"Teacher, how am I supposed to imagine power if I've never seen it?"
"Power is individual," she said calmly. "Only you know what yours looks like. So imagine."
I closed my eyes, barely stopping myself from sighing.
Again, I pictured the anatomy diagram.
Blood flowing through veins, arteries, capillaries—everything I could remember.
Fine.
Now it wasn't blood.
It was power.
And then—
a memory surfaced.
A man moving his hands over my body, warm yellow light spilling from his palms.
I focused on that.
On the warmth.
On the calm.
I imagined it flowing through me—
And suddenly—
I felt it.
Movement.
Streams.
Something alive, spreading through my body.
I opened my eyes.
It didn't disappear.
It stayed.
Warm.
Steady.
Real.
I pulled that warmth toward my fingers—
And the wire lit up.
"It worked!" I grinned. "Teacher—I did it!"
"Well done, Alan," Miror said. "Faster than I expected. I thought I'd see a few sparks at best—but your silometer is glowing like a candle."
"Now extinguish it."
I looked at the wire, glowing with a cold white light.
Then reversed the flow.
Pulled it back.
Into my chest.
Into my heart.
The glow faded.
"Remarkable," she said. "Truly remarkable."
Then she turned to the class.
"That is what you are aiming for. Now—practice."
I went back to my seat.
For the rest of the lesson, I lit and extinguished the silometer again and again.
Each time faster.
Cleaner.
More controlled.
By the end, no one else managed it.
Only Connie produced a few weak sparks.
"Don't get discouraged," Miror said. "It can take weeks to learn to feel power. What Alan showed today is not the norm."
"So how the hell did you do that?" Robert pressed, clearly annoyed. "I did exactly what she said and felt nothing."
"Maybe you did it wrong?" I shrugged. "Connie managed something. Ask her."
"I already did," Miguel said.
"And?" Robert snapped.
"She imagined blood coming out of her finger. Said she felt tingling—and then sparks."
"…Blood, huh," Robert muttered. "I'll try that."
We stepped outside and walked around the academy.
It was my first time seeing this part.
In the distance stood two buildings that looked like mansions—one red, rigid and square, the other white, with balconies and wide windows.
Teacher housing.
I checked the map and turned left.
Beyond the dorms stood a massive stadium.
That's where our last class of the day would be held.
And unlike the others—
this one lasted three hours.
"I already don't like this," one of the twins muttered.
Same.
We gathered on the lower row of the stands.
It didn't take a genius to figure it out—
physical training.
The old me would've loved this.
The current me?
Not even close.
"Good afternoon, first-years."
That voice—
I shot up and turned around.
"Close your mouth, peacock," Andrew grinned.
My heart jumped.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, not sure whether to feel relieved—or nervous.
He wore a dark-gray training uniform with a silver lion emblem.
"Right. Forgot to mention," he said, looking over the group. "Andrew Storik. Your physical training instructor."
"Something like that."
That smile again.
Annoying.
Dangerous.
"Five minutes to change," he added. "Next time—show up in proper gear."
"Peacock?" Robert snorted as we headed to the locker room. "I like it. That's your name now."
"Don't you—"
Too late.
He'd already decided.
Andrew was a monster.
First thing he did—test our condition.
Ten laps around the stadium.
Less than half finished.
I hit the ground, trying not to cough up my lungs.
This body barely managed five.
And only because I forced myself past the third.
At least I wasn't the worst.
Somewhere in the middle.
"I told you," Robert dropped down beside me. "You're not beating me here."
He—and a few others—were the only ones who finished all ten.
The rest of the session was basic exercises.
Endless.
Brutal.
I counted every second until it was over.
Ten minutes before the end, Andrew gathered us again.
"Not the worst group this year," he said, checking his notes.
"Three of you won't need these sessions anymore."
"Starting tomorrow—you move to hand-to-hand training."
"For the rest—I'll prepare individual programs."
He handed schedules to the top three.
Torrent was one of them.
Of course.
"How was your first day?" Andrew asked, falling into step beside me.
"Not bad," I said. "Except your class… Instructor. Why didn't you say anything?"
"You didn't ask."
He glanced ahead at the others.
"You alright?"
"Better than I expected," I said.
Then looked at him seriously.
"Andrew… or should I call you Instructor Storik?"
"When we're alone—call me whatever you want. In class—I'm your instructor."
"Got it."
I hesitated for a second.
Then said it.
"I don't care how hard it is. Can you put together something for me? I need to build strength and endurance. Fast."
He looked at me for a moment.
Really looked.
Then nodded.
"I'll figure something out."
And just like that—
he walked off.
Leaving me standing there.
Andrew Storik always called me peacock.
Said he would—
until he decided I wasn't one.
…Did he finally stop?
My heart kicked again.
Faster.
I took a slow breath.
No.
Absolutely not.
I couldn't.
Under any circumstances—
I could not fall for a man.
And definitely not—
Andrew Storik.