Back at school, the morning sun filtered through the tall glass panels of the academy hall, casting geometric patterns on the floor. Ray entered quietly, his footsteps steady, posture relaxed yet firm. His academy blazer now sat better on his body—broad shoulders from training, sharper eyes from experience.
He was halfway down the corridor when he heard a familiar voice.
"Ray?"
He turned.
Glen, now taller and with a dark-blue trimmed jacket slung over one shoulder, gave a wide grin.
"Woah," Glen said, eyeing him. "You look... different. Like you actually trained with a dragon."
Ray smiled faintly. "Funny. I kind of did."
The rest of the crew approached too—Elijah with his calm eyes and slow smile, a girl named Vira with an arctic fox familiar trailing beside her, and Juno, the lean boy with the twin daggers bound to his hip.
"You look stronger," Ray admitted, scanning them.
Then he paused—because he felt it.
Each of them had changed. Not drastically in appearance, but in presence. Like pressure radiating off them faintly—restrained, but undeniable.
"We all trained," Elijah said, folding his arms. "After that day in class, we knew we'd be left behind otherwise."
"Yeah," Vira said, brushing a strand of silver hair back. "This year's class isn't normal. It's like fate dropped every talent in one place."
"Or maybe," Glen grinned, "we're the ones meant to change the system."
Ray chuckled, eyes flicking toward Charmander beside him. "Wouldn't be surprised."
They chatted for a while, sharing small stories—sparring matches, field exercises, personal breakthroughs. But Ray held back on talking too much. Not because of secrecy—but because the gap he was beginning to form felt fragile.
One wrong move, and he'd be called out.
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Back at Home – Afternoon Training
The training ground behind the Ashford manor had evolved.
What was once a clean grassy yard had become a mini warzone—smoke-scorched dirt, boulders cracked in half, and stone targets with claw marks and burn holes.
Ray stood shirtless again, wearing weight cuffs on both arms and ankles—each weighing 5 kilograms. Even his torso was strapped with a sand-weighted vest.
He punched a large stone slab repeatedly. The dull thwack echoed again and again.
Blood ran down from his knuckles. He didn't stop.
Each punch had purpose.
Beside him, Charmander was balancing on a single foot, standing atop a spinning log placed over a loose stone. He had a small iron ring in his mouth, keeping his jaw under tension, while simultaneously aiming mini-embers at moving targets controlled by the training dummy rig Ray had built last night.
His tail had a weighted ring attached to it, forcing him to control the balance of both flame and footing.
Ray grunted and raised his fists again. "Three more minutes, then break."
Charmander growled in acknowledgement without losing balance.
This wasn't just training anymore. This was preparation for war.
Later That Evening – Ashford Manor, Training Ground
Ray sat beside Charmander under the old tree, the grimoire open in his hands. His hair stuck to his forehead, sweat trailing down his neck. Charmander's breathing was heavy but controlled.
Ray stared at the page in front of him, then exhaled deeply.
Charmander – Lv. 4
Attack: S
Defense: A
Speed: SS
Magic: SSS
Talent 1: Blazing Heart (★★★★)
Talent 2: Instinctive Combat (★★★)
Skills:
Scratch (★★★★)
Growl (★★)
Ember (★★★★)
Smokescreen (★★)
Ray tapped the skill stars gently. "Already near what I planned to reach by the end of the month…"
He shook his head in disbelief. "And it's only been ten days."
He leaned back, arms behind his head.
"My target is SS across the board before each level… and at least one stat hitting SSS. We already got Magic there."
Charmander let out a tired "Char…" beside him.
"Skills too. Scratch and Ember—both four stars. I think tomorrow, we'll push them to five. Maybe… just maybe… one of them will evolve on your next level-up."
He glanced at the grimoire's footnotes.
When a skill reaches ★★★★★, there is a chance it will evolve into a stronger, higher-grade move upon leveling up.
"Many people would think—why not push all stats to SSS before each level?"
Ray's voice grew thoughtful. "But that's the thing. Grandpa said this once: 'The world doesn't show it, but every beast, every card, carries a hidden quality rating.'"
He pulled out his notebook and flipped to a page filled with diagrams and notes:
Theory 1 – Hidden Quality Rating:
Each beast-type card has an invisible quality rank: Low, Normal, High, Rare, Epic, Legendary.
Higher quality cards grow faster, absorb mana more efficiently, and hit stat milestones earlier.
Ray suspects Charmander is at Epic or even Legendary tier, which is why stats are growing so fast.
Theory 2 – Growth Curve Thresholds:
It gets exponentially harder to raise a stat from SS → SSS than from S → SS.
This is not due to training intensity, but resonance fatigue—the internal spirit energy of the card being unable to adapt fast enough.
Theory 3 – Beast Consciousness Load Limit:
Each beast has a mental/physical stat capacity.
If overloaded with stats too fast, the beast may suffer backlash—mental fatigue, reduced synchronization, or skill disruption.
Optimal growth must match the beast's awareness.
"In short," Ray scribbled, "too much, too soon... breaks the link."
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The clinking of cutlery and the soft murmur of the evening breeze filled the dining hall of the Ashford Manor. The table was spread with warm dishes: roasted mana-roots, grilled riverbeast meat, and flameberry sauce. The smell was divine—but Ray had barely touched his plate.
His mind was elsewhere.
Across the table, Richard Chosen leaned back in his chair, arms folded, an unreadable smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"So," Richard finally spoke, eyes narrowing with amusement. "Ten days. What's the report?"
Ray snapped out of his thoughts. "Right," he sat straighter. "Charmander's at Level 4. All core stats reached at least A. Speed is SS. Magic's at SSS."
Amelia's brows lifted, impressed. "Already? That's above most one-month progression schedules."
"Skills too," Ray added, more quietly. "Scratch and Ember are both four stars. Should reach five-star any time now."
There was a long pause.
Then Richard let out a chuckle and raised his glass slightly. "You're ahead of where I was at this point. Took me two full weeks to get what you've done in ten days."
Ray blinked. That praise, coming from him—it meant something.
"I'm not done though," Richard continued, voice calm but firm. "Prepare yourself. When Charmander hits Level 5, you'll experience your first bond reward."
Ray tilted his head. "Bond reward?"
Amelia smiled softly, brushing back her hair. "Each time your partner levels up—particularly at major thresholds—you benefit too. That's why card mastery is more than summoning. It's symbiotic."
Richard leaned forward, his eyes sharp now. "Once your partner reaches Level 5, a personal page will unlock in your Grimoire. It will begin to track your stats as well. Physical and mental."
Ray's fork froze halfway to his mouth.
"You'll start to feel it, too," Richard added. "Increased reflexes. Slight strength boosts. Longer stamina. Even minor magic sensitivity if your bond is deep."
Ray's eyes widened.
"And sometimes," Richard said, his voice dropping lower, "you'll acquire one of your beast's skills."
Ray blinked. "Wait, I can learn Charmander's skills?"
"If you're lucky," Richard said with a sly grin. "One skill. Maybe more. Depends on compatibility and bond level."
That hit like a thunderbolt. Ray tried to imagine what it would be like to cast Ember himself… Or move with Scratch's precision.
"But that's not all," Richard said.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a crimson-glowing orb, swirling gently with flickers of flame inside. It looked as if someone had plucked a tiny star and trapped it in glass.
Before Ray could speak, Richard tossed it toward him.
Ray caught it instinctively. It was warm in his palm—alive, somehow.
He looked at it closely. And then—his eyes widened.
He knew what it was.
"Wait… this is—"