The activity room door was ajar, and it was livelier inside than usual.
This was the last sparring day of the semester, so nearly all the active members of the club had shown up.
Sparring days were always like this. Even those who usually only came to hit the punching bags would gather around to watch the show.
The mats in the activity room had been pushed against the walls, clearing out a square area roughly four meters on each side in the center.
When Richard arrived, Warren was already there, chewing on half an Energy Bar.
"Who’s fighting who today?" Richard asked, sitting down beside him.
"Don’t know. Fraser hasn’t made the matchups yet," Warren said indistinctly, his mouth full of the Energy Bar.
Richard scanned the people gathered around the fighting area.
The Fighting Club had about ten or so regular members, and eight of them were here today.
Most of them were upperclassmen. Although they were only seventeen or eighteen, they were all broad-shouldered and thick-waisted from years of training.
Among this crowd, Richard’s physique was at the very bottom of the pack.
Although the last two weeks of training had brought him noticeable improvement, the gap between him and these guys who had been training for years was still plain to see.
His gaze swept across the crowd and landed on the military academy student standing against the wall.
The guy was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
Richard quietly activated his Spiritual Vision.
He was careful not to leave any obvious trace, making it at most a "glance."
The result was... nothing.
There wasn’t a single trace of Ether on the military academy student.
Richard’s brow furrowed slightly.
According to the criteria Mr. Hutton had taught him, there were only two possibilities when you couldn’t perceive someone’s Ether.
One was that the other person’s Tier was far above his own, so powerful that they could become completely "invisible" to his Perception.
’A Grand Mastery suddenly pops up at Greenwood, and he even specifically transfers in wearing a military academy uniform?’
The odds of that were lower than the odds of him going home tonight and discovering Evelyn was actually Hecate.
The other possibility was the opposite: the person was an ordinary human with no Ether at all.
’But the signs of his physical training clearly point to the Hunter system... ’
Just then, Fraser clapped his hands twice, drawing everyone’s attention.
"It’s sparring time. Who wants a match?"
"I’ll go."
The voice came from the direction of the wall.
The military academy student straightened up from the wall and took two steps toward the center of the mat.
Fraser glanced at him. "Coleman, who do you want to fight?"
The military academy student’s gaze went over Fraser’s shoulder and landed on Richard.
"Williams, care for a round?"
The activity room fell silent for a moment.
Warren nearly dropped the Energy Bar from his mouth.
Fraser turned to look at Richard, then turned back to look at Coleman.
"Are you sure?"
Coleman was widely recognized as the strongest member of the Fighting Club.
Richard, on the other hand, had only joined the Fighting Club two weeks ago, had barely hit the punching bag a few times, and had just started with ten-pound dumbbells.
The two of them standing together looked like a full-grown hound next to a puppy that had just been weaned.
"I’m sure," Coleman’s reply was brief.
Fraser’s brow tightened.
He turned to Richard. "Williams, what do you say?"
All eyes turned to him.
In the corner, a few upperclassmen exchanged glances, their faces plastered with "the show’s about to start" expressions.
Richard’s presence in the Fighting Club these past two weeks had been a delicate matter.
On one hand, he was the apple of the principal’s eye, the runner-up in the Cicero Cup, and a campus celebrity.
No one dared to bully him openly, and Fraser had given him "use any equipment you want" privileges from day one.
On the other hand, his physical fitness was at the bottom of the group.
This contrast made the other Fighting Club members polite to his face, but the snickers and teasing behind his back never stopped.
Richard glanced at Coleman.
The military academy student’s gaze was still fixed on him, with no hint of provocation or contempt in his eyes.
’This guy isn’t here to cause trouble.’
Coleman’s lips moved, soundlessly forming words.
Richard read what he was saying.
"Use your Ether. Fight for real."
His heart skipped a beat.
’Ether? So he really is from the Mysterious Side?’
"I can do that," he said, standing up.
Fraser looked between the two of them and hesitated.
"Coleman, take it easy on him," he said to the military academy student in a low voice.
Coleman nodded.
Fraser backed away to the edge of the mat and raised a stopwatch.
"Three-minute rounds. Touch-contact only. No hitting the face, no kicking the groin, no chokeholds. Stop when you hear the whistle."
Richard walked to the center of the mat and stood facing Coleman.
They were about three meters apart.
Coleman had already assumed his stance.
Left foot forward, right foot back, his center of gravity lowered slightly.
His hands were raised to chin level, knuckles facing inward, elbows tucked against his ribs.
It was a standard orthodox fighting stance.
Richard also adopted a stance, silently circulating his Ether.
’He already told me to fight for real. I’d be a fool not to use it.’
His stance was much looser than Coleman’s. His hands were raised to chest height, his center of gravity was neutral, and his feet were parallel.
A few of the upperclassmen around them had already started snickering.
"That stance... is he here to fight or to dance?"
"I’ll bet one penny he goes down on the first punch."
"I’ll bet two pence he doesn’t last ten seconds."
Bets were quickly exchanged in the corner.
Fraser pretended not to hear, but he was already prepared to intervene.
If the new star student got his nose bloodied by a single punch, he’d be writing reports for the principal for the entire next year.
He had already shifted his left foot forward half a step, ready to dash in and pull them apart at a moment’s notice.
The whistle blew, and Coleman moved.
His closing speed was extremely fast. He pushed off his front foot, launching himself forward like a released spring.
