Alex let out a soft laugh as he watched Gwen hurl fireballs at Ben and Athina, their laughter echoing across the training ground.
"I wish I could just hang out like that," he muttered, his shoulders sagging under the weight of everything he carried.
But no... I don't have that luxury. I need to get stronger. I have to.
Dropping to the ground, he began pushing himself up with trembling arms. The strain in his shoulders felt like fire. Every push-up was war.
Keep going. Don't stop. Stay alive.
Once he could barely hold himself up, he stood and launched into a kick. It was sluggish, off-balance. He scowled, correcting his stance, and tried again. Sweat clung to his brow as he cycled through each technique Mark had drilled into him.
But something was off. The flow. The rhythm. The why of it all.
He jogged over to Mark, who was seated on a stone bench nearby, studying an old scroll with furrowed brows.
"I need to know how this actually works," Alex said, chest still heaving. "Not just the moves. I want to understand the mechanics—what's happening inside."
Mark's gaze lifted, sharp and assessing.
"Finally asking the right question," he said, closing the scroll with a snap. "It's not about copying motion. It's about internal alignment—your Qi needs to flow with intention. You're fighting yourself more than your opponent right now."
Alex nodded, mind racing. He returned to the field and began again, slower this time. Each movement calculated. Controlled. His body resisted, but he breathed through it.
He paused, panting, then asked aloud, "If I had to fight the seniors... could we even win?"
Mark didn't even flinch. "You'd lose. Even with your whole squad. They're at a different level. Been training for years. Each one handles C-rank missions solo. Until you hit Qi Enchantment Stage, don't even dream of facing them."
Alex clenched his fists.
"Why are you asking?" Mark asked, narrowing his eyes.
"I saw something," Alex muttered. "In the washroom... One of the seniors. He was sneaking drugs into the school."
Mark's expression darkened.
"You must not get involved. The Ace Squad will handle this. I'll report it. Don't do anything reckless."
Alex nodded, but suspicion lingered in his eyes. Mark caught it immediately.
"What? You think your uncle's just sitting around while the school falls apart?"
Alex looked down. "I mean... The scholarship students are always the ones getting bullied. It doesn't feel right."
Mark sat down beside him. His tone dropped.
"Exactly. That's the setup. The weak act weak to draw out the real threats. Your uncle built this net himself. The Ace Squad? They're not just students. They're elite. Most of them have abilities beyond A-rank trait hunters. They've taken down scams, exposed conspiracies. Twenty major ones in the past year alone. All under the radar."
Alex's mouth hung open. "They were... working this whole time?"
"During their four years at the Hunter Academy," Mark began, voice low and steady, "those students rose to become some of the most successful hunters this nation's seen. Government elites, corporate mercenaries, guild leaders… they're the reason this world still holds the line."
He looked directly at Alex.
"You and your little squad? You're still alive because of one thing—the surname behind your name. Foster Cane. One of the last hidden families powerful enough to bend the government to its will."
Mark's voice hardened.
"Get stronger, Alex. And don't forget—this world doesn't reward the weak."
Alex didn't hesitate. His voice was sharp, filled with steel.
"Being weak... is a sin. And worthless."
Mark cracked a bitter grin and stood, brushing off his coat.
"Damn right. Now leave this mess to me. You? Go train like your life depends on it—because it does."
Alex stood alone, fists clenched, trying to train—but his mind refused to obey. The memory of the senior sneaking drugs into the academy gnawed at him, looping again and again.
Focus. Just focus.
He jabbed at the air, but the rhythm was off. His balance sloppy. His breathing ragged.
"What are you doing?" a voice snapped.
Alex spun. Mark stood in front of him, arms crossed, face unreadable.
"I am training," Alex shot back, frustrated.
SLAP.
The sound cracked through the air like thunder. Alex froze, stunned.
"I'm trying!" he shouted, eyes wide.
SLAP.
Again. Harder. Alex's face burned red, speechless.
Mark didn't wait. He turned, walking toward the empty stadium seating—then vanished. In a blink, he reappeared at the edge of the room, dragging someone by the collar.
It was a student. Scrawny. Trembling. A boy infamous around campus for being the academy's favorite punching bag.
Mark slammed him to the ground like he weighed nothing. "Get up," he growled. "Wind manipulation, right?"
The boy sobbed, throwing his arms over his face. "P-please! I didn't do anything! Don't hurt me—I just came here to cry alone! I-I'm sorry, sir!"
He crawled to Mark's feet, gripping his leg.
"I'll do anything! I'll pay you! I'll—I'll lick your boots! Just let me live!"
Alex flinched, voice rising. "Mark, stop! He's bleeding! Look at him—he's innocent!"
Mark glared at Alex. "Silence."
Without warning, he drove his fist into the boy's stomach. The boy let out a choked gasp but kept begging, voice cracked, eyes wild.
Mark laughed coldly. "What pathetic acting. You've left me no choice."
His smile twisted. "You want out of this alive? Defeat Alex. Or lose your head."
Something shifted.
The boy's body trembled… then stilled.
The air thickened.
