The night was silent, but my mind was a storm.
When my dad said "no" to me joining the tournament, I couldn't take it. My chest tightened, my fists clenched, and something inside me burned. It wasn't just about a match or a trophy. This was my dream—my path to becoming the strongest human in the world. And yet, no one in my family seemed to believe in that dream.
With anger clouding my vision, I snapped.
"You never let me do anything I truly want!" I shouted at him, voice trembling with hurt more than rage. "All you care about is studies, exams, marks. Do I even matter to you as a person? Have you ever tried to understand what I want, what I feel?"
My dad stood still, silent. His eyes didn't show anger—just a tired sadness.
I continued, "If you really think I should give up on what I love, then don't talk to me anymore. And I swear... I will become the strongest human in this world! This is my challenge to you, Dad."
Without waiting for a response, I stormed into my room, slamming the door behind me. My heart pounded, not just with fury, but with the pain of feeling unseen—unheard.
Outside, my father sat down with a heavy sigh. His shoulders slumped, and for a moment, he looked older than he was. My first mother, ever calm and composed, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and said, "He's just a child. He doesn't understand what this tournament truly means... or what we've been through."
He didn't answer. He just nodded, lost in a memory.
My second mom, sitting nearby, looked out the window and whispered, "But for how long can we keep holding him back? You've seen the fire in his eyes, haven't you? That burning desire... it's the same fire we once had. He's growing up. Sooner or later, he's going to walk his path—whether we're ready or not."
The room fell silent. There was pain behind their words—a hidden truth. Something from the past they still hadn't let go of. A tragedy I didn't know about. But one day, I would.
Back in my room, I stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. My heart felt heavy, but my mind was set. I clenched my fists and muttered, "I'll become the strongest. I'll train until my body breaks, until my blood stains the ground, until I can finally stand at the top of this world."
The next morning, May 21, 2125, I began my journey.
I started with body training. 100 pushups. 100 sit-ups. A 10 km run. Pull-ups until my arms shook. My muscles screamed, my breath burned, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.
Why?
Because my power—Thunder element—was still unstable. My strength and speed were great, and my healing factor was impressive. But I hadn't unlocked my true potential yet. I was just scratching the surface.
Every morning, I focused on physical strength. Every evening, I trained to control my powers and sharpen my martial arts. At night, I sat cross-legged, meditating, letting my energy flow through me, learning how to feel it, control it. This became my life. My obsession.
And so began my Training Arc.
Two months passed.
By August 2, my body had transformed—stronger, leaner, faster. But there was one technique I still couldn't master: Thunder Steps. A swift movement-based technique that allows the user to move like lightning itself—untraceable, unstoppable.
No matter how hard I tried, I kept failing.
One evening, drenched in sweat, knees weak, I collapsed to the ground. I gasped for air, eyes burning from fatigue. But deep inside, I whispered, "If I can master this… no one can stop me."
Time passed like wind.
One day, at the Academy, I was hanging out with my close friends—Rahul, Raj, and Anu. We were laughing, teasing each other about homework, when suddenly Rahul said, "Guys… did you hear? The tournament is just a month away."
A pause fell over us.
One of our friends, nervously scratching his head, said, "I'm not joining. My parents won't allow it."
"Typical," someone muttered.
Another replied, "Bro, that's all parents! They never understand."
Then Raj asked, "But you three—Rahul, Anu, and Bright—you guys got permission, right?"
We all nodded.
"Yeah," I said, forcing a small smile. "Kinda."
The conversation shifted, but our spirits were high. Then another friend came running, almost tripping in excitement. "Yo! Did you guys hear?! Top rankers of the Academy—Rank 2 and Rank 3—have challenged each other to a duel!"
"What?!" we shouted in unison.
"You serious?" Rahul asked.
"Dead serious. They've been training like beasts lately. This match is gonna be insane."
"But…" one of us hesitated. "We're nowhere near their level. We're still ranked in the 100s. The top 10 never even glance our way."
Another spoke up, eyes shining with resolve, "That's why we'll beat them. We'll show them that rank isn't everything. It's time we made our mark."
Everyone nodded.
And I? I clenched my fists.
"Damn right," I said. "Let's do this."
I returned home, dropped my bag, skipped dinner, and went straight to the training ground. The day was ending, but my battle had just begun.
Every step I took, every move I practiced, was a declaration of war. Not against others… but against my limits.
One more month flew by.
September 11 arrived.
The air around the Glory Academy buzzed with excitement. Students filled the stands, chattering, cheering, nervous. Teachers stood on the sidelines, watchful. Parents lined the back rows, some proud, some anxious.
And I stood there… heart pounding.
I breathed in deeply, filling my lungs with the air of determination.
This is it. The moment I've trained for. The day I prove myself.
In my mind, I whispered to my father, Dad, I'll show you my potential. You'll see your son not as a reckless dreamer… but as someone destined to rise.
As I walked toward the arena, every footstep felt heavier—but more certain. The sun was rising above the academy walls, golden rays falling on the stone path ahead of me.
And in that light… I saw the future waiting for me.
To Be Continued...