Malcolm stared at the small storage ring resting in his palm. The plain metal band was cracked along one side, its enchantment flickering weakly in the late afternoon light that filtered through the twisted branches above his workspace. He'd found it earlier that day, buried in a heap of discarded jewelry from the enchantment department—a student's failed project, tossed away because of its imperfection.

  But to Malcolm, it represented possibility.

  Storage rings were essentially miniature soul spaces contained within physical objects—or so Jirou had explained during one of their increasingly frequent discussions about magical theory. Even damaged, this one might still hold the spatial properties he desperately needed to understand.

  "You gonna stare at that thing all day, or actually do something with it?"

  Malcolm jumped, nearly dropping the ring as Sorha's voice cut through his concentration. She appeared from behind a pile of discarded equipment, dressed in the dark blue practice robes of the mid-level students, her long hair tied back in a simple knot that was distinctly less fussy than the elaborate styles favored by Kagetsu natives.

  "Don't sneak up on me like that," Malcolm complained, clutching the ring protectively. "I'm thinking."

  "Thinking looks a lot like stalling from where I'm standing." Sorha settled onto a crate across from him, her posture relaxed in a way that marked her as another foreigner. No Kagetsu native would slouch so comfortably, even in private. "That's an interesting find. Storage enchantment?"

  Malcolm nodded, turning the ring over to show her the cracked section. "Flawed, but still functional. I'm hoping it might help me understand spatial manipulation better."

  What he didn't say—couldn't say—was that he planned to process it through his void pool to see what happened. Would the spatial properties transfer to his soul space? Would they enhance the pool itself? The possibilities made his fingertips tingle with anticipation.

  "Midterm evaluations are less than a week away," Sorha observed, absently plucking a dried leaf from a nearby plant and twirling it between her fingers. "Heard you've been assigned a particularly... thorough assessment."

  Malcolm's excitement dimmed. "Grandmaster Kaiven's special evaluation. Yeah, pretty much everyone's heard about that by now." He pocketed the ring with a sigh. "Apparently my 'unconventional methodologies warrant comprehensive documentation and demonstration,'" he quoted, mimicking the formal Kagetsu accent of the official notice he'd received.

  "Kaiven doesn't waste his time on first-years without reason," Sorha said, her tone carefully neutral. "You've made quite the impression."

  "Not intentionally," Malcolm grumbled. "I'm just trying to get through the coursework. It's not my fault their traditional methods are needlessly complicated."

  Sorha's mouth quirked upward. "And it's not their fault that your shortcuts undermine centuries of established practice." She held up a hand as Malcolm started to protest. "I'm not saying they're right—just that you need to understand their perspective if you want to survive here."

  "That's basically what Tsuji told me too. 'New branches grow from existing trunks' or whatever." Malcolm ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "But I can't connect my methods to their theories when I don't fully understand how mine work in the first place."

  "Then perhaps it's time you did," Sorha said simply.

  Malcolm blinked at her. "What, just... figure it out? Thanks, super helpful."

  "I mean," she said with exaggerated patience, "that you should approach your ability as a research subject, not just a tool. Document everything—variations in results, processing times, energy requirements. Build your own theoretical framework based on observation rather than trying to force your square method into their round traditions."

  It was good advice, similar to what Elder Mozu had suggested. But time was running short, and Malcolm's understanding of theoretical principles remained frustratingly limited despite his sessions with Riven.

  "I've been trying," he admitted. "But there's only so much I can learn from books without revealing what I'm really researching. And the restricted section, where the really useful stuff probably is, might as well be in another kingdom."

  Sorha's eyes sharpened with interest. "The restricted section holds many treasures for those bold enough to seek them," she said, lowering her voice despite their isolated location. "Including, perhaps, historical accounts of unusual soul space manifestations."

  Malcolm stared at her. "How did you—"

  "Elder Mozu isn't the only one who knows about the faulty window latch," she interrupted with a sly smile. "Though I prefer the ventilation shaft access myself. Less exposed."

  "You've been in the restricted section?" Malcolm leaned forward eagerly. "What's in there? Did you see anything about pools or decomposition processes in soul spaces?"

