The sun dipped low, casting golden shafts of light across the clearing deep in the forest. It was there that Michael met Julius every evening. A week of training had passed—and still, no progress. Not a single breakthrough. Just bruises, repetition, and frustration.
"Why? Why haven't I improved?" Michael clenched his fists.
"You're not focused, that's why!" Julius barked, arms crossed.
Michael sighed. "I thought I was trying… I really did. But what exactly should I focus on?"
Julius shook his head. "How many times have I told you? Focus on your results, not your feelings. Results are all that matter in battle."
Michael frowned, unsure. "But I—"
"No more excuses," Julius cut him off. "You want growth? Throw yourself into the fire. Go sign up for the tournament already. Maybe a fight will wake something up inside you."
"…Thanks, Mr. Julius. I'll do that," Michael said with a faint smile and turned to run.
"Good luck, Michael," Julius called, but there was a weight in his voice.
Michael sprinted toward the wooden arena at the edge of the village. Hundreds of people were already there, standing in the open field, energy thick in the air like lightning before a storm. The village elder stepped onto a raised platform—his robe catching the breeze like wings—and raised his arms.
"My friends," he began, "I welcome you all to the tournament. You stand here today not just to fight others but to confront yourselves. Of the thousand gathered, only thirty-two will pass the first stage."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Michael's heart pounded.
"The lower your number," the elder continued, "the higher your chances. But... there's more. After discussions among my colleagues, we've agreed—those possessing the fourth level of magical power are simply too powerful to be judged by the same standards."
Michael's eyes widened. "Too powerful?"
The elder raised his voice. "Therefore, Michael Blazehart, participant number two… you will proceed directly to the second stage!"
The air went still for a beat—and then exploded with whispers, protests, and stares. Michael stood frozen, stunned.
"I… I skip the first stage?" he echoed aloud.
Far off in the crowd, a guy 4 clenched his fists, a grin spreading across his face. "Perfect. Now I really want to fight him."
But not everyone was so thrilled. Arguments erupted. Some demanded fairness. Others called for re-evaluation. The elder simply lifted a hand—and silence returned.
"First match!" he called. The crowd hushed. The tournament had begun.
Later that day, Michael ran back to the village—and straight to the bakery.
"Hey again, Mr. Julius!"
Julius looked up from a tray of steaming pastries. "Michael? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be—?"
Michael quickly explained. The shock. The announcement. Skipping the first stage.
Julius raised an eyebrow. "Wait. Say that again."
"I've been moved to the second stage."
"…You're lucky," Julius said flatly.
Michael tilted his head. "Why'd you say it like that?"
"Because," Julius said without hesitation, "you would've lost your first match."
Michael flinched at the bluntness. "Am I really that weak…?"
"Yes," Julius said sharply, reading his face. "But we've got a month until the second stage. That's time. We'll make use of it."
"You'll still train me?"
"Yeah," Julius nodded. "Let's make you someone who belongs in the second stage."
"Thank you, Mr. Julius!"
And so began another stretch of training. Day after day. Sweat, pain, repetition. Julius focused on refining Michael's control over magic through movement—channeling power into his fists, maintaining balance while enhancing speed, and learning how to unleash bursts of energy in close combat. But three weeks passed—and still, Michael felt stuck.
One afternoon, while practicing a charged palm strike, Michael paused and wiped the sweat from his brow.
"I'll be back in a minute," he muttered, heading into the woods.
"Just need to pee real quick…" He finished, but just as he turned to go back, something rustled in the bushes nearby.
"Probably just a rabbit," he thought. But something about the sound felt… off.
He stepped closer.
Branches cracked under his foot. The air grew colder as if something was watching.
And then—
"Huh?! What is that?!" Michael gasped.
"Where is Michael?" Julius muttered to himself, glancing around the clearing.
Then, a voice rang out through the forest.
"Mr. Julius! Come here quickly!"
Julius blinked. "What now…?"
He tossed the damp cloth aside, grabbed his coat from a tree branch, and dashed toward the sound, brushing past branches and crunching twigs underfoot. His brow furrowed as he pushed through the underbrush. "What is he yelling about this time?"
As he stumbled out into a small forest clearing, he saw Michael standing frozen, staring at something hidden among the vines and roots. "What is it you've got there?" Julius asked, brushing leaves from his shoulders.
"Look at this, Mr. Julius!" Michael said, pointing ahead.
Julius stepped closer—and stopped.
Before them stood a massive, metallic door embedded into a stone wall, half-swallowed by nature. The metal shimmered faintly, untouched by time. It didn't belong in this forest. It didn't belong in this world.
"This is…" Julius murmured, brows furrowing. There was a flicker of unease in his voice.
"What is it?" Michael asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
"This… looks like a structure from the Ancients," Julius said carefully.
"You mean like… the people who lived before?" Michael asked.
"Yes," Julius nodded. "It's said those were humanity's golden days. They created wonders… until they destroyed themselves, along with nearly everything else."
Michael's eyes gleamed. "Let's open it, Mr. Julius! I want to see what's inside."
"Wait! Maybe we shouldn't—" Julius began, but Michael was already pulling on the handle.
"Ugh! Ughhh! Ughhhh!" Michael grunted, muscles straining, but the door didn't budge. "It won't open… Help me!"
Julius sighed and stepped forward. "Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you."
The two of them pulled together, groaning and tugging with all their strength—and then, somewhere in the struggle, a suspicious "pfft" echoed through the trees.
Michael paused. "What was that?"
Julius froze. "…Don't worry about it. My pants just tore, that's all."
"Oh, okay!" Michael grinned, then noticed something blinking beside the door. "Wait… what's this?"
A small panel slid open, revealing a glass lens. It beeped.
"Huh? What's happening?"
"Scanning your face," said a synthetic voice.
A beam of light swept across Michael's face. Then, a mechanical ding.
"Face scanned. Welcome back, Master. Initiating door protocol…"
Click.
The metal door hissed, then slowly began to open.
Michael and Julius both stared in disbelief.
"What…?!" Michael gasped.
Julius turned to him sharply. "Michael… have you been here before?"
"No! I swear, Mr. Julius! If I had, I would've told you," Michael said quickly.
"Then why did it call you 'Master'?" Julius asked, frowning.
Michael looked at the door, then placed a hand over his chest. "I don't know. But… I feel something here. Like I've seen this place before, even though I haven't. It's weird. Familiar."
"That's… strange," Julius muttered. "Especially if this is your first time here."
Michael stepped forward. "Come on, let's check it out."
"Michael, wait!" Julius called—but it was too late. Michael had already disappeared inside the dim hallway beyond the door.
Julius hesitated, then sighed. "Well… I guess I'm coming with you."
And he followed him into the dark.