The next morning, Clayton woke before dawn.
He didn't need to—classes weren't until midmorning—but his body had stirred with a kind of tension. A quiet understanding: time was running out.
Not for an exam. Not for a school deadline.
But for whatever was coming.
He dressed in simple black academy exercise wear, tied his hair back, and stood in front of the mirror for a moment. No dramatic music. No internal monologue. Just a tired young man staring at himself with eyes that had seen too much in two worlds.
"Alright," he muttered. "Let's figure this out."
The duel with Charles hadn't shaken him. It had woken him. He was a strategist, a planner. But plans meant nothing if he didn't have the strength to execute them. Charles had almost won—and he wasn't even the strongest.
So Clayton made a decision
Training.
The word looked too simple on paper.
In most isekai stories, the solution was obvious: find a cave, meditate under a waterfall, or absorb the soul of a dead dragon.
Sadly, this wasn't that world. No magical power-ups via glowing orbs or cheat-level manuals falling from the sky. Well, maybe there are some cheats but none that I can have right now
So, he laid out a rough plan in his notebook:
Physical Conditioning—He needed to push his body to the limits without snapping it in half. That meant resistance training, reflex drills, and dynamic endurance—not brute-force powerlifting.
Arcane RRegulation—Channeling arcane energy through controlled stress conditions to expand and refine his pathways. Like muscle memory, the more you pushed your arcane circuits without overloading, the stronger they became.
Cognitive Sharpening—This was where most combatants fell behind. Memory recall under pressure, pattern recognition during spell duels, and improvisation. Clayton had seen too many characters in the novel die because they couldn't think two steps ahead.
He started with the physical.
Clayton jogged laps around the deserted edge of the Academy garden, alternating pace every few minutes. Sprint, jog, walk. Sprint, jog, walk. He wasn't fast—but he wasn't here to become a track star. He was here to teach his body what pressure felt like.
After the third lap, he dropped to the ground and began push-ups—slow and controlled, letting his arcane energy subtly flow through his arms.
"Come on, body," he grunted.
Then it was onto balance drills. He climbed onto a stone beam overlooking one of the reflection ponds and began slow movement patterns—basic martial forms. He wasn't trying to look cool. He was recalibrating his equilibrium, adjusting to minute shifts of weight and tension.
Then, he rented one of the training rooms in the academy, which cost him 10 low-grade stones.
The room was filled with every piece of equipment you could need for training and it also contained arcane energy and tons of safety runes, which meant there was no need to worry about an accident.
The
real training started when he opened his Arcane Case.
From within, three training cards floated up. They weren't battle cards. These were generic "Arcane Stimulus" cards—designed for safe, repetitive channeling of energy. They lit up softly with blue glyphs and formed a triangle around him.
Let's see if this theory of mine works, he thought, activating all three at once.
Arcane pressure settled in like a weight on his chest. Not dangerous, but uncomfortable. It was like walking uphill with a backpack full of bricks—if the bricks were humming with power.
The idea was simple: maintain a stable arcane flow while doing precise physical movements under arcane stress. Basically, lifting weights while doing math homework—except the weights could explode if you weren't careful.
He moved into a low stance and began channeling energy from his core to his limbs in a loop.
Focus. Center. Circle. Push.
His breathing slowed. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His arms trembled slightly.
You don't grow in comfort. You grow in friction.
He kept the loop going for five minutes, then ten. At the eleven-minute mark, his left arm spasmed, arcane lines flickering erratically across his skin.
"Cut circuit," he muttered, tapping his wrist. The stimulus cards dimmed, and the pressure lifted instantly.
Clayton collapsed onto the grass, panting.
"That... was terrible," he muttered. "Let's do it again."
And he did.
He went through two more loops, this time focusing on separating his arcane flow from his breath pattern. He simulated distractions—reciting spell formulas under pressure. Then he added motion, swinging a wooden staff while maintaining inner flow.
By the time the sun had fully risen, Clayton was lying on his back, drenched in sweat, heart pounding.
But something had changed.
He felt... sharper. Not stronger, not faster. Just more aware. His control had improved. His endurance had extended. He hadn't just gotten better. He had become more dangerous.
As he stared up at the sky, he let out a breathless laugh.
" I know I'm not a protagonist in this world; heck, I don't even know who I am," he whispered to himself. "But I'll become the variable that changes the script."
He sat up and stretched, wincing as his muscles protested.
"Still... I need to invent better training methods if I want to keep this up. Maybe create a feedback loop device. Or... rope someone else into this."
Clayton exited the training room. He noticed a shadow crossing the corridor; someone passed by.
Clayton didn't even look.
They must be one of the factions trying to spy on me and keep me in check. The elective selection is coming soon. I knew this was going to happen but still it irks me. I need to grow stronger quickly and prepare for the next event.