  "I've accessed it a few times for my own research," Sorha admitted. "Mostly focusing on cross-cultural magical theory that contradicts Imperial Standard methodology." Her expression turned thoughtful. "I didn't specifically look for soul space anomalies, but I recall seeing several ancient texts on non-standard manifestations. One in particular discussed what it called 'transformative receptacles'—soul space features that actively altered materials rather than simply storing them."

  Malcolm's heart raced. That sounded exactly like his void pool. "I need to see those texts."

  "A risky endeavor with midterms approaching," Sorha cautioned. "Getting caught would certainly complicate your already precarious situation."

  "Getting failed by Grandmaster Kaiven would end it completely," Malcolm countered. "I need something concrete to connect my methods to established theory, or I'm done for."

  Sorha studied him for a long moment, then nodded decisively. "Tomorrow night, second bell. Meet me at the eastern storage buildings. Wear dark colors, and for spirits' sake, try to move quietly for once."

  Malcolm grinned, already feeling lighter despite the risks ahead. "I can be stealthy when I need to be."

  "Evidence suggests otherwise," Sorha replied dryly, rising to her feet. "But necessity often awakens hidden talents." She glanced at the sky, where the setting sun painted the clouds in deepening orange. "Curfew approaches. I suggest you complete whatever experiment you were planning with that ring before returning to the dormitories."

  As she walked away, Malcolm pulled the storage ring from his pocket, turning it over in his fingers. One more experiment before nightfall couldn't hurt. And if it yielded insights that might help with his evaluation, all the better.

  He settled onto his stool and closed his eyes, accessing his soul space with the practiced ease of frequent use. The cramped spherical area appeared in his mind—still frustratingly small at barely a meter in diameter, with the bowl-sized void pool at the bottom pulsing with that strange, eager energy he'd come to recognize. His collection of essence orbs hovered in their organized constellation, each one a different color and intensity depending on its source material.

  Malcolm guided the damaged storage ring into his soul space and carefully moved it toward the pool. Unlike organic materials, which the pool pulled in eagerly, this enchanted item seemed to resist, hovering just above the obsidian-like surface as if repelled by some invisible force.

  Interesting, Malcolm thought. He applied a bit more mental pressure, pushing the ring downward. Still it resisted, the enchantment within it pulsing more vigorously as if fighting against decomposition.

  Malcolm frowned in concentration. None of his previous experiments with enchanted items had shown this level of resistance. Then again, most had been simple objects with minor enchantments—glowing markers, warming stones, minor focusing crystals. This storage ring, despite its flawed state, contained actual spatial manipulation magic.

  He pushed harder, mentally insisting that the pool accept the item. With a sudden lurch that felt almost violent, the ring finally broke through the surface and sank beneath the obsidian liquid.

  The reaction was immediate and unlike anything Malcolm had experienced before. The pool began to bubble furiously, its surface roiling as if boiling. A high-pitched whine filled his soul space, painful in its intensity, and Malcolm felt a sharp pressure building behind his eyes.

  In the physical world, his body jerked involuntarily. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his breath came in short, ragged gasps. His fingers clutched the edge of his stool so tightly his knuckles turned white.

  This was a mistake, he realized too late. He tried to pull back, to somehow retrieve the ring before the process completed, but the decomposition had already begun. The pool pulsed with blinding light, forcing Malcolm to mentally shield himself from its intensity.

  The pressure in his head built to an unbearable level, a white-hot pain lancing through his temples. His physical body trembled, a trickle of blood running from his nose down to his lip with a metallic taste. Just when Malcolm thought he might pass out from the agony, something shifted.

  A sensation like fabric tearing rippled through his consciousness, followed by a rush of cool relief as the pressure suddenly released. The whining stopped, the light faded, and the pool settled back to its usual calm state.

  But something had changed. Something fundamental.

  Malcolm's soul space felt... different. Larger, somehow, though not dramatically so. The confining boundaries that had always pressed close around him seemed to have receded by perhaps half a meter in all directions, giving him a sense of breadth he'd never experienced before.

  The void pool itself had changed too. No longer a small bowl-sized depression, it had expanded to roughly the size of a dinner plate, its obsidian surface deeper and more luminous than before.

  At the edge of the pool lay several distinct items—a small nugget of pure metal, a pile of crystalline dust, and most notably, a perfect sphere of swirling silver-blue energy unlike any essence orb he'd processed before. This one pulsed with a strange, rhythmic pattern, as if breathing, and when Malcolm mentally reached toward it, he felt a peculiar stretching sensation in the fabric of his soul space.

