Aston remained by the edge of the blackstone arena, eyes focused and arms loosely crossed as the first students were called.

He wasn't the type to leap forward.

He just watched.

The redhead who went first moved with confidence—too much of it. She darted ahead with her fox-like spirit beast close behind, relying on speed over caution. At first, her agility looked impressive… until she triggered a trap baton embedded beneath a false tile.

A crackle of red energy pulsed upward. She stumbled, her beast freezing mid-jump.

Instructor Tull let out a grunt. "Overconfidence. Reaction time dropped by 40%. That delay would have cost you in real combat. Next!"

The next person did better. A scarred student with a turtle-type beast used steady formations—one covering the other blind spots. Instructor Tull nodded in approval.

Aston's eyes narrowed. It wasn't just about speed or power. The smart ones accounted for each other's rhythm.

"You there, the one with the lazy cat and owl, you're next!" Instructor Tull shouted, pointing toward Aston, then to another girl. "Then you, spiky-haired girl with the rabbit."

Aston gave a curt nod to Instructor Tull. Gray leapt down with feline ease. Mirage followed silently, wings twitching once.

Instructor Tull gave no elaborate setup.

"Baton is red. That's your route. Blue batons appear randomly. You know what to do."

The instructor snapped his fingers, and the arena shimmered.

Red paths illuminated across uneven terrain—some flat, some jagged, some rising into platforms.

"Begin!"

Aston moved—not fast, not slow, but smooth.

He flanked right, using Mirage's senses for elevation while Gray mirrored him on the ground.

First hazard—platform spike.

He let Gray leap forward first. The moment his paw touched the panel, Mirage gave a low chirp—a warning.

Aston shifted weight. Pulled back. The trap triggered—but he was already past it.

Instructor Tull nodded.

More blue batons flickered across the floor—traps simulating wild beasts or surprise attacks. Aston reacted with precision, relying more on positioning and feints than flashy dodges.

He crossed the final panel just as the last blue hazard blinked out.

Instructor Tull stood with arms folded.

Silence… then a single word.

"Efficient."

He turned away, addressing the group again. "See that? No wasted motion. Calm under pressure. That's the kind of movement I expect from spirit professionals—from soldiers like you."

Instructor Tull's voice rang out again, sharp and immediate.

"Next, the spiky-haired girl. Then, you—the glasses kid in orange robes."

A tall girl with spiky orange hair stepped forward. Her beast was a hare with a little horn on its forehead. It hopped from her arms and landed on the ground.

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"Same rules. Same expectations. Impress me, or don't waste my time."

She launched into the course, handling it with a degree of caution and flair. Her rabbit pounced over the traps like lightning—triggering them, one after the other, without stepping on the blue batons.

"Triggering traps beforehand is good, but how certain are you that all has been triggered?"

Upon saying that, a blue baton suddenly appeared on her path, accidentally stepping on it. A ripple of blue energy flared beneath the girl's foot.

A crackle surged up her leg—not enough to injure, but enough to jolt her momentum. She stumbled, catching herself just before falling.

"Exactly," Instructor Tull barked. "You assumed the course was finished because your beast disarmed all the traps. You stopped thinking."

He strode a few steps forward, voice like steel scraping against stone.

"Triggering traps ahead of time was clever—if you verify the field is clear. But what you did was a gamble. You leaned on your beast's speed and forgot to adapt."

He jabbed a finger toward her as she reached the end, winded.

"Let that be a lesson for you all—just because a trap didn't spring the first time, doesn't mean the course is done with you. Awareness isn't a trick. It's your shield."

He folded his arms again.

"Next!"

The kid with sky-blue robes stepped into the course. His beast—a seagull—soared high and fast. So fast that it clipped one of the floating hazard markers. The shock was mild, but Instructor Tull didn't miss a beat.

"Overreliance on air advantage. Keep your altitude tight unless you want your beast cooked in mid-flight."

The other succeeding participants fared better, using terrain with moderate creativity, but still falling short of Aston's composure."

As the final participant cleared the course, Instructor Tull barked once more.

"All of you—take notes."

He turned, pacing across the front of the platform.

"When I presented the course, did I say that it was a race? Almost all of you rushed ahead. It's not about looking good for your division head. It's about survival. Out there—beyond these walls—you won't get to retry a misstep."

He pointed to one of the triggered batons, still humming faintly with blue light.

"Rule one: Don't rush. Recklessness gets your beasts, or you, maimed."

He pointed to another path where Aston had carefully feinted a route.

"Rule two: Use your environment. Don't just react—predict. That's the difference between an alive spiritual professional and a corpse."

The room was quiet. Instructor Tull finally stopped walking and folded his arms again.

"You've got instincts. Some of you even have the potential. But instincts without training are just accidents waiting to happen.

He looked toward Aston, then back to the group.

"Your beasts will hesitate if you do. Your formation breaks when you panic. So learn this now: discipline is not an accessory. It's your armor."

He jabbed a finger toward the rest of the class.

"Keep practicing in groups of three. Memorize the paths. I want each of you to run it twice more—one solo, one with full beast integration. You got thirty minutes. Start moving."

As students began to organize themselves and return to the course in groups, Aston stepped back beside Gray and Mirage.

Gray yawned, then flicked its tail with quiet satisfaction.

Mirage stared straight ahead—ready for another round.

—

Instructor Tull watched over the students cycle through the course one more time—some improving, others faltering under pressure. He grunted at moments of promise, growled at lapses in judgement, but never offered more than a few clipped words of correction.

Time ticked on.

Finally, he raised a hand.

"Enough."

The arena's energy dimmed, and the glowing batons faded from view. Spirit resonance around the course dissipated into the blackstone, returning the once elevated course into an unassuming arena.

Students began to slow, catching their breath, patting down their beasts, and wiping sweat from their brows.

Instructor Tull paced once across the front of the field, then stopped.

"You've all survived your first day. Barely."

A beat of silence.

"Most of you move like untrained nobles at a fencing gala. But a few of you… have instinct. Use it. Build it. Or fall behind."

He turned away from them without fanfare/

"Class dismissed."

With that, he and the bronze-scaled Cragjaw exited through the east gate, hooves sparking on the stone.

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