He closed the three-meter distance in less than a second.
A left hook shot up from below, aimed at Richard’s ribs.
Richard’s body began to react before the fist even arrived.
His Ether-enhanced senses broke down his opponent’s movements into slow motion.
He took half a step to the right, and Coleman’s left fist grazed past his ribs.
Someone in the crowd of onlookers let out a surprised "Huh?"
The upperclassman who had bet on him "going down on the first punch" found the smile frozen on his face.
Coleman’s eyes lit up.
He didn’t retract his fist. The grazing punch flowed seamlessly into an elbow strike, the point of his elbow sweeping horizontally toward Richard’s chest.
The transition from punch to elbow shortened the distance and increased the speed.
Richard couldn’t dodge this one completely.
He crossed his arms to protect his chest, and the tip of the elbow slammed into his outer forearm.
BAM!
A dull thud echoed.
Richard was knocked back a step, a numbing sensation shooting through his right arm from elbow to wrist.
"Ah?"
This time, the sound from the onlookers was more distinct.
According to everyone’s expectations, that blow should have sent Richard to the ground, or at the very least, sent him tumbling onto the mats.
But he only took a single step back, clearly having absorbed the force steadily.
Coleman didn’t stop his assault.
After the elbow, a right hook came around from the other side, aiming for his abdomen.
Richard didn’t dodge this time.
—Stone Armor: Parts Enhancement.
He raised his left hand from his side, palm facing outward.
The instant his palm made contact with the fist, Coleman’s expression changed.
His fist had struck a stone wall.
A punch with no Ether reinforcement striking the concentrated Covering Armor was about the same as punching a rock—the hardest kind of granite, at that.
The impact force was reflected right back at him.
He took a step back, his right hand hanging at his side, fingers trembling slightly.
The entire activity room fell silent.
The upperclassmen who had been exchanging glances in the corner a moment ago were now staring wide-eyed, momentarily speechless.
Fraser’s hand, holding the stopwatch, was frozen in midair.
He instinctively glanced over at Warren in the corner, who knew the newcomer better than he did.
But the big, sturdy teenager’s reaction only confused him more.
The second Energy Bar this guy had been chewing on had already fallen onto his lap, scattering crumbs all over his pants.
"Fraser," Coleman said, turning his head.
"Huh? What is it?"
"I forfeit. I can’t fight anymore with this hand," he said, holding up his right hand for Fraser to see.
Fraser walked over to take a look, and his face paled.
"Your hand..."
"His fist is harder than a normal person’s," Coleman answered concisely.
"How hard?"
Coleman thought for a moment, then found a comparison.
"Harder than the tiles I used to break."
Henry was the first one who couldn’t hold it in any longer.
"Williams..." his voice was unsteady. "Are you hiding something in your hand?"
As soon as he spoke, the gazes of the other upperclassmen shifted over as well.
Richard didn’t rush to answer; Coleman spoke first.
"Henry, I watched him shake out his gloves and put them on."
"He didn’t have a chance to slip anything inside."
Coleman placed his injured hand on his knee and added:
"Besides, if he had something in his glove, the person being hit would be hurt worse."
Henry opened his mouth but couldn’t find a counterargument.
Fraser immediately chimed in, "I did the pre-match inspection myself."
"There was nothing."
The spectating upperclassmen looked at each other in bewilderment.
Parker came over and picked up Richard’s left hand to inspect it.
There was nothing unusual about the back of his hand. The skin, pores, fingernails—everything was normal.
"How do you train?" Parker asked.
"With dumbbells."
"...Even fifty-pound dumbbells can’t build a fist like that."
"Then I don’t know either."
Parker shook his head and put his hand down.
After a long moment, Henry stammered,
"...Mr. Williams, may I ask if you’ll be coming to train next time?"
Richard nearly stumbled when he heard that form of address.
Fraser burst out laughing.
"Henry, who are you calling ’Mister’?"
"I... I just..." Henry’s face turned beet red. "It just... slipped out."
Coleman’s expression twitched; he was obviously trying to hold back a laugh.
Fraser clapped Coleman on the shoulder.
"Go sit in the corner. I’ll get you some ice."
Coleman nodded and walked to the corner to sit down.
He paused for a moment as he passed Richard.
"Thanks."
"...For what?" Richard asked.
"For fighting seriously."
With that, Coleman walked away, sat down in the corner, and began to wait quietly for Fraser to bring him an ice pack.
Richard stood on the mat, pulling his gaze back from Coleman’s retreating figure.
In the activity room, the way everyone looked at him had changed.
The superiority hidden in their eyes, the half-mocking little smirks, the casual interest in seeing how long he would last... all of it was gone.
Warren leaped up from the mats and crossed over to Richard in three strides.
"Just now..." his voice was hushed, his eyes wide. "How did you do that?"
"It was a good angle."
"Good angle my ass!" Warren’s voice nearly shot up before he quickly suppressed it.
"I’ve taken a punch from Coleman, and let me tell you, that guy’s fist hits like a hammer. My ribs ached for days."
"You took his punch with your palm, and his own hand swelled up, but your hand is completely fine?"
Richard held out his left hand for Warren to see.
The palm was immaculate, without even a hint of a red mark.
Warren stared at the palm for several seconds before forcing out, "...Don’t tell me you were actually bestowed with some kind of Miracle at the Cicero Cup."
"No."
"That’s just freaky."

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