Blank Pressure

The location that had been marked on the map turned out to be an indoor training field—though calling it a “field” felt like an understatement. The place was huge. Even with what felt like the entire first-year batch packed inside, there was still so much empty space it almost made me dizzy. The ceiling stretched higher than any sports hall I’d seen back in Monarx 3, lights lining it like artificial stars.

What really caught my attention, though, were the upper balconies. Groups of second- and third-years leaned casually against the railings, watching us like we were entertainment. Maybe to them we were. I could already feel the weight of their stares—even if I told myself it didn’t matter, it still added pressure I didn’t ask for.

Still, I wasn’t nervous. Not really. My plan was simple: blend in, don’t stand out. Be average, and no one would bother remembering me.

We’d been issued training uniforms for the test, though they weren’t much different from the blazer ones—same muted palette, same stiff fabric, just swapped the formal look for something a little more “athletic.” I tugged at the collar. Didn’t really help.

The first test—Reaction Time—was already underway. Students lined up one by one in front of a machine at the center, and their scores popped up instantly on a massive screen overhead. The leaderboard updated live, bright numbers stacked against codename labels.

I stood somewhere in the middle of the line, waiting. Right in front of me was a girl from my class—if I remembered correctly, her codename was Mist. She was one of the few who hadn’t taken off her mask, just like me. Out of everyone here, only the two of us kept them on. It wasn’t like we planned it, but it almost made us stand out more.

Funny, isn’t it? When you want to blend in, the universe does the exact opposite.

No one seemed to care, though. If anything, it was like we were in a spotlight only we could see. She didn’t fidget, didn’t glance around. Just stood there like it was normal. Maybe she was used to it. Maybe she just didn’t care.

I wish I could say the same.

The screen flashed again—another result, another codename sliding into the rankings. Most of the times hovered around 250 milliseconds, nothing too impressive. But one name stood out near the top: Storm, with a sharp, almost untouchable 159ms.

I let out a quiet whistle under my breath. “Guess someone didn’t come here to be average.”

Impressive times, and Ace was sitting second on the leaderboard with something close. So far, no one seemed to be touching their records. I looked ahead—it was Mist’s turn.

Straight away, Mist snatched first place on the leaderboard. The reaction from the crowd was instant — gasps, whispers, even a couple of shouts from the back. Some upperclassmen who had been watching quietly leaned forward, clearly caught off guard. It wasn’t just that she was fast; it was that her worst attempt still outclassed Storm’s best by a margin that made it look like child’s play. She didn’t top her first score again, but honestly, she didn’t need to. One try was enough to make her dominance clear.

The instructor reset the device, and suddenly all eyes were on me. My turn.

I stepped forward, feeling every stare pin me in place. The machine in front of me looked simple enough, but somehow intimidating: a flat black screen with a hand imprint glowing faintly, and five tiny lights lined above it like the countdown on a starting grid. I hesitated, unsure what to even do, until one of the assistants quietly explained — hand on the screen, wait for the lights, release as soon as they go out. Quickest reflex wins. Easy… in theory.

“Just like race car drivers,” I muttered under my breath, trying to convince myself this was nothing. My heartbeat said otherwise.

I pressed my hand down, feeling the cool glass under my palm. The first light blinked on. Then the second. My chest tightened with each flash. Third. Fourth. Fifth. The silence in the room stretched thin, like everyone was holding their breath with me. Any second now—

All the lights cut out.

I yanked my hand back so fast I barely realized I’d moved, eyes snapping to the screen.

131ms.

For a second, I thought I read it wrong. But the numbers held. Second place. Just like that.

A ripple of murmurs spread through the students. My throat went dry. I hadn’t expected to land anywhere near the top, let alone right behind Mist.

I swallowed, refocusing. “Alright… not bad.”

But I wasn’t done yet. I had four more attempts to prove that first result wasn’t a fluke.

I could feel everyone’s reaction; it seemed they were more surprised by my codename than by my actual time. The results I put up were above average and stayed fairly consistent across all five tries.

Nobody looked like they were gambling on sheer luck by guessing the light’s timing—though I doubted anyone could pull that off five times straight without their inconsistency giving them away. Worst case, they’d jump too early and get exposed.

By the end of the first test, I had been pushed down to third place as someone else climbed ahead. That was when the leaderboard revealed the top five.