A dark aura erupted from the boy like a pulse, warping the space around him. For a terrifying second, Alex saw something impossible—visions of himself dying over and over, flashing in the boy's eyes.
The hallucination ended with a snap. Reality returned.
Mark drew his sword, the steel gleaming in the fluorescent light. He moved like lightning—no hesitation.
The blade arced straight for the boy's neck—
But wind surged.
A sudden gust blasted the sword back. Mark staggered. Alex flew off his feet, slammed into the floor by the pressure.
When he looked up—the boy had changed.
His aura pulsed with violent energy. His eyes glowed green. The air around him rippled as if the world itself held its breath.
He stared at Alex, face devoid of fear.
"Fine," he said, voice deeper, deadly calm. "I'll beat your golden boy. But forget about me after."
He stepped forward, his wind lifting debris and dust with every breath.
"You," he said to Alex. "You're too weak to be anyone's hero. Show me what you're really made of."
Alex stood paralyzed.
He couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. His jaw hung open, and his heart hammered like a war drum.
But then—he moved.
He leapt back and unleashed his technique. Steam hissed violently from his skin, swirling like spirits awakened from slumber.
He focused, gathering his Qi with shaking hands. His breathing steadied. Golden and white light surged violently around his arms.
He struck the ground.
BOOM!
The stadium trembled. Cracks spiderwebbed beneath him as the arena groaned. Chunks of debris scattered. The shockwave knocked him off balance—but he stayed standing.
Desperate, Alex pulled out the emergency booster Mandora had given him. He injected it. His body surged with pain and power.
The wind raged around his opponent like a divine barrier. Alex screamed as he was pushed back, feet dragging furrows into the cracked ground.
But he didn't fall.
He roared louder. Louder than the wind.
"I have to prove my worth," the words rang in his mind.
He stepped forward.
"Not to others. But to myself. To this bloody heart that still wants to do something."
The wind howled like a god's wrath.
But he ran into it.
From the observation deck, Xander and Sam watched in silence.
Mark appeared beside them, face grim. "Why?" he muttered. "Why is he pushing himself so hard when he's this weak?"
Xander didn't blink. "Because he's her son. My son. A child who had nothing—but still chose to hold onto light. He's starving for hope, and running toward it."
Mark turned. "Are you proud of him?"
"Always," Xander whispered. "Because he's the kind of child who believes in hope. Don't you?"
Mark smiled faintly. "Yeah... me too."
Back on the battlefield, the pressure around Alex exploded. It crushed him to the ground, flattening the debris beneath him.
"You're weak!" a voice echoed in his skull. "You can't help anyone. You can't even save yourself!"
That voice… it lit a fire in him.
"No… I will move forward," Alex growled through his teeth. "I'm not weak. I can fight."
"Fight!"
"FIGHT!!"
He rose.
Breathing deeply. Controlled.
Smoke bled from his skin. Heat shimmered from his fists. His mind cleared, his focus singular.
"I..."
The flames ignited — golden and blazing.
"I am NOT a coward!"
With a mighty roar, Alex charged.
He drove his fist forward—a flaming comet. The fire punched through the tornado like a sun exploding. The golden inferno spread, swallowing the wind.
The enemy's eyes widened. The tornado—gone. Scattered like ash.
But above them—another vortex formed. Bigger. Darker. Hungrier.
It descended like judgment.
Alex was buried beneath the pressure. His body cracked against the ground.
But he rose. One step.
"Courage..." he whispered. "It's a choice."
Step.
"To face death..."
Step.
"When escape is easier."
Step.
"I'm no hero…"
Step.
"But I… am NOT a coward!"
CRACK!
Lightning shattered the sky. Thunder screamed.
The bolt fell—straight for Alex.
Mark leapt to intervene, panic in his eyes. But Xander grabbed his shoulder.
"Don't fear," Xander said calmly. "Lightning can't hurt him."
Mark turned—and saw.
Alex's eyes glowed with lightning. His body shimmered, infused with it.
"What's happening?!" Mark gasped.
Sam grinned. "He's the child of the heavens. The light is his domain. He was raised by the sky itself. Blood of Zeus. Prince of the Glorious Heavens."
Alex rose into the air, the lightning lifting him like a divine chariot.
He dove from the sky—a storm incarnate. He smashed into his opponent from above, slamming him to the ground.
The student gasped, face twisted in fear. "W-Who are you?!"
"I am Alexander Foster Cane. Son of Xander and Anna Cane Foster."
Lightning rumbled behind him like applause from Olympus.
His body gave out. He collapsed, unconscious, whispering—
"I'm not weak… I'll protect everyone…"
The wind mage coughed, clutching his ribs. "Damn… what a desperate kid…"
He looked up, wheezing. "Sir Sam… help me… your nephew just shattered my ribs…"
Sam and Mark landed beside them.
Mark checked Alex's body—and froze.
"His skeleton… it's been reinforced… with nano-metals?! What the hell? the lightning is still in him surging in him …"
Sam laughed. "You heard me. He's the great-grandson of gods. Raised in heaven. They call him…"
"The Pride of Heaven."
john look at him with a smile ,
" no wonder he was the pride of heaven !".