  The spatial properties, he realized with excitement. The ring's enchantment had been extracted and preserved as pure essence, separate from its physical components.

  Cautiously, Malcolm guided the silver-blue orb toward the expanded boundaries of his soul space. As it approached the wall, the orb seemed to melt into it, spreading like water across a surface before being absorbed entirely. The boundary rippled, flickered, then settled—now with a faint silver sheen that hadn't been there before.

  "Holy shit," Malcolm whispered, opening his eyes and returning to physical awareness. His head throbbed dully, an echo of the intense pain he'd experienced during the process, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the elation he felt.

  He had expanded his soul space. Not through months of diligent meditation as tradition demanded, but through direct absorption of spatial properties from a decomposed storage item.

  The implications were enormous. If processing one damaged ring could expand his space by half a meter, what might happen with more powerful storage artifacts? Could he potentially grow his space to rival those of advanced students without years of traditional cultivation?

  More importantly for his immediate concerns, this discovery provided a concrete connection between his void pool's abilities and established theory. The decomposition process didn't just destroy items—it preserved and transferred their magical properties in usable forms.

  Malcolm gathered his things with renewed energy, his mind racing with possibilities. Tomorrow night's restricted section expedition with Sorha could wait. Right now, he needed to document this breakthrough while it was fresh in his mind. Perhaps this was exactly the theoretical foundation he needed to survive Grandmaster Kaiven's evaluation.

  As he hurried back toward the Academy buildings, the evening bell tolling in the distance, Malcolm didn't notice the dark figure watching from the shadow of a storage shed, or the narrow eyes that followed his excited steps with calculating interest.

  "Perfect evenness is essential to proper energy circulation," Professor Liko intoned, circling the practical laboratory with her hands clasped tightly behind her back. "Your cutting technique reflects your internal discipline—or lack thereof."

  Malcolm suppressed a sigh as he looked down at his chopped herbs. Despite his best efforts, the pieces varied slightly in size, lacking the machine-like uniformity achieved by his Kagetsu classmates. It wasn't for lack of trying—he'd been practicing the precise cutting method for weeks—but his Western hands seemed to resist the ritualized movements the tradition demanded.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  "Sinclair-san," Professor Liko paused behind him, her disapproval palpable. "Your technique continues to prioritize speed over precision. This is the fundamental difference between Kagetsu alchemy and mere... cooking."

  Several students failed to hide their smirks at the professor's thinly veiled insult. Koda Mei, seated two tables away, whispered something to her neighbor that provoked quiet laughter. Tsuji, working at the next station, shifted uncomfortably and angled his body away from Malcolm, as if poor cutting technique might be contagious.

  The sharp scent of bruised herbs filled Malcolm's nostrils as he looked down at his work – so different from the clean, almost scentless cuts his classmates achieved. The pungent oils released by his rougher technique wafted upward, marking him as different in yet another sensory way.

  Malcolm bit his tongue, resisting the urge to point out that his "imprecise" herbal mixture would likely produce results identical to theirs—or better, if he secretly used his void pool essences to enhance it. His fingers tightened around the small cutting tool, the wooden handle slick with sweat from his palm.

  "Yes, Professor," he said instead, carefully adjusting his grip. "I'll work on my consistency."

  His jaw ached from clenching it so hard. Three weeks of practicing the same stupid cut, and for what? Back home, these herbs would be crushed, not sliced into perfect little matchsticks that all had to line up just so.

  "See that you do. Your midterm evaluation will assess fundamental techniques as well as final results." Her gaze sharpened. "Particularly in your case, where process documentation is under... special scrutiny."

  The reminder of his impending evaluation twisted Malcolm's stomach into knots. Three days remained before he would need to demonstrate his methods to Grandmaster Kaiven and a panel of senior instructors, explaining techniques he barely understood himself while concealing his void pool's true nature.

  Despite his breakthrough with the storage ring, Malcolm still lacked a coherent theoretical framework to explain his results. His expanded soul space—now a respectable one and a half meters in diameter—gave him more room to work with his essence orbs, but did nothing to solve his immediate academic dilemma.

