THE GENIUS WHO COULD SEE SKILL EVOLUTION

THE SHAPE OF IMPROVEMENT

The following morning, Westbridge Academy conducted its annual practical assessment.

Students were divided into groups and evaluated through a series of controlled exercises.

Physical conditioning.

Energy manipulation.

Technique execution.

Combat application.

Oliver performed reasonably well in the first three.

His final assessment involved a simulated engagement against a mechanical opponent.

The machine was equipped with a basic striking algorithm and reinforced limbs.

Oliver activated Minor Enhancement.

Energy gathered around his right forearm.

He stepped forward, deflected the machine’s first strike and attempted to reinforce his legs for a counterattack.

His timing was slightly off.

The machine adjusted.

A mechanical fist struck his shoulder.

Oliver stumbled backwards.

He recovered quickly, but the machine had already advanced.

He attempted another block.

This time, the impact forced him onto one knee.

The instructor stopped the exercise.

 “That’s enough.”

Oliver deactivated his ability.

His breathing was uneven.

The instructor consulted his tablet.

“Acceptable defensive instincts. Inconsistent reinforcement. Poor energy distribution.”

He entered the assessment results.

“You’re maintaining your current ranking.”

Oliver nodded.

He wasn’t surprised.

Outside the arena, Daniel approached with a grin.

“How bad?”

“How good?”

“Excellent, naturally.”

“Then terrible.”

Daniel laughed.

He had placed significantly higher.

His performance had been good enough to secure a preliminary position in the academy’s 

advanced combat programme.

Oliver congratulated him.

He meant it.

Still, something unpleasant settled in his chest as he watched Daniel walk away to 

celebrate with the other selected students.

Oliver remained by the entrance.

He looked at his right hand.

The faint traces of energy around his knuckles gradually disappeared.

He flexed his fingers.

Then he went home.

                  *****

Oliver began keeping a notebook.

It was a cheap black notebook purchased from a stationery shop near the academy.

The first page contained his name.

The second contained a list of exercises.

The third contained a detailed breakdown of his performance during the previous assessment.

He had written down every mistake.

Incorrect energy distribution.

Delayed activation.

Poor defensive posture.

Excessive muscular tension.

His handwriting became increasingly cramped as he filled the margins with observations.

Daniel found the notebook three days later.

He flipped through several pages.

“You’re frightening.”

Oliver looked up from his lunch.

“Give it back.”

“You’ve written three pages about standing.”

“Posture matters.”

“Apparently, so does breathing.”

“Especially when you’re trying not to get punched.”

Daniel dropped into the seat opposite him.

“You’re overthinking this.”

“You’re underthinking everything.”

“That’s why we’re friends.”

Oliver retrieved the notebook.

Daniel glanced towards the cafeteria entrance.

“There’s a practical session this afternoon. You should come watch.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m participating.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Because I’m going to become famous, and I need witnesses.”

Oliver shook his head.

But he went.

The advanced combat programme was considerably more demanding than the ordinary training classes.

Students were expected to demonstrate technical consistency under pressure rather than merely produce impressive displays of power.

Oliver watched from the viewing area.

Daniel stood opposite another student.

His opponent possessed a defensive ability that allowed him to reinforce the surface 

density of his skin.

The match began.

Daniel moved first.

His opponent attempted to intercept him with a straight punch.

Daniel redirected the incoming force, turning his shoulder slightly.

The punch passed harmlessly across his body.

He followed with a low kick.

His opponent blocked.

Daniel’s foot struck the reinforced shin and bounced backwards.

He adjusted his balance.

The two exchanged several movements before Daniel managed to redirect a heavier strike into the ground, destabilising his opponent’s footing.

A quick sweep ended the match.

Oliver applauded.

Daniel looked towards the viewing area.

His expression was unbearably smug.

Afterwards, they met near the equipment lockers.

“Did you see that?”

“Yes.”

“Beautiful, wasn’t it?”

“You almost fell over.”

“That was tactical.”

“Of course.”

Daniel laughed.

Then his expression changed slightly.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you something.”

Oliver waited.

“There’s an open practice session tomorrow evening. I thought we could train together.”

“Your programme has private sessions.”

“Not tomorrow.”

“Why?”

Daniel shrugged.

“Because I want to.”

Oliver studied him.

“All right.”

Daniel smiled.

“Good.”

The next evening, they met at an abandoned training court behind the academy’s eastern dormitories.

It was an old facility that had been replaced several years earlier.

The floor was cracked, several of the protective barriers were damaged, and the overhead lights flickered intermittently.