Certainly, I didn’t expect myself to be sitting in the top three of the reaction time leaderboard. Honestly, I thought I’d land somewhere in the middle at best, but there it was—my codename glowing near the top. Ace had just missed out, stuck in 6th place, but he didn’t seem fazed. That’s Ace for you—cool no matter what. Me? I was just relieved I hadn’t embarrassed myself.

“Who is this Loser guy?”

“HAHA! What a trash codename!”

And there it was. The whispers. The snickers. Just like I predicted, people were way more interested in the name than the time behind it. My codename stuck out like a sore thumb, and honestly? I didn’t have the energy to give them a reaction. Let them laugh.

“Impressive, Lock,” Ace said, walking over to congratulate the guy who snagged first place.

So that’s Lock. Judging by how casually Ace spoke, they already knew each other. And judging by the way half the girls in the room were eyeing them, Lock was already in that “popular, untouchable” tier. Figures. Some people just shine without even trying.

Then came the second test—a complete unknown.

The Frame Power Test.

The leaderboard filled fast. The same names kept circling the top, and, of course, Lock claimed first again like it was nothing.

Finally, my name was called. The instructor gave a quick nod.

“Right arm inside. Don’t fight it—just hold still.”

I slipped my arm into the device, and it clamped shut like a set of steel jaws. The pressure was sharp, biting, like the machine was testing not just my strength but whether I could endure being crushed. Ten seconds felt like a minute. My hand was starting to tingle when the device finally beeped.

The numbers blinked onto the board.

47th.

…then lower.

…and lower.

Until I was staring at my name at the very bottom—60th place.

The result was based on our max Frame Power detected by the machine, and the average hovered around 1200fp. Lock’s ridiculous score—2101fp—was a different exceptional. My result? 610fp. Not even close. The student just one rank above me had 1126fp. That gap stung more than the machine did.

The murmurs came immediately, louder this time.

“HAHA! He really is a loser.”

“That codename suits him too well.”

“How do you even score that low? That’s embarrassing.”

The spotlight was on me now, but not in a way anyone would ever want. My classmates’ eyes lingered, some pitying, most just entertained. My throat felt dry, but I kept my head down, like maybe ignoring them would make it easier.

A hand tapped my shoulder. Clocker. His face was calm, steady, like always.

“You holding up okay?” he asked quietly.

I forced a small smile. “Yeah. Just… wish I could peel all these eyes off me.”

He gave a short nod. “I get that.”

I hesitated, then blurted out what I’d been meaning to ask. “Hey… are you gonna participate in the final test?”

“Yup.” No hesitation, no second thought. Just that steady, certain answer.

Weirdly enough, that gave me some relief. Like as long as Clocker was going in, I wasn’t completely alone.

The second test ended. The humiliation lingered. But there was no time to dwell on it.

The third test was about to begin.

...

..."Clocker's POV"...

The first two tests were done, and now it was time for the third—the Physical Test. Honestly? I was feeling pretty good. This one was all about running, and running was something I could handle without overthinking it.

“Ace, Clocker, Lock, Prime, and Loser,” the speaker called.

“Clocker, Loser, come on, get ready,” Ace called.

I looked at Ace. “Wait… we’re running?”

“Yeah… I think so,” he said, stretching like he had all the time in the world. Classic Ace.

We walked toward the indoor track. Man, this place was huge. Even the lights made the lanes look like some kind of arena, and honestly, it kind of pumped me up. The sidelines were packed with students, all watching like it was the finals of some sports anime.

We lined up behind our lanes. I glanced at Loser, who was standing there calm as ever, like he was about to take a casual stroll instead of a sprint.

“Nervous?” I asked, trying to tease him a little.

“Sort of,” he said. Barely a shrug.

I looked down the track. Straight, simple, not too long. Easy, right? Well… only if you ignored the fact that I was up against some serious names. Lock, Ace, and Prime had been top-five in the second test. And Loser… well, he’d ranked third in the first. Definitely someone to watch.

The instructor waved his hand. Time to focus. I took a deep breath, tried to clear my head, but let’s be honest—I wasn’t the nervous type anyway.

Don’t jump the start. Don’t jump the start… yep, got it.

“READY,” the instructor called.

Then the whistle blew, and we were off.

Lock shot forward like he had rockets in his legs. Loser was right behind him, sticking close enough to make Lock sweat, if he even could. Ace and Prime weren’t far behind me, though I wasn’t losing any sleep over them.