  Professor Liko moved on to criticize another student, giving Malcolm a moment to breathe. He glanced across the laboratory and caught Jirou watching him with an unreadable expression. The studious boy quickly looked away, returning to his own perfectly uniform herb cutting.

  Their friendship—if it could be called that—had grown increasingly strained as Malcolm's academic troubles became common knowledge. Jirou seemed torn between genuine intellectual curiosity about Malcolm's methods and concern about associating with someone under such intense scrutiny.

  As the practical session continued, Malcolm went through the motions mechanically, his mind elsewhere. Tonight was his arranged meeting with Sorha to access the restricted section. If they succeeded, he might finally find historical precedent for his void pool—something to legitimize his techniques in terms the Academy would recognize.

  When the session finally ended, Malcolm packed his materials with unusual care, making sure nothing would spill in his bag during his evening adventures. As he turned to leave, he nearly collided with Mira, who had appeared silently at his workstation.

  "Master Seiran requests your presence immediately," she said without preamble, her expression giving away nothing.

  Malcolm's heart sank. Had they somehow discovered his plans for tonight? Was this another complication in his already precarious situation?

  "Did he say what for?" he asked, shouldering his bag.

  "He did not share details," Mira replied, "but mentioned it concerns your upcoming evaluation."

  Great. More pressure, exactly what he needed.

  Malcolm followed Mira through the winding corridors of the academy, past classrooms where students sat in perfect rows, their posture as rigid as the traditions they studied. The late afternoon sunlight slanted through paper-screened windows, casting elongated shadows across the polished wooden floors and highlighting the dust motes that danced in the still air.

  Master Seiran's office was exactly as Malcolm remembered it—cluttered in a way that seemed at odds with Kagetsu precision, scrolls and books stacked in precarious towers on every available surface. The master himself sat behind his desk, a small ceramic cup of steaming tea untouched beside him as he studied a scroll with intense concentration.

  "Ah, Sinclair-san," he said, looking up as Malcolm entered and bowed. "Thank you for coming promptly." He nodded to Mira. "That will be all, Kazai-san."

  Mira bowed and withdrew, sliding the door closed with barely a whisper of sound. Malcolm remained standing, suddenly acutely aware of his rumpled appearance and ink-stained fingers—physical manifestations of his failure to embody Kagetsu precision.

  "Sir," he began, unable to bear the silence, "if this is about my evaluation—"

  "It is," Master Seiran interrupted, setting aside his scroll. "But perhaps not in the way you anticipate." He studied Malcolm for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Your academic situation has become... complex."

  That's an understatement, Malcolm thought.

  "Grandmaster Kaiven's interest in your methodologies is unusual," Master Seiran continued. "As is the level of documentation being required for a first-year student."

  "I'm doing my best to prepare," Malcolm said, which was true enough. "Riven-san has been helping me organize my notes."

  "Indeed. Tairo-san has shared his observations with me." Master Seiran's tone revealed nothing of what those observations might have been. "He notes a significant discrepancy between your theoretical explanations and your practical results."

  Malcolm's mouth went dry. Here it was—the confrontation he'd been dreading.

  "I'm still learning to articulate the processes," he managed. "In Redoak, we focus more on results than theory."

  "So you have said repeatedly," Master Seiran agreed. "Yet your results consistently exceed what should be possible given your described methods." He leaned forward slightly. "This suggests either exceptional natural talent or..." he paused, "incomplete disclosure."

  The accusation, however gently delivered, hung in the air between them. Malcolm fought the urge to fidget, to look away, to do anything that might betray his guilt.

  "I'm still figuring things out myself," he said carefully. "Some of what I do is intuitive, based on years of watching my family work. It's hard to break down into formal steps."

  Master Seiran sighed, a rare display of emotion. "Sinclair-san, I have been instructing students for over thirty years. I recognize the difference between intuitive process and... alternative methodology." He picked up his tea, studying the liquid thoughtfully. "The Academy's traditions exist for valid reasons, but they are not without limitations. Throughout history, progress has often come from those who question established practices."

  Malcolm stared at him, unsure where this unexpected philosophical turn was leading.

  "Your upcoming evaluation presents a crossroads," Master Seiran continued. "Grandmaster Kaiven represents the purest traditional approach—rigorous, methodical, and deeply resistant to innovation. He will expect complete theoretical alignment with established principles."

  "Which I can't provide," Malcolm said quietly.