Nobody used it.

Which made it perfect.

Daniel tossed Oliver a pair of training gloves.

“Ready?”

“Not particularly.”

“Excellent.”

They began with basic sparring.

Oliver’s defensive technique was poor, but he had become more conscious of his energy distribution.

Instead of reinforcing his entire forearm, he concentrated the enhancement around the areas most likely to receive impact.

It reduced energy consumption.

Daniel noticed.

“That’s different.”

“What?”

“Your reinforcement.”

Oliver blocked another strike.

“I’m trying something.”

Daniel increased his speed.

Oliver barely avoided the next attack.

“Apparently.”

They continued.

For nearly an hour, Oliver was repeatedly knocked off balance.

He wasn’t particularly bothered.

Each failed exchange revealed something.

His reinforcement was strongest when his muscles were relaxed.

His defensive stance became unstable when he attempted to redirect force through his 

shoulders.

His legs consumed considerably more energy than his arms.

He wrote everything down afterwards.

Daniel watched him.

“You’re going to become one of those people who analyses their own heartbeat.”

“Only if it improves my performance.”

“That’s genuinely concerning.”

Oliver closed the notebook.

“Again?”

Daniel grinned.

“Now you’re talking.”

Progress was slow.

Painfully slow.

But it existed.

Over the following weeks, Oliver began making small adjustments to his training.

He shortened the activation period of Minor Enhancement.

He learned to distribute energy through specific muscle groups rather than reinforcing entire limbs.

He improved his foot placement.

He became better at recognising the moment before an opponent committed to a strike.

His assessment results began to reflect the changes.

Not dramatically.

But enough.

His ranking rose from the lower half of his class to the upper third.

For the first time, an instructor mentioned his improvement without immediately following 

it with a criticism.

“Your control has become considerably more efficient,” Instructor Voss remarked after a 

practical examination.

Oliver nodded.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Your raw output remains mediocre.”

“Understood.”

“But you’re wasting less of it.”

Oliver allowed himself a small smile.

It wasn’t praise.

Not exactly.

But he would take it.

His parents noticed.

Eleanor began asking about his training sessions.

Arthur occasionally offered practical suggestions, particularly when Oliver complained about muscle fatigue.

One evening, his father watched him reinforce his forearm.

“You’re concentrating too much around the wrist.”

Oliver frowned.

“Why?”

“Because you’re treating your arm like a single object.

Arthur took a small metal tool from the table.

“Think about how force travels through a structure. If one part absorbs everything, the 

entire thing becomes unstable.”

Oliver examined his arm.

His father demonstrated by placing the tool against the table and applying pressure at 

different angles.

“Distribute the load.”

Oliver looked at him.

“Is that how you work with industrial machinery?”

“Among other things.”

He returned the tool.

“Your ability isn’t particularly different. You’re reinforcing a structure. Learn how the 

structure behaves.”

Oliver tried again.

This time, he adjusted the energy distribution slightly.

The sensation was different.

Not stronger.

More stable.

He looked at his father.

Arthur smiled.

“You’re welcome.”

Oliver laughed.

It was a small moment.

An ordinary one.

He would remember it for the rest of his life.

                          *****

Three weeks later, Oliver received his first invitation to participate in an inter-class combat assessment.

It wasn’t an important event.

The academy conducted several such assessments every semester.

Nevertheless, it represented something he had been working towards.

He found Daniel outside the cafeteria.

“I’m participating.”

Daniel stared.

“In what?”

“The inter-class assessment.”

His expression brightened.

“Finally!”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m proud of you.”

Oliver looked away.

“Shut up.”

Daniel laughed.

“Seriously, though. You’ve improved.”

Oliver nodded.

He knew.

For the first time, he wasn’t merely trying to avoid falling behind.

He was beginning to move forward.

That evening, he called his mother.

She answered after the third ring.

“Oliver?”

“I got selected for the assessment.”

There was a brief silence.

Then Eleanor shouted something that sounded suspiciously like a victory announcement.

Arthur’s voice appeared in the background.

“What happened?”

“He got selected!”

“Excellent!”

Oliver smiled.

His mother returned to the phone.

“We’ll be there.”

“You’re working.”

“I’ll rearrange things.”

"Mum."

"No arguments."

He laughed.

"All right."

After ending the call, Oliver sat on his bed.

He looked at the black notebook resting beside him.

For once, he didn't feel compelled to write anything.

He simply sat there, thinking about how far he had come.

It wasn't much.

But it was his.

And he was happy.