I focused on my own pace, enjoying the burn in my legs and the wind in my face. Lock and Loser started pulling away, fast as hell—but here’s the thing: I noticed I could actually start closing in. Just a little. Then they surged again, pulling ahead like they had some hidden gear I didn’t know about. Loser stayed glued to Lock, giving him zero breathing room. Ace and Prime were close enough to remind me to stay sharp, but not enough to really pressure me.

And then it was over. Lock crossed first, but only by a hair—90 milliseconds ahead of Loser. I held third, barely ahead of Ace, with Prime trailing close behind.

“Almost got you,” Ace said, laughing and gasping at the same time.

“Almost, haha,” I replied, shaking my head. My lungs were burning, but it was a good kind of tired.

Loser, on the other hand… not a single sign of strain. No sweat, no heavy breathing, nothing. Low Frame Power or not, the guy was ridiculous.

Around me, students murmured.

“That Loser guy was close to winning.”

“Pretty sure Lock wasn’t even going full speed.”

I couldn’t stop watching them. Something about the way Lock and Loser finished felt… off. Loser hadn’t gone all out, but the gap was tiny. And I know that guy—he wouldn’t hold back unless he had a reason.

Man, I need to see what he’s really capable of. That’s going to be fun, I thought, smirking to myself.

The Physical Test was done. But between Loser and Lock… let’s just say I was already looking forward to the next round.

...

..."Open POV"...

Loser noticed something odd as he ran behind Lock earlier. Just as he was about to pull even, Lock slowed slightly, and instinctively, Loser did too.

What is he trying to pull off? he wondered.

It was a reminder that this test wasn’t just about sprinting—there were multiple challenges, and endurance mattered just as much. After the earlier rounds, Loser took a moment to shake out his limbs and rest. He needed energy for the next—and final—challenge.

Finally, the announcement came.

“All test participants, please get ready for the final physical test. Everyone, please get into a plank position,” the female voice boomed over the speakers.

“Ahh, I hate this…” someone groaned.

“Planks are the worst,” another muttered.

Complaints filled the room, but everyone got into position. Even the second and third years were leaning in, eyes sharp, silently judging the first-years.

“READY,” the instructor called.

The whistle blew. Every first-year lifted their bodies into a plank. Tension cracked the air.

Not even ten seconds in, hands started trembling, arms shaking under their own weight.

“Reno, OUT,” came the first call. A camera tracked every participant, detecting even the smallest lapse in form.

Time stretched like it would never end. Loser could hear the groans, the grunts, the subtle cries of frustration around him. He forced his mind to calm, to focus. Breathe. Steady. Don’t let this get to you.

Minutes passed. Students dropped one by one. Loser stayed strong, arms burning, core screaming, sweat dripping down his temples. He could feel his muscles quivering, his body threatening to give out—but he refused to let it.

“Hey, that Loser guy is still holding on.”

“Can’t believe I let him beat me earlier,” someone whispered.

Loser ignored them. Focus was everything.

Then…

“Clocker, OUT.”

Clocker’s body hit the floor. A cheer erupted from the sidelines. Loser realized he was moving up.

Wait… is it just me and Lock now? he thought, surprised. He hadn’t noticed how close it had come.

“Loser’s been on him all day, huh?” Ace commented.

“Yeah,” Clocker replied, trying to catch his breath.

The first-years crowded the sidelines, watching intently.

“COME ON, LOCK! BEAT THIS LOSER!” someone yelled.

Lock’s expression betrayed strain. Sweat soaked his shirt, arms trembling as he gritted his teeth.

“I can’t tell if Loser’s struggling or not… he doesn’t even take his mask off,” Ace murmured.

Loser’s eyes, calm and focused, gave nothing away. Not a twitch, not a wince. His body shook, core burning like fire, but he held the position, mind clear, breathing controlled.

The two locked eyes—a silent duel of determination. The room seemed to shrink around them, the noise of cheering fading into white noise. Every microsecond stretched, each second heavier than the last.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Loser exhaled and lowered his body.

“Loser, OUT.”

A roar erupted from the crowd.

“YEAH! No way Lock was losing that one!!”

Lock claimed the top spot once again, but this time, Loser was right behind him. The message was clear: Loser wasn’t just surviving—he was a serious contender, and everyone had noticed.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, arms trembling, lungs burning—but Loser felt satisfied. He had pushed himself to the limit, and even in defeat, he had proven just how far he could go.

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