Ray stood in front of the practice dummy, staring at his hands as if they belonged to someone else.

  The question gnawed at him: Why could he activate his System skills with the ease of a thought, yet his Engraving felt like trying to start an engine with a broken pull-cord? He called up his status window, the blue light reflecting in his pupils.

  STATUS — USER: RAY MELBORNE

  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  NAME: Takahara Kenji (Ray Melborne)

  AGE: 15

  LEVEL: 8

  EXP: 12 / 100

  HP: 25 / 115

  STM: 10 / 70

  ATTRIBUTES:

  ? STR: 17 (+8)

  ? AGI: 14 (+4)

  ? VIT: 20 (+6)

  ? DEX: 12 (+4)

  ? INT: 13 (+2)

  ? WIS: 11

  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  NEW TRAIT UNLOCKED:

  ASH CIRCUIT — VEIN II: FOUNDATION

  A corrupted/altered Fire Vein.

  Type: Unknown

  Effect: ???

  Stability: UNSTABLE

  Resonance: EXTREME

  Synchronization: 12.00

  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  Skills:

  [Analyze]

  [AMATERION SURGE — Lv.1 (Passive)]

  +20% to all stats for 60 seconds when triggered. Cooldown:12hr

  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  → +20% to all stats for 60 seconds when triggered

  → Cooldown: 12 hours

  → Status: ON COOLDOWN (11:57:12 remaining)

  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  QUEST: Unknown Origin — Investigate

  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  The Surge was still cooling down. He didn't need the timer to tell him that—the absence was physical. The razor-sharp clarity and the hum in his muscles had vanished, replaced by the familiar, heavy ache of his baseline body.

  System skills are easy. That was the conclusion he kept circling back to. Analyze responded instantly. No buildup, no theatrics. He thought it, and it happened—like toggling a setting in a menu. The System didn't care about his "spirit" or his "will." It was code. It just executed.

  Engraver skills, on the other hand...

  Ray exhaled through his nose, focusing on his core. The smoke didn't stir. No matter how he tried to recreate the sensation, without that specific spark—that rush of excitement and commitment—the Ash Circuit stayed dormant.

  It was ridiculous. Rian, Calen, and even that blockhead Rowen used their sigils without making a sound. They flexed a spiritual muscle they’d had since birth. But Ray? Ray needed to feel like he was in the final episode of a season-long shōnen arc, or his power refused to cooperate.

  “It’s not a bug,” Ray muttered, leaning his head against the cold stone wall. “It’s a feature. Two different systems, two different sets of rules.”

  The System was logic-driven and interface-based. The Engraving was emotional and meaning-based. His problem wasn't a lack of power; it was a problem of translation. He was essentially trying to run a game on an operating system that spoke a different language.

  “So I can open menus with a thought... but I can’t throw a punch without hype.” He sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Why am I like this? I’m literally the reverse of every cool protagonist ever. Usually, everyone else has to chant and the MC is silent. I’m the only one out here screaming like a lunatic while everyone else watches in awkward silence.”

  He pushed off the wall, determined to find a way to internalize that "hype" without the vocal cords—

  And froze.

  A presence. Calm, heavy, and unmistakably dangerous.

  “You’re done pacing,” a cool voice said from the shadows. “So you might as well answer.”

  Ray turned. Sera stood a few steps away, arms crossed, the torchlight glinting off the thin silver chain at her throat. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were like needles.

  “How,” she asked, her voice dropping an octave, “did you suddenly become faster and stronger earlier? Before you touched the dummy.”

  Ray’s brain locked up. The Surge was a passive skill, invisible to the naked eye. No smoke, no flare, no chant. But Sera was a high-level knight; she didn't need to see the magic to feel the shift in his displacement.

  “I... what do you mean?” Ray asked, his voice hitching.

  Sera took a step closer, pinning him with a gaze that felt like a physical weight. “That wasn't adrenaline. And it wasn't a change in your form. You gained density and speed without channel buildup. Without visible resonance.”

  She held up three fingers. “That happens three ways: Drugs. Artifacts. Or something you aren't telling me.”

  Ray felt a cold bead of sweat roll down his spine. Sera wasn't Rowen—he couldn't bluff his way past her. And more importantly, anything she learned would go straight to Elaine. If she suspected he was using illegal stimulants or forbidden artifacts, his "rest month" was over.

  He had to out-embarrass her. It was his only play.

  Ray exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at his boots. “You’re... you’re going to think I’m an idiot.”

  Sera didn't move. She waited, silent as a grave.

  “I—” He hesitated, his ears burning. “I can’t properly activate my sigil unless I... say things. Out loud.”

  Sera tilted her head slightly. “Say things.”

  “My attack names,” Ray blurted out, the words feeling like lead. “If I don't shout them, the commitment isn't there. The power doesn't bridge. I have to make it... a performance. Or it doesn't work at all.”

  Silence stretched between them, long and agonizing. Ray wanted to dissolve into the floor. He waited for her to laugh, or to call him a clown. Instead, Sera just stared at him, her eyes narrowing as she processed the sheer, pathetic honesty of his answer.

