"A spar? Now?" Derek asked, surprised.

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "Why? Any problem?"

Derek quickly shook his head. "No. Not a problem at all."

He immediately dropped into a fighting stance, his eyes sharp, his body calm.

But Wilson lifted a hand. "Not here. Let's get back to the classroom first."

Derek straightened, nodding. The others had been quiet this whole time, still stunned by what they had just witnessed in the training chamber, but Wilson's command snapped them back to reality.

The group walked back through the hallways, students stepping aside with curious eyes at the sight of Derek and the others moving together with unusual seriousness. Billy whispered something to Paul, who only nodded silently, still too shocked to form proper words.

Soon, they reached their classroom.

"Clear some space," he said.

Billy, Paul, Mia, and Harold quickly pushed the tables and chairs aside. The room now felt much bigger—almost like a small arena. Before, there had been some space at the back of the classroom, but this new area was even larger.

Wilson stepped to the centre and looked at Derek.

"Alright. Let's begin."

Derek didn't hesitate. He took a steady breath and then positioned himself for the fight.

Wilson stood calmly, his hands behind his back. "Attack whenever you're ready."

Derek nodded once and moved.

His foot tapped the ground, and his body shot forward like an arrow. His first attack came in straight and sharp, a direct strike toward Wilson's ribs.

Wilson sidestepped without even blinking.

Derek spun and sent a low kick. Wilson hopped over it lightly.

Another punch. Another dodge. A feint. A block.

Derek attacked relentlessly—sharp, swift, and clean. His every movement showed a grace rare for a beginner. Each strike was purposeful; every step was measured and precise.

Billy's jaw dropped again. "H-he's moving like that even without Lightning Pace?"

Paul nodded slowly, expression blank. "I don't think he's a human anymore…"

Mia leaned forward, hands pressed against her lips. "Instructor Wilson is an S-class cultivator… and Derek is keeping up? How? How is he doing this?"

Harold's eyes twitched. "He's not keeping up. Sir Wilson is letting him."

And Harold was right. Wilson was holding back. A lot.

Derek could feel it too, but that didn't mean he held back. His attacks kept coming, one after another.

Wilson parried lightly, moving as if dancing. But he didn't look impressed.

After several more exchanges, Wilson sighed. "You aren't using your Lightning Pace technique," he said.

Derek froze mid-movement.

Wilson stepped back and pointed at him. "That wasn't just for show, you know. You are still relying on your eyes. You are still thinking before you move. You are reacting to what you see, not what you feel."

He raised his voice a little.

"You are good. I'll give you that. But with Lightning Pace, you can be much more. Let your senses see — not your eyes. Let your instincts make you move — not your brain."

Derek's heart thumped once.

He understood. He had used Lightning Pace in the traps; there, he relied fully on his senses, not his eyes. But in a fight… he had fallen back to old habits.

He stepped back, breathing slowly, clearing his mind.

And then...

He opened his eyes, but this time, he didn't focus visually.

Instead, he listened. He felt. He waited for the air to speak to him.

Wilson made the first move.

He took one step. Just one.

But Derek felt it, not through sight, not through logic, but through the shift in air pressure around him. There was a tiny ripple of energy around Wilson's leg as it moved. A slight squeeze in the air before Wilson's punch.

"Now," something whispered inside him.

Derek moved.

Before Wilson's punch even reached him, Derek tilted his head aside, letting it pass by his cheek, feeling only the faint breeze from it.

Paul's hands trembled. "He's doing it. He's actually doing it!"

Wilson's eyes widened for a brief moment.

Then he chuckled.

A short, surprised laugh escaped his mouth. "Well, well… that's more like it."

Derek didn't speak. His brain was quiet, empty. No thoughts. Only instinct.

Wilson shifted again. Derek felt it... left side, a downward motion. Derek stepped back, raising his forearm to block a strike that should have been too fast for a B-class cultivator.

Wilson blinked. "You caught that too?"

Derek said nothing, just moved. And his speed rose. It rose sharply.

To the point, Wilson had to increase the percentage of strength he was using.

He raised it to 20%. Then 30%. Then 40%.

