The deacon stepped forward, calling four names in quick succession: Jabari, Chidi, Malia, and lastly, Gichinga – who had been granted the rare opportunity to take part in the assessment alongside the remaining seeded students.
"I hope you don't cry too badly after all this," Gichinga sneered, his lips curling into a malicious grin as he turned toward Jabari.
Jabari didn't even look at him – his gaze remained fixed ahead, calm and unmoved, as if Gichinga's presence barely warranted a passing thought.
That indifference made Gichinga's blood boil. His fists clenched so tightly that audible cracks echoed from the strain. Rage bubbled just beneath the surface as he vowed silently, 'I'll make you beg at my feet.'
Each of the four students took their place at one of the ten raised platforms. Before them stood rows of neatly arranged weights, beginning at 30kg and ascending in 5kg increments all the way up to the formidable 150kg mark.
With a gesture from the overseeing deacon, the assessment officially began.
Jabari didn't hesitate – he strode forward and gripped the 50kg weight. Six months ago, this had been his absolute limit. But now, as he lifted it with effortless grace, a quiet sigh escaped his lips – not of exertion, but of something deeper.
It was the sound of progress realised.
'So this is how far I've come…'
He stood there motionless, holding the 50kg weight as if it were a wooden staff, lost in silent reflection. Around him, the others had already begun to move.
Malia had just lifted her third weight – 75kg – with trembling arms but a victorious smile. Elder Amari's proud grin from the sidelines spoke volumes.
Chidi followed suit, lifting 95kg with visible strain but solid resolve.
Gichinga, ever the showman, was also on his third lift – 110kg – and doing so with relative ease, his cocky grin still firmly in place. But as he looked over and noticed Jabari still holding the same weight, confusion gave way to scorn.
"Hmph! Is this what your pathetic excuse for a mentor taught you these past six months? How to stand around and act mysterious?"
The snickers from his entourage rippled through the gathered crowd like a cold wind. But when Jabari turned to look at him, his gaze was like a glacier – frigid and piercing.
"You want to see the results of my training with my mentor?" Jabari said coldly, his voice like iron. "So be it."
He dropped the 50kg weight with a resounding thud that sent a subtle tremor through the platform. Without a word, he strode forward, bypassing every weight until he came to a stop before the 130kg weight – the minimum required for a five-star score.
The murmurs spread instantly.
"He's not really going for that, is he?" someone whispered.
"That's the five-star standard!"
"He'll get himself hurt!"
Gichinga scoffed, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Hahaha, your arrogance knows no-"
The sentence died in his throat.
Jabari crouched low. His fingers curled around the dense 130kg rock. With a sharp exhale, his muscles coiled like taut springs – and then, in one clean, explosive motion, he heaved it skyward.
The rock rose – slowly, deliberately – but it rose.
He stood tall, the full 130kg above his head, his expression unreadable as his eyes locked onto Gichinga's.
The field fell into stunned silence.
"He went from a one-star to a five-star result in just six months?" Danso asked, his voice barely audible.
"That's… that's impossible," Chantelle whispered, wide-eyed.
Jamal remained silent, but his expression betrayed his disbelief. Even Azurian, calm and stoic to a fault, looked as if he'd just seen a ghost.
August, however, didn't flinch. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. 'I'd expect nothing less.'
Up on the platform, Grand Elder Nala's eyes flicked toward Aziz. While the rest of the Elders watched in awe, Aziz looked completely unsurprised, arms crossed and mouth curved in smug satisfaction.
'Just how did he train him?' Nala wondered.
With his task complete, Jabari lowered the rock and dropped it without fanfare. Then, without sparing so much as a glance at anyone, he returned to his seat. The message was clear.
He had made his point. Loudly. Unforgettably.
And that was just the beginning.
Jabari's staggering display had a ripple effect. Inspired by his performance, the others taking part in the assessment pushed themselves beyond their limits, refusing to be left behind.
Malia, her breath ragged and arms shaking, managed to lift 80kg – setting a new personal best and earning herself a well-deserved three-star score in the Test of Fire. Though nowhere near Jabari's record, her progress was impressive in its own right.
Chidi, too, set a new milestone, hoisting the 100kg weight with determination burning in his eyes. Though he missed out on a four-star result by a single increment, he had nothing to be ashamed of.
As for Gichinga, he came in second with a solid lift of 125kg – just shy of five stars. But rather than pride, shame bloomed across his face.
"Dammit!" he hissed under his breath.
One more weight. Just one more. And yet, it had slipped through his fingers – along with his pride.
He avoided looking at Jabari as he stepped off the platform, but curiosity got the better of him. When he finally gathered the nerve, he found Jabari seated calmly, completely detached from the moment. The boy's gaze was distant, eyes fixed on the sky as a peaceful smile lingered on his lips.
Not once had he even acknowledged Gichinga's efforts.
'Just wait, Yah-Yah. I promise to get strong enough to save you,' Jabari vowed silently, lost in the joy of his own growth.
The assessment rolled into its second event – the 100-metre dash. The four competitors lined up, their feet on the blocks, anticipation rippling across the field like a taut string.
Jabari stood to the right of Gichinga, once again not sparing him so much as a glance.
To Gichinga, that hurt more than any insult.
'I can't lose. I refuse to lose!' he growled internally, muscles tightening in preparation.
