As soon as they arrived, Nowak threw something massive onto the ground with a loud thud. Isaac stared at the hulking, rusted fragment of a metallic wreckage that Philip had casually dropped. The jagged piece looked like it had once belonged to a colossal ship or machine—cracked, covered in rust, and bearing the scars of an old fire. The teenager furrowed his brows, his eyes sweeping over the massive chunk of steel.

  “This is your next task,” the director announced, planting his hands on his hips.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Isaac asked incredulously, his gaze flickering between the wreckage and Nowak. “That thing’s gotta weigh half a ton!”

  “Maybe more,” Philip replied with a faint smirk. “But who’s counting? Awakened aren’t supposed to focus on weight—they focus on results.”

  Isaac felt his frustration bubble to the surface. He clenched his fists and glared at the director, who seemed to be enjoying the situation far too much. Still, he had no choice. He had to try.

  He stepped closer to the wreckage, gripping it cautiously with both hands. The metal was cold, rough, and its jagged edges dug painfully into his palms. He bent his knees and took a deep breath.

  “Alright, on three…” he muttered, trying to psych himself up.

  One… Two… Three!

  He tightened every muscle in his body and attempted to lift the wreck. It didn’t budge. After a few moments of futile effort, his arms screamed in protest, forcing him to stop.

  “This is a joke,” he said, straightening up and looking at Philip. “There’s no way anyone could lift that!”

  The director shrugged nonchalantly.

  “You’re just not trying hard enough. It’s not about muscle strength here.”

  “Then what is it about?!” Isaac barked, wiping sweat from his brow.

  “Desire,” Nowak answered with a sly grin. “And a dash of willpower.”

  Pilsudski ground his teeth. He wasn’t about to let the director have the last laugh. Once again, he crouched down, gripping the wreck more firmly this time. He pushed harder, channeling every ounce of strength he could muster. His entire body burned with effort, veins bulging across his arms and neck. The wreck still refused to move.

  “Focus,” Philip called out, settling himself on a nearby pile of trash. “Imagine that thing is blocking your path to something—or someone—you care about deeply.”

  Isaac closed his eyes, his breath heavy and uneven. Images of Martin and Hope flashed through his mind—their faces, their screams. The curse. It all still weighed heavily on his heart.

  Tightening his grip on the wreckage, he pushed with all his might. This time, the metal shifted. The grating sound of rusted steel echoed across the junkyard. Slowly, painfully, he lifted it a few centimeters off the ground. Then a few more. Every fiber of his being screamed in agony, but he refused to stop.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Philip said approvingly.

  After several grueling seconds, Isaac finally hoisted the wreckage to waist height. His legs trembled like jelly, and his arms felt like they were on fire, but he held on.

  “Phew… I did it,” he gasped, dropping the wreck with a loud crash.

  “That’s just the beginning,” the director quipped as he stood up. “You’re taking it with you.”

  “What?” Isaac wheezed, staring at him in disbelief.

  “We’re heading to the Compression Zone,” Nowak announced with a grin.

  The director led him to a nightmarish landscape. The ground was unnaturally flat, marked with deep impressions of metal scraps crushed into the earth by unfathomable force.

  “This,” Philip explained, gesturing at the desolate area, “is the Compression Zone. Here, waste is compressed using variable gravity. Your task is to cross the entire field while carrying that wreck.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Isaac asked, his voice laced with a mix of fear and irritation.

  “Not at all. If you fall or drop the wreck, you’ll get flattened.”

  Isaac glanced at the field, then at the wreck, and finally at Nowak. There was no way out of this. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself, hoisted the wreck again, and stepped onto the field.

  The moment he entered, he felt the gravity shift. Each step required immense effort, and the weight in his arms seemed to double. After just a few meters, his knees began to buckle.

  “Imagine your life is waiting for you at the other end of this field,” Nowak shouted from the edge. “If you don’t make it, you’ll never get it back!”

