  I rotate on the ground, trying to sweep his legs, but as the dragging dust rises, so does he, taking three steps back, creating distance.

  This guy is more skilled than I thought. I'll try another method.

  His eyes pierce through me like he's telling me he won't make that mistake again. I stand up, the dust suffocating my lungs whipped away by the rush caused by his launch. This time he's on the offensive.

  Rule 5 of the book: "When defending yourself in hand-to-hand combat, there is no clear answer. Protecting your head is the priority, but doing that exposes you too, so the best thing to do is launch an attack at the same moment. Your opponent is most vulnerable when attacking."

  I rush at him with a straight punch aimed at his face. It brushes his hair, sliding past before he throws an uppercut. Pain jolts through my jaw. My eyes see double.

  I had no idea the sky was this covered by so much clouds.

  My gaze turns to the ground. Left, right. The combo of punches keeps pushing me back. I throw a punch reflexively. My hand lands beside his neck as he strikes with his right fist. I throw my forehead at the punch, hearing a crack.

  He backs off, and I take the opportunity to hit him in the stomach with my left hand. He coughs. A kick is thrown. He blocks with his left hand, then proceeds with an elbow that strikes my head, causing me to turn around. I use the inertia to hit him with a counter elbow, projecting him two steps away from me.

  He slams into the ground on soil where we can't even distinguish whose blood is whose.

  His attack was effective. My head is ringing, but the match isn't over yet. I have to win.

  I move closer to him. His breath is heavy.

  He's not unconscious even after that? What a monster. I'm not sure I could wake up from that. Regardless, I can't drag him out. He might try something fishy.

  "I'll do that," I whisper before my foot strikes his body, pushing him toward the edge.

  I look down at his face. His eyes are still locked on me.

  "Strength and technique. You're on par with Ernest." I raise my foot above his face. "Even so, you're slower than him. I could never touch him once, and I don't think I can even after my training." His eyes widen beneath the shadow of my foot. "No hard feelings, number 202. But you're going down."

  I slam my foot down, hearing a loud crack.