The Academy's gym smelled like rubber mats, teenage hormones, and way too much ambition.
I was in the corner, gripping a dumbbell that weighed exactly one metric eternity.
Fifteen pounds. Okay, maybe ten. Whatever...
My fingers trembled, not from pain, but from pure betrayal. I looked down at my hands—the same hands that used to type 70 words per minute under pressure while sipping cold 3-in-1 coffee and calming down an angry customer in Canada who thought their internet buffer was a "personal attack from the Philippine government."
'Come on, grip,' I muttered, veins popping in my forearm like they were trying to evacuate. 'Don't embarrass me in front of the children.'
The children, of course, were all around me. Laughing, training, flexing their slightly-pubescent muscles like they were auditioning for a cereal commercial. And then came them.
A group of three cocky kids sauntered over, all wearing matching gym shirts that said "COMBAT IS LIFE" in bold neon letters. I couldn't tell if they were training or forming a boy band.
"Hey sword guy," one of them said with a smirk, chewing gum like he was getting paid for it. "You sure you picked the right class? Or are you just chasing clout?"
The second one chimed in, fake sympathy smeared across his face. "Maybe he thought the sword would magically raise his stats."
"Maybe he thought this was TikTok," said the third, the smallest one, who somehow had the most energy for a guy who looked like he got his powers from Red Bull and spite.
I didn't flinch. Just kept smiling, still gripping that dumbbell like I was trying to file a ticket in Zendesk with a broken mouse and 10 tabs open.
"You know," I said, voice calm like a guy who's dealt with five angry customers before lunch, "a lot of people thought I wasn't cut out for my old job either. But I once de-escalated a Karen who threatened to sue the company. Over a billing discrepancy."
They blinked.
"I've also handled a supervisor who once wrote me up because my font size was inconsistent in internal notes," I continued, grinning through the strain. "So this? This gym? These weights? Your sarcasm? Buddy, it's a spa day."
They don't understand any of it lol. That threw them off for a second, but not for long.
I sighed and looked them in the eyes of a grown man tired of their third-rate teenage bullying phase.
"freak?"
What? 'Freak'? That left me sighing. These are third-rate bullies.
They were about to get riled up when CLANG—a loud metallic thud echoed from behind them.
Jerry.
Standing there like a medieval gym bro, broadsword slung across his back like he was born with it.
"You bothering him, bro?" he asked, cracking his neck.
The three bullies turned pale. They weren't exactly scared of me—but Jerry? Jerry looked like a side quest you regret accepting.
"N-No," the smallest one stammered. "We were just… let's go."
"Ye--yeah," said another.
"Tch," Jerry took a slow step forward, raising one eyebrow. The three backed off like they'd seen their GPAs dropping in real-time.
As they retreated, Jerry turned to me with a grin.
"Bro, you good?"
I set down the dumbbell—well, dropped it.
"Define good."
He laughed. "Man, you gotta work on that grip."
"Yeah, well," I said, wiping sweat from my brow.
Jerry nodded solemnly.
"Respect."
I plopped down on the bench, letting my arms dangle like limp noodles.
The truth was, I was struggling. But not because I regretted the sword. No, the sword was right. The sword was challenge. The sword was growth.
And also, just maybe, it was revenge for all those shift leads who micromanaged my status color on Slack.
This gym? This was just another support ticket.
Slowly, awkwardly, I picked the dumbbell up again. My arms trembled. My back hurts. My dignity was currently being held together with sarcasm and muscle fatigue.
But I was still smiling.
Because for once, I am the client bish~ with no micromanaging supervisors.
Not today. Say no more
•••••
The next morning, the academy bell screamed like it had just been ghosted by its crush. I, however, was dead to the world. When I finally opened my eyes, the sun was practically knocking on my window like, 'Hey, there'. Everything hurt. Muscles I didn't know existed were now sending hate mail directly to my brain. My arms were stiff. My legs creaked. My back had betrayed me.
Even my eyelids felt like they'd done squats. I looked at the clock portrayed like a hologram, then screamed internally. [Theoretical Studies 101: In session]
"Shi–!"
