Min-jun's nights transformed. Sleep was no longer an escape into oblivion but an entry into his personal training dojo, a boundless expanse sculpted by his will. The initial attempts were clumsy.
His control over his dreamscape was rudimentary, the environment flickering and unstable.
But with focused intent, he began to exert his will, shaping the landscape into a simple training ground: a vast, empty plain under a perpetually twilight sky.
His first focus was the basic martial arts forms he had half-heartedly practiced in the real world.
In his lucid dreams, however, the limitations vanished. There was no aching fatigue, no clumsy missteps.
He could repeat a single punch a thousand times, dissecting the mechanics, feeling the precise engagement of every muscle. He could slow down time, observing the trajectory of an imaginary kick, the subtle shift in balance required for a perfect block.
Hours stretched into what felt like days within his dream.
He sparred with phantom instructors, figures conjured from his memories of old martial arts films and online tutorials. They moved with fluid grace and relentless aggression, forcing him to react, to adapt, to push his dream-self to its limits.
He learned to fall without injury, to roll with impact, to anticipate attacks he couldn't even see in the real world.
The transfer of proficiency was subtle at first. In his waking hours, his movements during his solitary training still felt awkward and weak.
But there were fleeting moments – a slightly faster reaction when a ball rolled unexpectedly towards him, a more balanced stance while reaching for a high shelf – subtle whispers of progress that fueled his nocturnal endeavors.
He began to experiment. Could he learn more complex techniques? He conjured training dummies armed with crude swords and staffs, forcing himself to develop basic parrying and evasion skills.
He visualized ancient martial arts manuals, their pages filled with intricate diagrams and descriptions, attempting to imprint the movements onto his dream-self.
The F-rank limitation of his skill felt like a shackle.
The transfer of complex techniques was slow, the dream-world mastery only translating to a fraction of the ability in reality. But Min-jun was patient.
He understood that this was a marathon, not a sprint. Every night was an investment, every perfectly executed form in his dream a deposit into his real-world potential.
His days at Jinhae Vocational School remained a stark contrast to his vibrant nights. He still endured the dismissive glances and the occasional taunt.
But something had shifted within him. The despair had receded, replaced by a quiet determination. He knew he held a secret, a hidden training ground where he was steadily, if slowly, growing stronger. The opinions of his peers held less weight now.
He observed his classmates, the limitations of their Awakened skills becoming more apparent to him.
Lee Jae-hyun relied heavily on raw power, his flame manipulation often lacking finesse. Park Sun-mi's telekinesis, while potent, sometimes lacked precision.
They were limited by their inherent talent and the guidance of their instructors. Min-jun, in his dreams, had the freedom to experiment, to dissect, to train without the constraints of the physical body or the limitations of a curriculum.
One evening, while sparring with a particularly aggressive phantom swordsman in his dream, a new thought sparked.
If he could learn martial arts in this way, could he perhaps learn other skills as well? Could he simulate the intricacies of healing, the principles of manipulating energy for defense? The possibilities, though still hazy, were tantalizing.
His focus, however, remained on the fundamentals of combat. He knew that without a solid foundation, any advanced techniques would be useless. He drilled basic strikes and blocks until they became ingrained in his dream-muscle memory, hoping that with enough repetition, the real-world transfer would become more significant.
Weeks turned into months. Min-jun's real-world training began to show more noticeable results.
His punches, though still lacking significant power, were sharper, his movements more fluid.
During physical education classes, he no longer lagged so far behind. He even managed to surprise a few of the other D-rank students during basic sparring matches, his unexpected agility and surprisingly crisp blocks catching them off guard.
Lee So-yeon, the kind-hearted E-rank Healer in his class, noticed his quiet progress. She often practiced her healing on minor scrapes and bruises during breaks, her gentle nature a stark contrast to the more boisterous students. She saw the unwavering focus in Min-jun's eyes during his solitary training, the subtle improvements that others overlooked.
Park Chul-soo, the pragmatic E-rank Shield user, was another classmate who paid Min-jun little mind initially. Chul-soo was a sturdy, dependable presence, more interested in practical application than flashy displays of power.
But he observed Min-jun's increasingly efficient movements, the way he seemed to anticipate his sparring partners' attacks despite his lower rank. A seed of curiosity began to sprout in his mind.
One afternoon, during a practice session against a low-rank simulated monster projection in the school's training hall, Min-jun found himself cornered. The simulated beast lunged, its claws extended. Instinct took over.
The countless hours spent evading phantom claws in his dreams translated into a surprisingly agile sidestep, narrowly avoiding the attack.
It wasn't powerful, but it was effective. Chul-soo, who had been observing from the side, raised an eyebrow.
That movement… it was too precise, too efficient for someone with an F-rank skill and no visible combat training.
The whispers about Min-jun began to change, shifting from mockery to a hesitant curiosity.
The "Blank Slate" was… different. He was still weak, still low-ranked, but there was a subtle undercurrent of something more, a quiet potential that was slowly beginning to surface, forged not in the explosive bloom of a sudden Awakening, but in the silent, persistent architecture of his dreams. The architect of his own ascendance was just beginning to lay the foundations.