  "Not without significant... creative interpretation," Master Seiran agreed, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Hence my concern."

  He set down his cup and rose, moving to a small cabinet nestled between towering bookshelves. From it, he withdrew a slender volume bound in faded green leather, its cover unmarked except for a simple spiral symbol embossed in the center.

  "This text is not part of the standard curriculum," Master Seiran said, holding the book carefully. "Indeed, it is generally restricted to advanced theoretical researchers." He extended it toward Malcolm. "It discusses alternative manifestations of spiritual energy and their historical applications—including certain... receptive formations within soul spaces."

  Malcolm's heart skipped a beat. Could this be the information he'd been planning to risk punishment to find in the restricted section tonight?

  "Sir, I don't understand," he said, hesitantly accepting the book. "Why would you share restricted material with me?"

  Master Seiran returned to his desk, his movements deliberate. "Because balance requires both tradition and innovation. Grandmaster Kaiven represents the former admirably, but without the latter, knowledge stagnates." He met Malcolm's gaze directly. "I do not know precisely what methods you are employing, Sinclair-san, but I recognize genuine discovery when I see it. Such discoveries should be understood, not simply suppressed because they fail to conform to existing frameworks."

  Malcolm clutched the book tightly, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing. "Are you... helping me prepare for the evaluation?"

  "I am providing academic resources relevant to theoretical development," Master Seiran corrected smoothly. "How you utilize them is, of course, entirely your decision." He picked up another scroll, signaling the conversation's end. "That volume must be returned within three days. It should not be removed from your dormitory, and under no circumstances should its source be mentioned to others."

  "I understand," Malcolm said, bowing deeply. "Thank you, Master Seiran."

  The master nodded once, already turning his attention back to his work. "Good day, Sinclair-san. I look forward to observing your evaluation."

  As Malcolm left the office, the precious book tucked safely in his bag, his mind whirled with confusion and hope. Had Master Seiran just tacitly encouraged him to continue his unorthodox methods? Was this a trap, or genuine support from an unexpected ally?

  Either way, he now possessed potentially crucial information without having to risk sneaking into the restricted section. He needed to find Sorha immediately and cancel their plans for tonight. Then he could devote every available hour to studying this text before his evaluation.

  Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a path forward after all.

  "Chapter III: Transformative Manifestations in Spiritual Domains," Malcolm read aloud, his voice hushed despite the privacy of his hidden workspace in the dumping ground. He'd been unable to find Sorha before curfew the previous night, and had spent a restless night reading Master Seiran's book by the dim light filtering through his dormitory window, careful not to wake Tsuji.

  The text had proven both illuminating and frustratingly obscure, written in the formal, circuitous style of classical alchemical treatises. But buried within the dense paragraphs were descriptions that matched his void pool with uncanny accuracy.

  "'The Absorptive Nexus,'" he continued reading, "'represents the rarest form of soul space specialization, appearing in less than one practitioner per generation. Unlike standard spiritual domains which maintain material integrity, the Nexus actively deconstructs substances introduced to it, separating composite materials into their fundamental essences.'"

  Malcolm leapt to his feet, unable to contain himself. "That's it! That's exactly what it does!" He paced in a tight circle, gesturing wildly with the book. "All this time I thought I was some kind of freak with a defective soul space, but it's an actual thing with a name and everything!"

  Sorha leaned forward, her usual composed demeanor giving way to genuine excitement. "That's exactly what your pool does, isn't it? Complete deconstruction rather than simple storage."

  Malcolm nodded eagerly, nearly tripping over a root as he continued pacing. "Listen to this part," he said, dropping back down beside her so suddenly she had to shift to make room. His finger traced the lines as he read, practically bouncing on his makeshift seat: "'The process yields three distinct products: purified material bases, concentrated essence manifestations, and ambient spiritual energy. This tripartite division reflects the fundamental alchemical principle that all substances comprise physical form, essential nature, and binding energy.'"

  "This is remarkable," Sorha breathed. "An actual historical precedent for your ability, documented within traditional alchemical theory."

  "There's more," Malcolm said, flipping to a page he'd marked with a scrap of paper, the words tumbling out so fast they nearly tripped over each other. "'Practitioners manifesting an Absorptive Nexus typically display delayed or atypical flame cultivation, as their spiritual energy naturally flows toward decomposition rather than transformation. This is not a deficiency but a specialization, wherein the universal alchemical flame manifests as dissolving rather than consuming.'"