  Isaac trudged forward, ignoring the burning in his muscles. When he reached the middle of the field, the gravity spiked suddenly, forcing him to his knees. The wreck dropped beside him with a deafening clang.

  “I can’t give up,” he thought, his breath ragged.

  He tried to push himself to his knees, but the crushing force pinned him down. The wreck, which had seemed heavy before, now felt immovable. He could feel the invisible pressure pushing him into the ground, stealing the last shreds of his strength.

  “Get up!” he growled through clenched teeth, willing his body to move.

  But nothing happened. The gravity held him fast, suffocating his determination. His breaths grew shallow, and each twitch of his muscles sent searing pain through his body.

  His mind raced. “Is this how it ends? Will this curse claim me too, right here?” He saw Martin and Hope again—their terrified faces, their screams echoing in his head.

  Tears welled up in his eyes. “I can’t let them down. I can’t give up!” he repeated to himself, even as his body refused to cooperate.

  “Move…” he whispered, clenching his fists.

  Hours passed, and darkness enveloped the junkyard. The cold night wind bit into his skin, cutting through his clothes and chilling him to the bone.

  “This is a nightmare,” he murmured weakly, barely moving his lips.

  His thoughts drifted. He remembered his father’s stern gaze as he spoke of the curse. “You can’t afford weakness, son. It’ll destroy you.”

  “Maybe this is what he meant,” Isaac thought, feeling his consciousness slip away.

  As the first rays of sunlight pierced the smoggy sky above the junkyard, Pilsudski stirred. The cool light touched his face, bringing him back from the brink of unconsciousness. He was still lying on the ground, pinned by the crushing force. His body felt numb, and even the slightest movement sent shocks of pain through his limbs.

  “Get up, kid,” a familiar voice called out.

  Philip stood at the edge of the Compression Zone, holding a steaming cup of coffee and looking down at him.

  “You’ve been lying there all night. Is this what you call training?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “How am I supposed to get up when this place is crushing me?!” Isaac shouted, anger flaring despite his exhaustion.

  “Because you’re fighting with your body, not your soul,” Nowak replied calmly, glancing at his watch. “It’s not about muscles. It’s about will. If you give up, the gravity will consume you.”

  The director’s words sounded mocking, but something in his tone ignited a spark in Isaac. Clenching his fists, he focused on one goal: to stand up.

  “If I don’t get up now, they’ll never forgive me,” he thought, imagining his friends waiting for him to succeed.

  Slowly, inch by inch, he began to lift his hands, then his legs. His body screamed in pain, but his will to fight burned brighter. After what felt like an eternity, he managed to kneel. The gravity still pressed down, but this time, he felt like he had the upper hand.

  He lifted the wreck. His arms trembled, but he stood tall.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Philip looked at him with approval.

  “Now you’re starting to get it.”

  Without saying a word, Pilsudski began walking. Every step was a battle against the force trying to hold him back. But this time, he didn’t give up. After an hour, he reached the end of the Compression Zone and dropped the wreck with a thunderous crash.

  He collapsed to his knees, barely able to breathe.

  “Well done, Pilsudski,” Nowak said, stepping closer. “You’ve just taken another step toward real strength.”

  “Will… there… be… more… of these… steps?” Isaac wheezed, staring at the director in disbelief.

  “Of course. Training’s just getting started,” Philip replied with a smile. “But first… eat something. You look half-dead.”

  The director tossed him an energy drink and a sandwich. Exhausted but relieved, Isaac took them. For the first time in a while, he felt like he’d achieved something meaningful. For the first time, he felt like he was truly fighting the curse.

  Philip stood with his arms crossed, observing Isaac, who was glaring at him with suspicion.

  “Next stage,” the director began, pointing to a circle made of small stones. Inside the ring lay a few charred branches, as though someone had recently burned a campfire. “This time, no lifting, no running, and no radiation.”

  A flicker of hope crossed the boy’s face.

  “So... finally, a normal training session?”

  “If meditating in the middle of a junkyard counts as normal,” Philip replied with a grin.