  Ray could feel her staring at him, her gaze a physical weight.

  “…You’re serious,” Sera said slowly.

  He nodded, mortified. “I know it’s stupid. Everyone else just does it. They pull power naturally, and I—” He gestured helplessly at his own chest. “If I don’t commit emotionally, it fizzles. If I hesitate, nothing happens. It’s like the circuit won’t close unless I’m at a hundred percent intensity.”

  His face felt like it was on fire. “I’m trying to learn how to do it without yelling,” he muttered to his boots. “But when I get stressed or excited, it just… comes out.”

  He risked a glance up. Sera was watching him with a terrifyingly neutral expression.

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  “You’re not lying,” she said.

  Ray blinked. “I’m… not?”

  “No.” Sera folded her arms. “You’re far too embarrassed. That reaction doesn’t fake cleanly.” She tilted her head, her sharp eyes scanning him like he was a broken clock she was deciding whether to fix or discard. “So, what I saw just now—that surge of speed and strength?”

  “That was me finally not yelling,” Ray said quickly. “For once.”

  “Show me,” she commanded.

  Ray stiffened. “I can’t.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Sera replied. “You just said you could.”

  Ray frowned, his mind scrambling. “I did?”

  “Yes,” she said coolly. “You said you need to shout to pull your power. So shout.”

  Ray stared at her, certain he had misheard. “…What?”

  “Scream for me,” Sera said.

  Ray’s brain short-circuited. “I—what? Right now? In front of everyone?”

  “Scream,” she repeated, her voice turning sharper, leaving no room for negotiation. “Show me how you activate your power.”

  Heat rushed to Ray’s face, a deep crimson that felt hotter than his fire vein. This was worse than the confession; this was a public performance of his greatest insecurity. But Sera’s glare was like iron.

  Ray walked stiffly to the nearest training dummy. He planted his feet, feeling the weight of a dozen curious gazes on his back. He raised his fist, took a deep breath, and summoned every bit of anime-inspired conviction he possessed.

  “煙拳?バリアントストライク！！

  ENKEN: BARIANTO SUTORAIKU!!

  (Smoke Fist Valiant Strike!)”

  He punched.

  The fist hit the wood with a dull, pathetic thud. No heat. No smoke. No flare of power. The dummy stood untouched, mocking him with its silence.

  Ray stood there, his arm extended, feeling the cold air of the hall settle over him. Silence stretched between them, thick and agonizing.

  Sera stared at him, her expression unreadable. “…Didn’t you say you needed to name your attack?” she asked slowly.

  Ray’s ears burned. He felt like he was back in middle school presenting a project he hadn't finished. “I—yes. I do. Usually.”

  “Then why isn't it working?”

  “I don’t know!” Ray said miserably, his voice cracking. “I'm self-conscious! It’s hard to find the 'spirit' when you're being watched like a specimen!”

  Sera glanced around. Several knights had paused mid-drill, their eyes wide as they openly watched the "Avery Fiancé" shout gibberish at a piece of wood. Her expression hardened instantly.

  “Out.”

  The word was quiet, but it carried the authority of a hurricane. Every knight in the hall froze, then immediately turned and left without a single question. Blades were sheathed, targets abandoned, and the massive oak doors groaned shut.

  Only the two of them remained in the cavernous silence.

  “Now,” Sera said calmly. “Remember how you actually pulled your power out. Not for a crowd. For yourself.”

  Ray swallowed and closed his eyes. He forced his mind back. The Academy courtyard. Rowan’s fire roaring toward him. The smell of ozone and the taste of desperation.

  “煙拳?バリアントストライク！！

  ENKEN: BARIANTO SUTORAIKU!!

  (Smoke Fist Valiant Strike!)”

  Then, the forest. The Crimson Mauler. Calen cornered. The absolute, terrifying certainty that if the attack didn't land, his friend would die.

  煙拳?ロケットパンチ！！

  ENKEN: ROKETTO PANCHI!!

  (Smoke Fist Rocket Punch!!)

  Ray’s chest warmed. A familiar heat coiled under his skin, and he felt the Ash Circuit stir. He stepped forward, his fist already tightening—and then Sera’s hand snapped out, gripping his wrist.

  “Stop,” she said. Her grip was like iron. “Don’t release it. Not yet.”

  Ray froze, his breath hitching. Her silver eyes were inches from his. “Just circulate it,” she whispered.

  “Circulate…?”

  “Let it move,” she said. “Through your body. Through your Vein. Without committing it to an attack. You’re trying to fire the arrow before you’ve even learned how to hold the bow.”

  Ray swallowed and focused. He didn't reach for the punch. He didn't think of the name. He just focused on the feeling. The jagged excitement flattened into something smoother, a steady stream of heat.

  The smoke didn’t burst free. It coiled. Ray’s heart beat against his ribs, but the power didn't flee. It stayed.

  “…I feel it,” he whispered.

  “There,” Sera said, releasing his wrist. “That’s your problem. You don’t activate your power with words, Ray Melborne. You activate it with commitment. The shouting isn’t the key; it’s just the crutch you’ve been using to force yourself over the threshold.”

