I Choose the Skills Everyone Else Rejects

Three days later, Nate stood outside the evaluation hall with medical tape wrapped around his left knee.

The pain had faded into stiffness, and his ankle moved farther than it had before his awakening. His best time on the marker course had dropped from 14.8 seconds to 14.4.

Four tenths in three days felt enormous to Nate, though it still left him far from exceptional.

The doors opened.

"Calder."

Nate rose.

His parents remained in the waiting area. His father raised a fist in encouragement. His mother pointed at Nate’s knee, reminding him of every warning she had given that morning.

He followed an assistant into the hall.

The room was smaller than the training facilities used during the regional program. A circular scanning platform occupied one side. On the other stood a mobility course, several reinforced targets and a rack of practice weapons.

A doctor and technician waited beside the scanner with Examiner Dain.

Dain had supervised Nate’s final year. He was a narrow man with a shaved head and the permanent expression of someone who had already found a problem.

His eyes settled on the tape.

"You injured yourself before an evaluation."

"I was training."

"That explains how. It does not explain why."

Nate stepped onto the platform.

The technician attached two sensors beneath his collar while Dain reviewed the provisional record.

"Kinetic Recall," he said. "Variant physical-learning Class. Your reported Root Skill is Deep Imitation."

"Yes."

"The initial scan detected motor-memory activity and a stable Skill Node, but the Resonance Array failed to identify your manifestation. Today, you will demonstrate that your Class functions as reported."

Dain gestured toward the rest of the hall.

"Circulation, observation, movement and weapon handling. The evaluation will be continuous."

Nate glanced at the course.

"Begin circulation," Dain said.

Nate closed his eyes.

The regional program had taught every candidate the same basic route. Energy left the Core, passed through the chest, descended into the legs and returned along the spine.

His old circulation had been safe but inefficient.

Rovan’s method wasted less energy, but showing too much improvement after three days would raise questions.

Nate guided the current through the standard route and relaxed each joint before the energy reached it. He kept the changes small.

The scanner hummed.

"Stable flow," the technician said. "Eleven percent loss."

Before awakening, Nate’s best result had been fourteen percent.

Dain looked at the reading, then at him.

"You improved."

Nate held his gaze.

Dain did not press the point. He took a padded baton from the weapon rack and moved toward the center of the hall.

"The next section tests the function of Kinetic Recall. I will demonstrate a movement sequence twice. You will then reproduce it."

"How long is the sequence?"

"You will know when I stop."

Dain took his position.

His first step crossed forward at an angle. The baton rose beside his head, dropped into a short strike and reversed through his other hand. He changed his footing, carried the weapon behind his back and lowered into a sweep before finishing with the tip aimed at an imaginary opponent’s throat.

The sequence lasted less than five seconds.

Nate recognized every individual movement, but he had never seen them connected in that order.

Dain returned to the beginning.

"Second demonstration."

This time, Nate paid less attention to the weapon. He watched Dain’s weight settle into the front foot, the wrist rotate, the rear heel lift and the shoulder tense before the reverse grip.

Dain finished and offered him the baton.

"Your turn."

Nate accepted it.

Kinetic Recall did not exist.

He had his ordinary memory, two years of training and a single lesson from a dead hunter.

Nate stepped forward.

The opening angle was correct, but the baton rose too high. Correcting it delayed the grip change, and the weapon brushed his back during the rotation. His feet landed too close together before the sweep.

He finished several inches away from the intended position.

Dain watched without comment.

"Again."

Nate returned to the starting point.

The sensors continued recording his Core, so he could not enter a full Echo. He brought the memory of Rovan’s lesson close enough to feel the principle behind it.

Relax before the current arrives.

Allow the movement to travel through the body.

He began again.

The first step carried naturally into the strike. Nate loosened his wrist before changing the grip and allowed the rotation to start at his waist rather than forcing it through the shoulder.

The baton passed behind him without touching his coat.

As he lowered, his injured knee tightened. Rovan’s method offered a cleaner transition, but using it fully would expose far more skill than Nate could explain.

He kept the slower route.

The sweep passed near the floor. Nate rose and stopped the baton closer to the imaginary throat than before.

Dain held out his hand.

The technician checked the results.

"Accuracy increased from sixty-eight to eighty-four percent. Motor-pathway activity also rose during the second attempt."

The doctor examined the reading from Nate’s knee.

"No structural damage."

Dain took the baton.

"You changed the transition through your hips."

"The first version put too much pressure on my knee."

"That was not part of the demonstrated sequence."

"My Class helps me reproduce movement. It does not make my body identical to yours."