  Isaac sighed heavily but moved to the indicated spot.

  “And now what?”

  “You sit down, close your eyes, and try to enter a state of full concentration. The goal is simple: sharpen all five senses. You need to feel every sound, scent, and shift in the air around you. So much so that you know what’s happening, even with your eyes closed.”

  “That sounds like something out of a movie,” the boy muttered as he sat cross-legged.

  “This isn’t a movie. It’s your life,” Nowak said, his gaze cutting through him. “You need to learn how to see and feel more than ordinary people. And that requires stillness and focus.”

  Isaac closed his eyes, attempting to steady his breathing. But the chaos around him immediately fought back. The buzz of flies, the rustling wind, the distant hum of machinery—everything seemed louder, more intrusive.

  “This is impossible,” he groaned after a moment, reopening his eyes. “How am I supposed to focus in this noise?”

  Philip smirked faintly.

  “That’s the point. You have to learn to ignore the chaos and concentrate on what matters. Try again.”

  The boy sighed but shut his eyes once more. This time, he didn’t fight the noise. He let it wash over him, allowing the sounds to exist without clinging to them. Instead of focusing on what distracted him, he began listening for what might be important.

  Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Isaac lost track of time, but eventually, something shifted within him. The external world began to quiet. All the noises became a distant hum, like waves crashing far off on a shore. In their place, he sensed something else—presence.

  With his eyes closed, he could feel exactly where Philip was standing, how the stones were arranged around him, and even the acrid smell of rotting waste and chemicals hanging in the air. It was as if all his senses had been dialed up to a new level.

  He opened his eyes.

  The world around him was different. He didn’t just see the junkyard; he saw something beyond it—delicate streams of energy swirling in the air. Every object seemed wrapped in a faint, pulsing aura. In the distance, he spotted what looked like a blurred silhouette moving in the shadows, even though there was no sound.

  He turned to look at Nowak, whose outline glowed with a soft, yellowish light.

  “What... what is this?” he asked quietly, stunned by what he was seeing.

  “This is the world only the Awakened can see,” the director replied, looking at him with a touch of admiration. “You’ve just learned to perceive what ordinary people never will.”

  “This is... incredible,” Isaac whispered, staring at his hands, which were also surrounded by a faint glow.

  Philip smiled faintly.

  “Impressive, isn’t it? But don’t get too excited. This is just the beginning.”

  The boy turned to him, still trying to process the new way he was seeing the world.

  “How long was I out for? A few minutes?”

  “A few hours,” Nowak answered, leaning against a nearby car wreck. “That’s the effect of deep concentration. Once you master control over your senses, you’ll be able to enter this state anytime, even in the middle of a fight.”

  Isaac collapsed onto the ground, overwhelmed by both the experience and the realization of how much time had passed.

  “This... is insane.”

  Philip observed him with visible approval. His usually mocking grin was replaced by a more serious expression.

  “I can see you like it,” he added, folding his arms. “I didn’t expect you to enter the state this quickly. You’ve really surprised me.”

  The boy glanced at him, still trying to adjust to his new perception of the world.

  “It’s... it’s like stepping into another dimension. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”

  The director nodded.

  “Yes, it’s certainly impressive. But now, we need to do something just as important.”

  “What do you mean?” Isaac asked, furrowing his brow.

  Nowak smiled faintly, though a warning glimmered in his eyes.

  “Teach you how to turn it off.”

  The boy blinked, confused.

  “Turn it off? Why would I do that? This is... amazing! I can see things I couldn’t before. Everything is so vivid, so... different.”

  “And that’s exactly why you need to control it,” Nowak interrupted. “This state drains a massive amount of energy. If you keep it up constantly, you’ll exhaust yourself faster than you think. At best, you’ll faint. At worst... well, let’s just say you don’t want to find out.”

  A chill ran down Isaac’s spine.

  “You’re telling me this... isn’t safe?”

  Philip patted him on the shoulder.