  Ray stared at his hands. The Ash Circuit hummed quietly beneath his skin, controlled and waiting for the first time.

  “Learn to step over that line without screaming,” Sera said, her voice dropping to a warning low. “Or someone will make sure you never get the chance to speak again.”

  Ray nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He closed his eyes again, concentrating on that internal current. He didn’t force it outward. He simply opened a door. A thin, ghostly veil of gray slipped from his skin, draping over his shoulders like falling silk. It rolled down his arms and pooled at his feet, moving with a will of its own.

  The smoke slithered across the stone floor, silent and alive.

  Sera’s expression shifted—just barely.

  She had heard the reports. A mutation. A Fire Vein engraving that hadn’t behaved as expected. Smoke. Ordinarily, she would have dismissed it instantly. Fire burned. Stone endured. Water flowed. Smoke was just residue—the useless aftermath of a real element.

  But this? This smoke didn’t dissipate. It lingered. It crept. It waited.

  As the gray veil coiled along the stone floor like a living thing, something about it felt fundamentally wrong. It was heavy. Ominous. It felt like the oppressive silence before a building collapses.

  Sera felt a faint prickle along her spine. Dangerous, she thought.

  Ray opened his eyes. The moment he saw the smoke draped over his body, his face lit up with a raw, infectious joy. “I did it,” he whispered, breathless. He turned toward her, the excitement finally breaking through his focus. “Look, Sera. I actually did it.”

  She met his gaze, her expression a mask of unreadable steel. “Good,” she said. Then, without ceremony: “Now strike the dummy.”

  Ray nodded eagerly. He turned toward the wooden target, his feet planting with a natural, practiced grace. No shouting. No theatrics. Just the cold, hard intent Sera had demanded. He pulled the smoke inward, tightening the gray mist around his forearm like a pressurized sleeve, and threw a punch.

  The strike landed.

  The smoke snapped forward with the impact, coiling around the wood like a viper. The surface hissed. Blackened lacerations burned into the reinforced grain—deep, scorched grooves etched where no flame had even touched.

  Ray froze, then his face split into a triumphant grin. “It worked.”

  He pulled back and struck again. Then a third time. Then a fourth. He moved faster, smoother—strike after strike landing with surgical precision as the smoke wrapped, burned, and peeled away. It was non-verbal. It was controlled. It was clean.

  And yet... something felt wrong.

  Ray’s pace slowed. The dummy was damaged, yes—but the blows felt hollow. They were effective, but flat. It was like a perfectly executed combo played with the sound muted. No weight. No soul. No impact.

  Ray frowned, his fists still raised, the smoke drifting lazily around his arms. “…This isn’t it.”

  He could feel the itch in his chest. That stupid, irrational urge he had been fighting since the beginning. This wasn’t how attacks were meant to be thrown. His shoulders squared. His grin returned, sharper and more manic than before.

  “Oh, come on,” he muttered to himself. “I can’t just not do it.”

  The shōnen spirit within him ignited like a star going supernova. He wasn't just a knight; he was a protagonist. He planted his feet, drew his breath from the bottom of his lungs, and unleashed the barrage.

  “煙拳?スモークガトリング！！

  ENKEN: SUMōKU GATORINGU!!

  Smoke Fist: Smoke Gatling!!”

  The response was instantaneous.

  The smoke exploded to life. It surged over his arms, thickening and hardening into massive, spectral fists layered over his own. Every punch he threw launched a gray afterimage screaming forward. Dozens of impacts hammered the dummy in a rhythmic, deafening cadence.

  BOOM. CRACK. SHATTER.

  The wooden target groaned, splintered, and finally disintegrated. The smoke fists pulverized the remains until the dummy wasn't just broken—it was erased.

  Ray staggered back, chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face. Then, he started to laugh. It was a loud, uncontrolled, triumphant sound.

  “Yes!” he panted, wiping his brow. “That’s it. That’s the difference.” He looked down at his hands, watching the last wisps of gray dissipate into the air. “For a proper attack…” His grin widened. “...you need a proper name.”

  [+1 WIS]

  A golden notification flickered at the edge of his vision. Ray jumped up with a shout of joy, pumping his fist into the air.

  “YES! Finally!” he cheered. “Logic pays off! I’m actually getting wiser!”

  Ray immediately smoothed his expression, grabbing an imaginary, waist-long beard and stroking it with the gravitas of a thousand-year-old immortal. His Wisdom stat was the only one that had never increased via bonus or training—until now. It turned out he didn't need to meditate under a freezing waterfall; he just needed to realize that being a chunibyo was his actual, canon power-scaling mechanic.

  Behind him, Sera watched in a silence so heavy it felt like lead. She didn't look at the floating blue screen—she couldn't see it—but she saw the boy who had just turned a training dummy into splinters while laughing like a lunatic.

  For the first time since meeting Ray Melborne, she wasn’t thinking that he was strange, or lucky, or a fool. She watched the way the lingering smoke seemed to cling to his shadow, unwilling to fully vanish.

  She was thinking: This boy is a monster.