  He looked up at Sorha, his face flushed with vindication. "This explains everything! Why I can't produce a standard flame, why my soul space started so small, why the pool processes materials differently than traditional methods. It's not wrong—it's just a rare specialization!"

  "The Academy recognizes this as legitimate?" Sorha asked, her practical nature asserting itself. "This isn't some fringe theory?"

  "The book was written by Grandmaster Ito during the Fifth Dynasty," Malcolm replied. "He was head of theoretical studies for the Imperial Academy itself. About as legitimate as it gets." He hesitated, then added, "Though Master Seiran did say it's restricted to advanced researchers now."

  "Interesting that he would share it with you," Sorha said, eyes narrowing. "Right before Kaiven's evaluation too."

  "I think he's giving me a fighting chance," Malcolm said, turning the book over in his hands. "A way to explain what I'm doing without actually revealing, you know, what I'm actually doing."

  Sorha leaned back, arms crossed. "Dangerous game. If Kaiven figures out Seiran's helping you..." She shook her head. "Those two factions have barely tolerated each other for decades. You could end up as collateral damage in their power struggle."

  Malcolm hadn't considered the broader implications. He'd been so focused on his own precarious situation that the idea of being caught in some larger academic power struggle hadn't occurred to him.

  "So what should I do?" he asked, spreading his hands in frustration. "I can't pretend my methods are something they're not. Sooner or later, someone's going to figure out what's really happening."

  "Perhaps that's inevitable," Sorha acknowledged. "But you can control how and when the revelation occurs." She tapped the book thoughtfully. "This text gives you legitimate terminology and historical context for your ability. Use it to frame your explanation on your terms, rather than being exposed on someone else's."

  Malcolm considered this. The book provided exactly what he needed—a bridge between his unique ability and established alchemical theory. With proper preparation, he might be able to present the void pool—or the "Absorptive Nexus," as he should now call it—as a rare but recognized specialization rather than a strange aberration.

  "I need to prepare a demonstration that shows the connection," he said, thinking aloud. "Something that proves the decomposition process follows traditional alchemical principles, just through a different mechanism."

  "The evaluation is two days away," Sorha reminded him. "Whatever you're planning, it needs to be convincing enough to satisfy even the most rigid traditionalist."

  Malcolm's gaze fell on his collection of essence orbs, carefully stored in small vials arranged across his workspace. Each represented a successfully processed material, its essential properties extracted and preserved in pure form.

  "I need to create something they can't dismiss," he said slowly, tapping his fingers against his knee in a rapid rhythm. "Something that proves my method isn't just a shortcut, but a legitimate alternative with unique advantages."

  "A practical application that traditional methods can't achieve," Sorha agreed, absently braiding and unbraiding a strand of her hair. "Something impressive enough to force acknowledgment, even from Kaiven."

  Malcolm's eyes lit up as inspiration struck. He jumped to his feet again, this time nearly knocking over a pile of salvaged containers. "Not just impressive—necessary." He leaned forward eagerly, hands gesturing as if he could physically grab the idea floating before him. "What if I could solve a problem the traditional approach has failed to address? Something valuable enough that even traditionalists would have to recognize its worth?"

  "Such as?" Sorha prompted, catching a jar before it rolled off the table.

  "I don't know yet," Malcolm admitted, running both hands through his hair until it stood up in wild tufts. He paced three steps one way, then back, the confined space of his hideout barely containing his energy. "But I've got two days to figure it out." He snatched up the book with a grin that was half excitement, half desperation. "And now I've got the theoretical framework to back it up."

  As they continued discussing possibilities, Malcolm shifting between sitting, standing, and pacing, Sorha occasionally interjecting with practical considerations, the forest around them grew dimmer. A cool breeze rustled through the piles of discarded materials, carrying the earthy scent of approaching evening and the distant chime of the Academy bells.

  His evaluation still presented a significant challenge, but no longer an insurmountable one. With proper preparation and the right demonstration, he might not only survive Grandmaster Kaiven's scrutiny but actually gain academic recognition for his unique specialization.

  All he needed now was the perfect application to showcase its value—something impressive enough to silence even the most traditional critics.

  Two days. The clock was ticking.