Suddenly, Gabe's face lit up like a child receiving his first sword.
He didn't even try to hide it—his joy was explosive, unfiltered, and so intense it made the other cleaners around him blink and take a cautious step back.
He raised both fists in the air and shouted, "Yes! Yes! Finally!" His voice echoed off the tiled walls, reaching the high ceilings of the enormous central hallway of Royal Azure Academy.
His entire body trembled—not in fear, not in pain, but in the overwhelming exhilaration of breakthrough. "I did it! Sixth Stage! Knighthood Stage! I finally broke through!"
He started pacing in circles like a man possessed. "No more remedial training! No more standing in line for basic techniques! I can finally enter Dungeon Hall! I can finally join the Nightblade Patrol Unit!"
His eyes glimmered with the kind of hope only those born with expectations placed upon them could understand.
"I can finally request higher-tier manuals. I'll be allowed into the East Tower's Mana Core Simulation Room. I can pick my own weapons now!"
The mop that had been smacked from his hand earlier lay forgotten, abandoned on the floor like some relic of the past.
Gabe reached for it dramatically, lifted it up, then laughed and tossed it aside.
"I was holding this? Me? With this much power? Ha!"
Wesley just stood there, his own mop still clutched in hand, not out of pride or habit anymore, but because letting it go might break the illusion—the illusion that he hadn't just done something insane.
The other janitors, the ones who had spent years barely getting noticed, all stopped what they were doing.
Mops dangled limply from hands. Buckets were motionless. The air, for a moment, smelled less like ammonia and more like awe.
"Did he just—"
"He really did—"
"Gabe—he's a Knight now."
The murmurs of the janitors swirled around Gabe, who didn't seem to notice at all. He turned sharply toward Wesley, cheeks flushed with excitement.
"You! You did that to me!" Gabe exclaimed, rushing forward, a jingle of coin heard with each step.
Before Wesley could say a word, Gabe reached into his uniform pocket and pulled out a pouch. He didn't even hesitate. He dropped it into Wesley's open hand. The satisfying clink of coins echoed. Wesley blinked. It was heavy.
"Thirty silvers," Gabe said, grinning wide. "You deserve all that. Hell, maybe even more."
Wesley blinked again, still not saying anything. In his head, alarms were going off. Why did he give me money again? What is happening? This wasn't supposed to escalate this far. I'm just supposed to look like an average guy with slightly good reflexes!
Gabe, completely oblivious to the panic building behind Wesley's deadpan stare, kept going, "You made me break my limits! During those clashes—you pushed me beyond my edge. That last hit, that moment when you parried and countered right before my blade flew out? That pressure! That suffocating force! I realized—I was being forced to evolve!"
The janitors were leaning in now, whispering frantically.
"Did you hear that?"
"Wesley helped him break through."
"He just used a mop."
"Should we start practicing with mops too?"
"Shut up, Darren."
Gabe's voice rose with intensity, pointing at Wesley now with both hands.
"Seriously, how did you get so strong? What have you been doing? You're clearly hiding something. I'm not stupid. There's no way a janitor fights like that unless—unless you've been training with some secret master?
"Are you… a retired Knight? An undercover examiner? No—wait, maybe a disguised instructor sent by the Academy to test us?"
Wesley's mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. His brain was cycling through possibilities.
Fuck! I got carried away by a bunch of silver coins! My goal to be low-key, to be a low-key janitor, would die if I tell him I am something special. I got carried away! I need something!
Excuse. Excuse. Excuse—damn it, think, think! I can't say I've been training in the mountains. I already said I'm just a cleaner. I took the silvers. That made me suspicious. I should've just let him win like before. Why did I go for the throat?!
"I… I got strong?" Wesley finally said. His tone was as flat as always, but internally, he was sweating like a sinner in a confession booth.
Gabe nodded with the enthusiasm of a bouncing rabbit. "Yeah, man! Strong as hell. I could feel it with each clash. You didn't just beat me with power. You crushed me with rhythm, with timing, with instinct."
Inside Gabe's head, he wanted to add, 'Even when I used high-level Mana Deflection—you still broke through!'
Wesley swallowed. Hard. "I didn't know… I just thought… you were getting weaker."
The moment those words left his mouth, silence fell like a dropped curtain. Even the janitors froze.
"What?" Gabe blinked.
"I mean," Wesley continued, deadpan but lying through his teeth, "you were getting… slower. Sloppy. The last clash, your stance was weird. I thought you were tired. Honestly, you're probably just burning out from overtraining."
Gabe's brow furrowed. "Wait, what do you mean? I'm not tired even…" He felt incredulous! I was using condensed mana shielding and internal circulation techniques. My flow was smooth.
Wesley shrugged, leaning into the bluff. "Was it though? Because I'm pretty sure you missed a rotation on your last foot pivot. And your blade's angle shifted right before the final strike. It was like… like you hesitated. That's why your sword flew."
Gabe opened his mouth, then closed it.
"Maybe you were overconfident?" Wesley added, as casually as one might comment on the weather.
In the background, one of the janitors let out a low whistle.
Gabe's mind spun. Did I get weaker? That can't be right. I had perfect form. I rotated mana efficiently. I felt the surge. But then— he remembered that last moment, right before his sword was flung. Was there… a flicker in my stance? A brief moment where I second-guessed?
Gabe squinted, staring at Wesley with suspicion, but not malice. "You really think I got weaker during our fight? I just felt like you are getting stronger and stronger in everytime you attack me…"
Wesley nodded once. "No. I really think you have gotten weaker during—or you're just purposely making yourself weaker to challenge yourself."
Gabe crossed his arms, eyebrows twitching. He wanted to say. But I used strong mana… I definitely did. But he could only stand there in silence.
"And maybe," Wesley said, now emboldened by the sheer absurdity of how far he was pushing this, "you just really wanted to face me in an even fight."
Another janitor whispered, "Damn. He's gaslighting a knight."
"I know," another muttered. "It's beautiful."
Wesley could feel the weight of thirty silvers in his pocket, like an anchor dragging down his conscience. I need to end this before he starts testing my pressure points or asking for sparring lessons.
And just as Gabe opened his mouth again—
A new voice cut through the thick atmosphere like a blade made of ice.
"It's called Mana Suppression training."
The sound rang clear, authoritative. Everyone turned.
Wesley's heart stopped.
Gabe's eyes widened.
And the janitors straightened like they'd just been caught stealing biscuits from the mess hall.