Byron Vantris stood at the edge of the training circle, his body betraying him in ways he couldn't rationalize or suppress.
His legs shook. Not visibly to the untrained eye, but perceptibly enough that his own thighs felt the tremor.
His breathing had become shallow, sharp, controlled inhalations that couldn't quite fill his lungs.
The sweat on his neck was cold and clammy, the product of his body recognizing something his mind still refused to accept fully.
For the first time in his life, Byron Vantris, Rank #1, the golden standard of the Academy's elite, felt genuinely inferior.
"You," Byron began, his voice carrying the command tone that had worked on every other student in the institution, "will explain yourself."
He stepped forward, his movements were sharp, an attempt to reassert dominance through physical presence alone.