Frantically threw on my uniform like a man putting on pants during a fire drill. I nearly tied my belt to my arms and my socks to my neck. My hair looked like I had lost a wrestling match with a raccoon. By the time I sprinted into the classroom–panting, sweating, very possibly dying–I looked like a cautionary tale. Everyone stared. The professor, a narrow-eyed man with a permanent scowl and a coat too dramatic for his height, adjusted his glasses and gave me the look of a man who wanted to deduct attendance points with prejudice.
"Mr. Drenched, I presume?" I stood at the doorway, hands on my knees, wheezing like a fax machine.
"P-present," I gasped. The professor didn't even blink.
"How nice of you to join us. Were you out late saving the world?"
"No, sir." I croaked. "Just... picking a fight with gravity." There were a few giggles around the room. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Take your seat, Hero." As I shuffled to the back, Jerry shot me a grin from two rows over and gave me a thumbs up. I replied with a twitching eyebrow and barely functional nod. My glutes were still on fire. You're my roommate you stupid shi– The screen in front flickered to life as the professor launched into a lecture on Quantum Manipulation and Kinetic Efficiency.
"Today, we'll explore the interrelationship between energy expenditure and physical force," he said, his voice calm and methodical.
"Specifically, how the human body's energy systems align—or fail to align—with the laws of physics when attempting feats of strength and power."
I was vaguely familiar with some of the terminology, but my sleep-deprived mind wasn't quite ready to process it all.
"We'll start with the basic principle of kinetic energy," the professor continued. "As you all know, the formula for kinetic energy KE = 1/2 * mv^2, where 'm' is mass and 'v' is velocity. This means that the energy required to move an object increases exponentially with velocity. What most people fail to realize, however, is that the force required to achieve that velocity also scales exponentially with the object's mass and the body's own limitations."
My eyes were glazing over, but I kept nodding like I was following along. Although I'm much older, I never had any interest or use for this field at all. All I know is about being a customer service and technical support.
"For example, when you pick up a dumbbell," the professor said, pointing at me with a glint in his eyes, and suddenly, my exceeding biceps seems to be exploding in pain,
"You're not just fighting gravity; you're also contending with your body's internal resistance—muscles, tendons, and even neural pathways that need to synchronize in perfect harmony to convert metabolic energy into kinetic energy. This inefficiency is why you feel fatigue and soreness after lifting, especially if you're pushing yourself beyond your physical limits."
I grimaced, imagining my sore arms as a case study for his point.
"Now, with magical manipulation of kinetic energy," he continued, "you can reduce this inefficiency, either by enhancing your natural muscle output or by bypassing certain physiological constraints entirely. Through the application of mana to the body's internal energy systems, we can boost the efficiency of energy transfer and muscle activation, making previously impossible feats of strength achievable."
I straightened up, intrigued despite myself.
A student in the crowd asks, "So… it's like hacking your muscles? Supercharging them?"
The professor smirked. "In layman's terms, yes. However, this involves complex physiological processes, quantum-level energy manipulation, and synchronization between various bodily systems. It's not simply about applying more force—it's about managing the force, directing it efficiently."
I sighed, rubbing my temples. This was way more complicated than anything I had dealt with in customer service. My muscles felt like they were still in a quantum state of disbelief, while my brain was trying to sort out the cosmic forces behind gravity, energy, and my apparent lack of coordination.
But as the professor droned on about "latent affinity thresholds" and "neural mana circuits," I couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. This wasn't just about raw strength. It was about understanding the science behind it, tuning my body like a machine, learning the principles of energy transfer in a way that made sense—finally—on my own terms.
Even if I couldn't raise my arms to scratch my nose.
Because deep down, I wasn't here just to pass theory exams. But it seems different this time.
The professor paused for a moment, sensing the curiosity in the room. His voice took on a more contemplative tone as he prepared to dive into a deeper concept.
"Now, there's something else you need to understand about this so-called 'mana,'" he began. "Many of you think of it as a mystical energy or a force of nature beyond our comprehension, but the truth is much simpler—and far more scientific. Mana, as we call it, is actually a form of energy that exists all around us. It's a byproduct of natural and solar energy, harnessed and converted into usable power by a specialized device we call the Neuro chip."
The word 'Neuro chip' caught my attention. My mind raced, trying to tie it to the overwhelming complexity of the academy's technology and its mystical connotations.