  “It’s not about safety. It’s a tool. You use it when you need it, then you put it away. Like a sword. You don’t walk around holding a sword all the time, do you?”

  “Well... no,” Isaac admitted, scratching the back of his head.

  “Exactly. So now you need to learn how to ‘sheathe the sword.’ What you’re seeing and feeling in this state is intense. Too intense. If you can’t control it, you might lose your grip on reality.”

  The boy let out a sigh but nodded.

  “Alright. How do I do that?”

  Philip pointed to the spot where Isaac had been meditating earlier.

  “Sit back down. Close your eyes. Focus on your breathing and try to imagine everything you’re seeing and feeling as something you can put in a box. Close the box and set it aside.”

  Pilsudski gave him a skeptical look.

  “A box? Seriously?”

  “Don’t question my genius. Just do it,” Nowak replied, his smirk returning.

  The boy sighed again but returned to his spot and sat down. He closed his eyes and tried to focus.

  In his mind, he visualized the world he’d just seen—full of pulsing energy, amplified sounds, and vivid scents—as a large, glowing image. Slowly, he began condensing that image, shrinking it into a small, manageable shape. He imagined placing it in a box and setting it on a shelf.

  Minutes passed. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

  The world had returned to normal. The glowing streams of energy were gone, and his heightened senses had dimmed. All he saw now were piles of junk and Philip standing before him.

  “Well?” the director asked.

  Isaac looked at him and smiled faintly.

  “Normal. Everything’s back to how it used to be.”

  Philip nodded approvingly.

  “Good. Now you know how to turn it on and off. But remember—this is a tool, not a toy. Use it wisely.”

  The boy met his gaze, determination shining in his eyes.

  “Got it. I understand.”

  Philip paused, studying Isaac, as if evaluating whether the boy could handle the next challenge.

  “You’ve done more today than I expected,” he finally said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Take the day off. Rest up before I break you again.”

  Isaac stared at him in disbelief.

  “Seriously? No catch?”

  The director raised his hands in mock surrender.

  “No catch. Just enjoy it while you can. But don’t think for a second this means the fun is over.”

  Exhausted from the grueling days of training, Pilsudski didn’t need any more convincing. He returned to his dorm, jumped into the shower, and let the hot water wash away the grime and fatigue.

  The entire day was spent unwinding. He booted up his computer and lost himself in his favorite game, reconnecting with his guildmates. The hours of shared battles felt like therapy, letting him forget the intensity of his training.

  Later, he went for a run, reveling in the newfound lightness of his body. Every step felt more fluid, every breath deeper. The city, once mundane, now seemed alive with potential, as if its streets were calling him to explore.

  By evening, thoroughly spent, he collapsed into bed and drifted into a deep sleep.

  The next morning, Philip was waiting for him at dawn, brimming with his usual energy.

  “Ready for the final stage?” he asked, tossing Isaac a bottle of water.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for whatever you come up with,” Isaac muttered, though his voice carried a steely resolve.

  This time, the training was different. It wasn’t about lifting weights, running, or meditating. Philip focused on real-world scenarios, pushing Pilsudski to apply everything he’d learned.

  Each day brought a new challenge—tracking Philip through a bustling city using his heightened senses, dodging stones the director hurled at him while relying on instinct and sight in darkness, or making split-second decisions in elaborate simulations.

  Weeks passed, each one as demanding as the last. But with every challenge, Isaac grew stronger, faster, and sharper.

  On the final day of summer, Isaac woke to sunlight streaming through his window. Stretching, he felt a satisfying ache in his muscles—different from the crippling fatigue of his early training days.

  The clock read 6:00 a.m.

  “This is it,” he said to himself, sitting up.

  The exam. The first step toward the Awakened school.

  After a quick breakfast, he stood before the mirror. Determination blazed in his eyes—a look he hadn’t seen before.

  “No matter what happens, I’m ready,” he thought.

  He laced up his shoes, slung his bag over his shoulder, and stepped outside, prepared for whatever awaited him.