At 40%, his movements were fast enough to overwhelm most B-class cultivators.

At first, Derek struggled. His body shook with effort. His footing slipped slightly as he blocked a sharp kick. He was pushed back two steps, then three.

But then...

He adapted.

His muscles learned the timing. His senses learned the rhythm. His breath matched the flow of the fight.

Wilson attacked with a powerful sweeping kick.

Derek ducked under it with a speed that made even the air tremble.

Wilson punched with 40% power.

Derek met it with a palm strike, redirecting it like flowing water.

Billy collapsed into a sitting position. "W-what am I watching…?"

Mia looked pale. "This is… insane…"

Harold's voice was barely a whisper. "…A beast. He's truly a beast…"

Wilson increased his strength to 45%.

The air pressure in the room changed immediately. A normal student would have suffocated.

Derek felt it hit him like a wall, but that only made his instincts sharper.

Wilson launched forward. Derek rushed to meet him.

Their fists collided, just barely touching, but the shockwave shook the classroom.

Tables rattled. Chairs jumped. Dust fell from the ceiling.

For minutes, they fought like that... speed against speed, instinct against experience, rhythm against power.

Ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

Then thirty.

And still they fought.

Derek's body began to sweat. His breathing grew heavier. His clothes clung to his skin. His fists trembled slightly from Wilson's raw strength.

Wilson, too, began sweating. His expression grew serious. His breath deepened. His casual posture was gone. His eyes were sharp now, focused.

He was no longer playing.

'This boy…' Wilson thought, blocking a rapid series of palm strikes. 'He is something else entirely. If he continues like this, the power balance of the academy… no… the whole kingdom… might flip upside down.'

Each minute that passed, Wilson felt more pressure.

Each minute that passed, Derek became more efficient. The improvement was terrifying.

Billy whispered, "He's learning… while fighting…"

Mia nodded slowly. "No… he's evolving."

Finally, after one full hour, Wilson jumped back and raised a hand.

"That's enough."

Derek stopped instantly, breathing hard, sweat rolling down his face and neck. His arms felt heavy. His legs trembled slightly, but he remained standing.

Wilson was not much better. His shirt was soaked. His hair was messy. His breathing was steady but deep.

Both of them looked like they had walked out of a storm.

Derek bowed. "Thank you for the spar, sir."

Wilson shook his head slowly. "Thank me? Derek, you don't understand. Spars like this are rare even for me."

Then he smiled... a rare, genuine smile filled with pride and disbelief.

"You did well. In fact… You did far beyond what anyone could expect."

The others rushed forward and bombarded him with questions.

Class ended shortly after. They were all dismissed early because Wilson needed time to mentally recover from what he had just experienced.

Derek was supposed to meet Emma after class, but he didn't go immediately.

Instead, he hurried back to the house.

He slipped inside quietly. Yami was already waiting, arms crossed.

"You came quickly," Yami said.

"Yes, the class was broken a bit early," Derek replied.

Yami studied Derek's sweating face and tired breathing. "What were you up to now?"

"Nothing much. Just had a spar with instructor Wilson."

"A spar, huh! Good for you." He didn't ask anything else, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver wristband with faint runic patterns.

"This," Yami said, handing it to him, "can hide your true cultivation realm. It can show your cultivation up to five levels lower. You decide how low you want it."

Derek took it carefully. "This is… incredible."

"It's extremely costly. So I'm not giving it to you," Yami warned. "You're only borrowing it."

"I understand, Master."

Yami then taught him a chant — short, simple.

Derek wore the wrist band, whispered the chant, and lowered his cultivation by one realm.

Instantly, the air around him softened.

Yami nodded in approval. "Good. Now no one can tell what your true cultivation realm is."

After thanking him, Derek headed back to the academy building.

He reached the designated spot and saw Emma waiting.

But she wasn't alone.

Isabella stood beside her, arms crossed, eyes curious.

Emma stepped forward first.

"You're late," she said.

Derek scratched his head. "Sorry. Had something to take care of."

But Isabella's sharp eyes narrowed. 'He's already an E-class?'

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