My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 2 2: Graduation Day: The Perfect Time to Make Enemies

In the private hall of Avenue Academy, I was positioned alongside roughly 100 fellow boys and girls, divided into various clusters. The hall featured merely a platform up front, with the remaining area vast and empty—no chairs, purely for standing.

The motto of our academy rang clear: "Man today, soldier tomorrow."

Given that mindset, why would they offer us any ease?

Man today... I couldn't shake the curiosity about how the girls present felt regarding that phrase. Doubtless, their views on it differed greatly.

Yet comfort held no appeal for me. What drove me was the craving for thrill and motion.

Thus, I lingered with my buddies, throwing mock jabs right in front of Steve's features. The teacher wouldn't arrive for another quarter hour, but impatience gripped me, so my strikes hovered mere inches from Steve's visage.

Steve remained as ever, eyelids drooped halfway, fingers tucked in his trouser pockets, observing my swings without a single flutter.

'If only my fist carried the force to whip his locks backward at least.'

Nik, among my companions, inquired.

"Hey, Billion, did you catch any shut-eye last night?"

Before a syllable escaped me, Feng, yet another pal, interjected.

"Doubt it. Probably he was buzzing wildly with that vigor."

Truth was, I had rested.

Actually, I dozed off sooner than typical, solid as stone.

I merely yearned for the darkness to fade. Sleeping proved the ideal method. Shut your lids at dusk, fling them open, and whoosh—morning arrives.

I crouched a bit, directing my blows toward Steve's torso now.

"Nah, Feng. I slumbered without a hitch."

I uttered amid the swings, yearning to connect with actual skin.

"I simply longed for this day to dawn... without delay."

All at once, Steve's focus drifted from my assaults, eyeing elsewhere.

I traced his stare.

A cluster of ten lads advanced our way. Leading was Cena, the notorious troublemaker of our class.

Types like him popped up inevitably in any crowd. His lackeys shadowed him closely, akin to insects trailing their leader.

I halted my jabs and rose tall, slipping my palms into my pockets.

I angled my head subtly, thrust my chest forward, and strode directly at the approaching menace.

As the leader of our crew, confronting such dangers fell to me, and I embraced that role with utmost gravity.

I sensed Steve pivot and match my pace, prepared to confront Cena too.

He bent near and murmured.

"Keep it in check. Don't let you ignite trouble and spoil my remaining hours, except if he swings first."

I merely dipped my chin, fixing my sight on Cena.

Steve and I progressed toward Cena's posse, while they barreled right at us. With each stride, the gap narrowed until we halted mere paces apart, near enough for a strike without advancing.

I arranged it deliberately. Craving to bash this fool. Perhaps even warp his hideous mug.

But was it feasible? No. Regulations of the academy.

I fixed my stare on him, eyes defiant, awaiting his words to taint the atmosphere.

And predictably, he obliged.

Cena smirked, his tone laced with spite.

"Billion, how I'd love to grind your mug into the soil and hawk on it. Yet these cursed regulations restrain me. Only one more day, and starting tomorrow, you'd best cleanse your throat and brace for this Sovereign to claim you."

I pondered what twisted thoughts brewed in this fellow's mind.

Who spouts such drivel? We were mere youths entangled in school feuds, yet he played the antagonist without cause.

What wrong had I inflicted? Admittedly, I'd bested him in a few practice bouts, but isn't that the point of practice? Who takes offense at that?

Fine, perhaps I urged his girl to leave him, but I spared her from his sort. Any upright soul would act likewise. And yes, he faced a 15-day ban due to me, but why did he pick on Steve? I couldn't overlook it.

I flashed a smile, betting that prodding him sufficiently might provoke at least a swat. Then I'd possess just cause to humble him.

"You see, Cena," I remarked, edging nearer, "I came across that sovereigns disdain rules. They forge their path.

Thus, your majesty, I politely beseech you to disregard the academy codes and grant me a few blows and smacks."

I maintained my lock on him, smile broadening.

Snickers echoed from the surrounding throng, and I observed Cena's grin fade into a scowl.

Well, he's perpetually a tad slow and clumsy with retorts.

"Laugh freely for now," Cena jeered, inching forward, his tone hushed and threatening.

"But true existence commences tomorrow."

I observed his approach, and he drew close, his exhale warm on my lobe as he hissed.

"Curious if your aged granny will rush to shield you upon learning no regulations guard her kin anymore."

He snorted, held my gaze briefly, then wheeled about, his followers shooting me final glares before trailing.

"True existence, eh..." I grumbled softly, the phrase burning like flames.

Denying the rage his remark stirred would be false.

True existence? Absolutely.

I stood more than prepared for its onset. Perhaps I'd demonstrate its essence: by slamming his skull against the ground.

Right as I poised to advance, Steve's grip settled solidly on my arm.

"Come on. The moment's here."

I acknowledged with a nod, allowing the fury to bubble low. No matter what Cena plotted for the morrow, I'd meet it squarely. If anything defined my pursuits, it was outlets for pent-up vigor. Mere calisthenics fell short.

Suddenly, a piercing whistle sliced the hall like a knife.

I whirled, limbs itching, mind racing. My pulse hammered within.

It commenced.

I advanced beside Steve as classmates parted naturally, clearing our path.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins, each footfall igniting a wave of thrill. Per the academy's rigid order, my spot led at the forefront. As batch's prime achiever, my position was etched firm. Steve, ever composed, claimed fourth.

In seconds, we aligned—ten flawless lines, mine spearheading.

Upon the platform, centered, loomed our mentor. Daniel Strongmen. His scan raked us like an eagle eyeing quarry. Reflex surged, and I assumed impeccable posture.

He feigned severity, but I saw through it. Under that rugged shell lurked more. At forty, he'd endured infernos and risen. I'd perused his tales—he'd sacrificed much for scant gains.

Slim, keen, matching Steve's height, he bore the poise of one who'd forged fighters over a decade.

Admired. Dreaded. An academy cornerstone.

He cleared his voice, and his address boomed firm and even.

"No doubt you grasp your purpose here. The procedure's familiar. Today marks your commencement... and your final hours within these walls. I trust you're all set."

"YES, SIR!"

The hall thundered with unified clamor. Mine.

Hush descended. Nearly a hundred pupils froze, yet glances darted my way.

Daniel's focus pinned me at once, brows knitting, gaze piercing and relentless, as though aiming to incinerate me on site.

I matched his intensity, chin tilting faintly—not yielding, but defying.

Throughout my academy tenure, we'd clashed repeatedly. Our principles collided sharply. He championed order, subtlety, precision strikes. I embraced the contrary. Visibility. Notoriety. I desired foes to sense my aura pre-arrival.

Unclear when this trait emerged, but it invigorated me. And I'd thrived thus.

Our stares held briefly. Then Daniel uttered.

"Fine, no further delays—initiate the rite."

His look clung to me.

"I'll summon you individually. Upon hearing yours, enter the Awakening Chamber rearward."

His stare bored into me as he voiced the initial call.

"Billion Ironhart."

I inclined my head and proceeded. My steps resounded in the quiet hall, sole noise present. Even my thumping heart echoed like battle beats.

Halting before Daniel, I towered over him by inches, yet his aura dwarfed me.

He confronted my eyes.

"Best wishes," he offered.

I nodded curtly and passed him, bound for the azure entrance.