"The energy that we refer to as 'mana' is essentially a more concentrated form of solar radiation and other ambient natural energy that permeates the environment," the professor explained. "It's part of the electromagnetic spectrum—what you might know as light, heat, and radiation, but with a unique quality: it's an energy we have learned to manipulate, store, and divert to suit our needs."
Someone frowned, trying to grasp this.
"Wait, so 'mana' is just sunlight?"
The professor gave me a pointed look.
"Not quite. While it's true that sunlight is a major source of energy, it's more than that. Imagine if you could harness every bit of energy—whether from the sun, the wind, even the thermal energy beneath your feet—and convert it into a usable form by force. That's what mana essentially is."
'How does that work?' I thought, clearly as confused as as everyone else.
"I know most of you will ask, how does it work?" an exact response. "To answer that, we need to consider how energy is transferred and utilized in our bodies. The key component is the Neuro chip—the neural interface integrated into the mind of every person here. It's a sophisticated piece of technology that works by tapping into the natural flow of electromagnetic energy that already surrounds us. It doesn't generate energy, but it channels existing energy into a form that can be processed and used."
Another from the back raised her hand, feeling a little bolder. "So, the chip doesn't create 'mana'? It just... redirects it?"
"Exactly," he said, nodding. "The Neuro chip doesn't generate mana from thin air. Instead, it acts as a conduit, capable of diverting ambient solar energy and natural radiation from the environment, converting it into a usable form that we can manipulate. This 'mana' is a highly condensed form of energy that our bodies would otherwise be unable to access directly. Think of it like... recharging a battery from the ambient energy around you."
The student, trying to picture the process. "So, if I'm using my bow, and I'm channeling this 'mana,' I'm essentially tapping into the sunlight and natural energy in the environment to enhance my strength and speed?"
"Yes," the professor said with a hint of approval. "You're not just using your body's own muscle power; you're augmenting it with this redirected energy. The Neuro chip intercepts ambient energy sources—solar radiation, cosmic rays, geothermal radiation—and directs them into the body's muscle fibers. These energies then enhance the efficiency of your movements, providing an extra push without requiring additional metabolic input from your cells."
This was starting to make sense in a bizarre, physics-nerd kind of way.
"It's a bit like how solar panels work," the professor continued. "They collect sunlight, convert it into electricity, and store it for later use. The Neuro chip acts as a highly advanced, bio-integrated solar panel that collects ambient energy and stores it in a reservoir that can be tapped for various functions. It's simple electricity codes with our body as a conductor, it generates this concentrated, high-energy substance we call mana."
"Mana is just another form of stored natural energy, like a battery?"
"And much like a battery, this 'mana' has limits. Which varies depending on your body's adaptability. Hence, ground basics are very important. The key, however, is that the mana is not a mystical, otherworldly force—it's a scientifically measurable form of energy that we've learned to manipulate and control."
I absorbed the information, feeling like the fog in my brain was starting to lift.
The professor, eyeing the room, "This raises another important point. Our bodies aren't naturally equipped to handle the sudden influx of this energy. It's why the Neuro chip is crucial. Without it, there would be no way to direct this energy without causing severe damage to our neural and muscular systems. The chip doesn't just collect the energy—it also ensures that the body can handle it."
I could almost feel my brain processing this new understanding. The whole idea of 'mana' suddenly felt more grounded—like something rooted in real-world physics rather than a fantasy trope. It was hard to reconcile with the mystical, glowing concept I had once imagined, but the more I listened, the more it made sense.
"You see," the professor continued, "while this technology is remarkable, it's also fragile. The energy flow has to be calibrated precisely. Too much energy and you risk neural burnout. Too little, and you won't be able to perform at your peak. The trick is learning to manage it, to use it efficiently."
As the professor wrapped up the lecture, I sat there, a strange mix of awe and relief spreading through me. Maybe the sword didn't need to feel magical at all. It was just an extension of this natural process, an amplification of the energy already present in the world around us.
I glanced down at my hands again, imagining how my muscles could tap into all the energy around me, drawing from the invisible, ambient currents that flowed through the environment like an endless river of potential.
It was still hard to believe, but at least it was a concept I could start to grasp.
Now, all I had to do was learn how to harness it—and how to stop myself from passing out after ten push-ups.