(A/N Big thanks to everyone for the Power stones and Golden tickets, they mean a lot. As usual, please don't hesitate to comment or drop a review. ENJOY)

Power stones people, Gimme it.

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Orion woke before dawn, his eyes opening to the cool stillness of the room. The academy's ambient runes dimmed softly along the walls, sensing his movement and brightening just enough to guide him. He stretched once, feeling his body fall into the familiar rhythm of morning. The previous day's exploration had been productive—Magnum 1 wasn't large, but it had given him a stronger sense of the academy's structure. Today, though, was different. Today marked the start of their decision week operating individually, and he intended to begin his side of it properly.

He washed his face, fastened his training clothes, and headed out.

The academy grounds were quiet, the air crisp with the early chill. Orion stepped into his usual training courtyard, one of several identical open spaces arranged behind the building. He took a breath and began cycling through his morning forms. His movements were fluid—familiar, practiced, deliberate. His blade traced clean arcs through the air, his body shifting weight precisely, his footwork leaving faint disturbances of mana along the ground.

Only a few minutes had passed when a faint ripple brushed against his senses.

Orion turned sharply—

Too late.

A small pebble struck the back of his head—not hard, but definitely intentional.

"Morning, Orion!"

Thaddeus stood a few meters behind him, wearing the most self-satisfied grin on the continent.

Orion stared at him blankly. "Again."

Thaddeus shrugged with a grin so smug it should've been illegal. "You're getting better at noticing, though."

Orion didn't dignify that with a response.

Thaddeus waved and disappeared in a flick of light, his footwork almost playful as he hopped over the courtyard wall, probably off to terrorize some other unfortunate soul. Orion exhaled slowly, forcing the irritation out of his system before returning to training.

Still, his thoughts were already hooked onto the problem.

By the time sunrise peeked over the rooftops, he finished his swordwork and returned to his room for meditation. He sat cross-legged on the bed, centered his breathing, and began pulling mana toward his nexus. The familiar sensation of absorption began—gentle pressure, focused streams of mana funneling into his core.

An hour passed steadily.

His mind drifted.

Not away from the meditation, but around it—examining the pieces he'd been avoiding.

Thaddeus.

That boy was starting to get under his skin.

He wasn't malicious—Orion knew that—but the repeated ambushes, the way his spatial concealment slipped right past Orion's senses, the triumphant smirk each time he succeeded… it was getting irritating. Worse, Orion was aware during training, actively scanning for him, and still failing.

Even with his spatial awareness sharpened and his reflexes honed, Thaddeus bypassed him like a ghost.

Orion's brows lowered slightly.

"One day," he muttered under his breath, "I'm paying you back in full."

But irritation aside, the incident dragged something else into focus. Something more internal. Something he'd been ignoring because everything had been going well.

He opened his eyes slowly.

"I'm starting to rely too much on my skills," he admitted quietly.

Protocol was the only thing that had shown even the slightest reaction to Thaddeus's concealment—and even that was only because Margaret's presence interfered. Without her, Thaddeus was practically invisible.

If Protocol evolved to high proficiency or even peak, maybe it would be different. Maybe he would eventually sense spatial distortions naturally.

But that could take years.

It had taken nearly four years for him to push his other skills to peak proficiency. Protocol had finally reached mid proficiency the other day—and that was only because of the opportunity granted by the trial, coupled with the fact that he wouldn't have as much free time as the last few years, it was going to take a while.

Waiting years wasn't an option.

And hoping the system gave him a convenient new skill wasn't a plan either. It only assigned missions when he was truly driven to accomplish something—not out of laziness or desperation, and the rewards weren't always skills.

He exhaled again, leaning his head back.

"So far… everything I've used belongs to someone else."

His talents? Given.

His bloodline? Given.

His system? Given.

His skills? Mostly assigned, not created.

Even Kairos Step, his earliest mastery, stemmed from innate affinity and ridiculous talent.

His actual contributions—the part born entirely from him—were smaller than he liked to admit.

Swordsmanship.

Discipline.

A good mind.

But compared to his gifts, they felt insignificant.

He shut his eyes, correcting the thought immediately.

"No," he muttered, straightening his posture. "They aren't insignificant. They're just underdeveloped."

And that, at least, was something he could change.

Thaddeus wasn't a threat—far from it. In fact, he was the perfect test. An ideal target to sharpen himself against. The boy had an innate spatial concealment ability born from a powerful bloodline. Cracking it wouldn't be easy. It might even be impossible for someone without a similar gift.

But Orion wasn't interested in easy.

He wasn't going to hide behind skills forever. He wasn't going to wait until a real enemy exploited the same blind spot Thaddeus was making fun of.

If he tackled this now—before the academy intensified, before responsibilities piled up—he'd be building something that belonged to him.

A method.

A technique.

A sense sharpened by experience instead of gifts.

He inhaled deeply.

The academy was the greatest concentration of training resources, manuals, sensory chambers, and instructor insights he had ever encountered. If there was a method—any hint, any technique, any foundational exercise—to enhance awareness, detect distortions, or pick up the faintest trace of spatial disturbance, he'd find it.

And if no such method existed…

He'd make one.

His eyes snapped open, steady and clear.

He finished meditating, stood, and moved to bathe. Warm water cascaded down as his mind organized itself. The more he turned the idea over, the more grounded it felt. This wasn't about defeating Thaddeus. It wasn't about pride. It wasn't about winning a childhood rivalry.

It was about his foundation.

He would not become someone carried entirely by the system.

He would not stall because he waited for a convenient solution.

He would not fall into complacency.

By the time he dried off and dressed, the decision had solidified.

A new starting point.

A new direction.

A new resolve.

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