Dain considered that.

"Reasonable."

Nate let out a quiet breath.

Panels rose from the floor, revealing six markers, two low barriers and a narrow balance rail. Three moving targets activated near the far wall. A practice pistol waited on a stand beside the final turn.

Nate recognized the structure even if the arrangement was new: reach the weapon, fire three times and cross the line.

"Your score combines speed, stability and accuracy," Dain said. "Begin when the tone sounds."

Nate moved behind the starting line.

The tone rang.

He accelerated toward the first marker and lowered his weight before the turn. His foot landed close to the line without touching it.

He cleared the first barrier.

His knee complained at the second, forcing him to shorten the step and lose time.

The balance rail came next.

During preparation, Nate had crossed it by tightening his abdomen and fighting every shift beneath his feet. Rovan’s lesson suggested a different approach.

He relaxed his ankles and allowed the smaller joints to correct his balance before the movement reached his upper body.

Four careful steps carried him across.

The pistol waited ahead.

Nate took it with both hands.

The first target moved from left to right.

He fired and struck the center.

The second dropped from the ceiling. His shot hit the outer ring.

The final target appeared behind him.

Nate turned.

His heel lifted, and the rotation travelled through his hip toward the shoulder. For an instant, every part of the movement aligned more cleanly than anything he had shown during the regional program.

He felt the speed building.

Too much.

Nate tightened his shoulder and broke the chain before completing the turn.

The shot landed near the target’s edge.

He crossed the finish line.

Dain examined the results.

"You slowed before the final shot."

"My knee hurt."

The doctor studied the live reading.

"Pressure increased during the turn."

The reading supported Nate’s excuse, though the pain was not why he had interrupted the movement.

Dain replayed the final section.

On the recording, Nate’s body began to accelerate smoothly before his shoulder stiffened.

Dain watched the recording once more, then closed it.

"Fifteen point two seconds. One center hit and two outer hits. Circulation remained stable."

Nate lowered the pistol.

"Is that enough?"

"I have one question."

Dain walked closer.

"Why do you think Kinetic Recall manifested for you?"

Nate frowned.

"I don’t choose my Class."

"That is not what I asked."

Nate glanced toward the observation window.

His mother stood with her arms folded. Beside her, his father had both hands against the glass until she pulled one of them down.

Nate returned his attention to Dain.

"I watch people."

"I noticed."

"I was never the strongest candidate. Ethan had more power. Mara was better in defensive exercises. Other people were faster or had larger energy reserves."

Dain waited.

"So I learned to look at what they were doing differently."

The answer was true, even if the Class attached to it was not.

Dain returned to the others.

The doctor and technician spoke quietly while Nate waited on the course. He could hear his pulse more clearly than their words.

The doctor signed first.

The technician followed.

Dain kept the tablet for several more seconds before pressing his thumb against the screen.

Nate’s phone vibrated.

FUNCTIONAL CLASS CONFIRMED

ACADEMY RECOMMENDATION APPROVED

He read the result twice.

"You passed," Dain said.

The tension left Nate’s shoulders.

"Thank you."

"Your score was sufficient. Gratitude is unnecessary."

Dain’s attention moved to the taped knee.

"A Class built around physical learning will tempt you to chase movements your body has not earned. Learn the difference between improvement and damage before the academy teaches it painfully."

Nate thought of Body Memory waiting in reserve.

"I will."

Dain’s expression suggested that he had heard the same answer from many injured students.

Nate’s parents met him outside the hall.

His father took him by both shoulders.

"Well?"

Nate showed them the confirmation.

His father pulled him into a rough hug before Nate could say anything. Nate stiffened from surprise, then returned it.

His mother read the entire message.

"I passed," Nate said.

"I can see that."

"You could sound pleased."

"I will sound pleased after your knee is scanned."

She still joined the hug.

For the first time since the awakening, something had gone the way Nate had planned.

His phone vibrated again.

The academy had issued his transport documents.

DEPARTURE: 07:40

DESTINATION: ROYAL FIELD ACADEMY, CAPITAL DISTRICT

PASSENGER: NATE CALDER

ASSIGNED SECTION: CADET COACH ELEVEN

A second page listed the protected transport assignments.

ETHAN WARD

MARA VENN

CROWN CAR TWO

Nine cars separated them.

A security notice beneath the assignments stated that movement between standard and protected sections would be restricted after entering the Wastelands.

His father read over his shoulder.

"I thought you and Ethan were travelling together."

Nate looked at the two coach numbers.

"We are."

It just would not feel that way.

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