"On your marks…" came the deacon's voice.
Gichinga lowered himself into a sprinting stance, his right leg coiled like a spring.
"Get set…"
Every muscle in his body bristled with tension.
"GO!"
He launched forward like a bullet, pushing off with everything he had. Fury and humiliation from the previous test surged through him, fuelling his stride.
'Faster than I've ever gone… I won't lo-'
The thought died mid-sentence.
To his right, Jabari surged past like a lightning bolt – graceful, precise, impossibly fast.
'Impossible!' Gichinga's eyes widened as he watched the gap between them grow wider with each step. He tried to push harder, dig deeper – but it was hopeless.
Onlookers stared in disbelief as Jabari devoured the track, his form fluid and effortless. Even the Elders leaned forward, some standing from their seats.
"This isn't the same boy from the selection…" one Deacon muttered.
"Jabari, 10.99 seconds!" the overseeing deacon called out, stunned.
A wave of awe spread through the students like wildfire. Those who had mocked Jabari days before now gawked in silence. Even Supreme Elder Diallo, seated with arms folded, could not hide the flicker of surprise in his eyes.
Among the deacons, Kwame leaned back and smiled faintly. 'I guess I was worried for nothing.'
Chidi came in next, clocking a time of 11.14 seconds – his best ever. It earned him a solid four-star result, but his gaze remained fixed on Jabari. He knew full well who had stolen the spotlight today.
Jabari was already walking calmly back to his seat, unfazed by the astonished murmurs.
Then came Gichinga.
He crossed the line at 11.38 seconds – a four-star result and a personal best. Under any other circumstance, it would have earned him applause.
But not today. Not when all eyes held a mix of pity and disappointment.
Gichinga's fists trembled as he walked, knuckles white and lips drawn into a thin line. As he scanned the crowd – in search of encouragement or admiration – all he found was avoidance.
His fellow students – those who usually followed him and hung on his every word – refused to meet his gaze. Some turned away entirely.
And then, he looked to the elite: the genuine seeded students who had ascended into the ranks of true Beast Warriors.
Chantelle. Danso. Azurian. August.
Their expressions were clear – cold, disinterested, and worst of all… unimpressed.
The bitter taste of humiliation flooded his mouth, but nothing stung more than the cold glance he received from Chantelle. It wasn't anger or disappointment – it was disdain.
Something inside him cracked.
'This is all his fault!' Gichinga seethed, eyes reddening as he stared daggers into Jabari's back. 'Just you wait. This is far from over…'
"Is it just me, or did it look like Jabari was holding back during that sprint?" Elder Idir asked, his brows furrowed as his gaze remained locked on the boy in question. His eyes gleamed with intensity, as though willing the truth to reveal itself through sheer focus. "It was almost as if he ran a 10.99 on purpose."
"That's impossible!" Bamidele snapped back, clearly unconvinced. "Even I'd struggle to manage that level of precision without a strict timekeeper."
To the Elders, Jabari's pace hadn't been exceptional in raw speed. In truth, it had been a light jog compared to their standards. But what had caught their attention wasn't the speed – it was the time he came in at, and what it meant.
The ability to regulate one's movement down to the millisecond wasn't just rare; it was absurd. Such meticulous mastery was typically reserved for the strongest among Beast-Warriors. Not a first-year student, and certainly not one from the slums.
Though none voiced it, most silently sided with Bamidele's reasoning. To think Jabari had already reached such a level of bodily refinement in a matter of months was…
Impossible…
It had to be!
Nala's eyes slid toward the man seated beside her, her thoughts drifting like clouds. She wasn't the only one.
Even Diallo, whose pride rarely allowed him to question his own assumptions, was beginning to feel a strange unease.
He didn't want to admit it – not even to himself – but there was something about the way Jabari carried himself. That detached calm…
The way he crossed the finish line with neither fatigue nor exhilaration.
It was the look of someone in complete control.
'No,' he told himself. 'That can't be possible.'
He briefly considered asking Aziz directly, to demand what kind of training he had been putting the boy through… but pride held his tongue.
Not here. Not now. Not when he'd already cast public doubt on Jabari's qualifications. Admitting he was wrong – worse, inferior – was a pill far too bitter to swallow.
Aziz, of course, felt their scrutiny like heat on his skin. He didn't need to hear their thoughts to know what they were thinking. And from the burning intensity of Nala's stare, it was obvious they believed Jabari's astonishing growth had everything to do with his training.
They weren't wrong. But they didn't know the whole truth.
Jabari's control was indeed the result of countless hours honing the [Cloudy Demon Style], a martial art that demanded perfect harmony between body and mind. But his precision – crossing the line at exactly 10.99 seconds – wasn't merely from physical training.
No.
Jabari had activated his bloodline ability to enhance his thought-processing speed. Every step had been calculated; every muscle contraction timed to the beat of an internal metronome that only he could hear. It was a marriage of muscle control and cognitive speed – a level of mastery most could only dream of.
And Jabari had done it for one reason alone.
To make a statement.
Aziz had sensed the frustration growing in his apprentice over the last few months. Being doubted, mocked, underestimated – those things hadn't disappeared just because he was training in private.
This was Jabari's time to prove his ability once and for all, his opportunity to forcibly close the mouths of all those who dared to look down on him – this was his time to vent all of his frustrations on a stage that really mattered!
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