SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: YOUR HUMANITY HAS DROPPED TO 40
The message appeared without warning.
Newton was sitting on the edge of his bed when the faint blue letters flickered across his vision. For a moment he thought he had imagined it. The words hovered there, cold and precise, then slowly faded away.
YOUR HUMANITY HAS DROPPED TO 40.
Newton did not move.
He simply stared ahead.
A faint pulse beat behind his eyes.
Forty.
Once it had been ninety-five. The number drifted through his mind like something from a distant life. A life where the world still made sense.
Now it felt like a joke.
Newton exhaled slowly and rose from the bed.
Samuel was already awake.
His eyes were red. Swollen. But the crying had stopped.
Neither of them mentioned Stella that morning.
Not once.
They dressed in silence and left their room.
The corridors were filled with the quiet shuffle of students heading toward lecture. Conversations died the moment Newton and Samuel passed.
Faces turned.
Whispers followed.
Pity.
It hung in the air around them like a smell.
Newton noticed it immediately.
Students glanced at them with heavy eyes. Some shook their heads softly. Others lowered their gazes as if looking too long might invite trouble.
Except for one group.
Maxwell and his gang sat together near the back of the classroom.
They were grinning.
Brian leaned against the desk, whispering something that made the others laugh.
Newton’s eyes lingered on them for a moment.
Maxwell noticed.
Their gazes met across the room.
Maxwell’s grin widened.
Newton turned away and sat down.
Samuel dropped into the seat beside him.
The classroom fell quiet as the door slid open.
The robot entered, carrying its usual stack of metallic tablets. Its movements were smooth and deliberate, each step clicking softly against the floor.
“Begin lecture,” it announced.
Newton leaned forward slightly.
Samuel did the same.
For the first time since arriving in this place, they paid attention to every word.
The robot displayed diagrams across the wall. Combat formations. Escape routes. Pressure points on the human body.
Newton’s eyes followed every movement of the projections.
His mind absorbed the information with frightening focus.
Samuel scribbled notes quickly, his pen scratching across the tablet.
They did not glance at Maxwell again.
They did not look at anyone else.
When the lecture ended, chairs scraped across the floor as students rushed toward the exit.
The usual wave of hunger drove them toward the restaurant.
Newton remained seated.
Samuel looked at him.
Newton stood up and walked toward the door.
But instead of turning toward the restaurant, he walked down the opposite corridor.
Samuel followed.
“Library?” Samuel asked quietly.
Newton nodded once.
The library was nearly empty.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Rows of shelves stretched into the dim corners of the room. Old books lined the racks. Thick manuals. Tactical guides. Combat theories written by instructors who probably watched students die every year.
Newton walked slowly along the shelves.
His fingers brushed across the spines.
Ninja Combat Structures.
Silent Assassination Methods.
Strategic Movement in Hostile Terrain.
He pulled several books free.
Samuel did the same.
They carried the stack to a table near the back and began reading.
Pages turned quietly.
Diagrams of footwork.
Angles of attack.
Methods for disabling an opponent with minimal effort.
Newton studied every illustration carefully.
Samuel practiced the hand positions beneath the table.
Hours passed.
Eventually Newton closed the book.
“Arena,” he said.
They left the library and walked toward the training grounds.
The arena stretched wide and empty beneath the afternoon sky.
A few students were sparring under the supervision of instructors. Others practiced alone along the edges of the field.
Newton stepped onto the sand.
Samuel followed.
No teacher approached them.
No one offered instructions.
Newton opened the book again and flipped to a section on close combat stance.
He positioned his feet carefully.
Samuel mirrored him.
They began slowly.
Step.
Turn.
Strike.
Block.
The movements were clumsy at first.
Their bodies resisted unfamiliar motions.
Samuel swung too wide.
Newton lost his balance.
They corrected each other using the diagrams.
Minutes turned into hours.
Sweat soaked their uniforms.
Their breathing grew heavier.
Bones cracked softly as muscles stretched beyond their comfort.
Still they continued.
Strike.
Block.
Step.
Turn.
Samuel slipped and fell once.
Newton extended a hand and pulled him up.
They resumed immediately.
The sun slowly lowered in the sky.
Other students left the arena.
The instructors departed.
Still Newton and Samuel remained.
Their arms trembled with exhaustion.
Their legs burned.
But neither of them stopped.
Because both of them understood something very clearly now.
If they did not grow stronger, they would die.
Eventually the sky turned orange.
Newton lowered his arms.
Samuel collapsed onto the sand, breathing hard.
They sat there for a moment.
Then they stood and walked back toward the dormitory.
Evening tasks passed quietly.
Dinner came and went.
Later that night, Newton stood beside the switch near the wall.
Samuel was sitting on his bed.
Newton turned to him.
“We should turn off the light,” he said.
Samuel frowned.
Newton continued.
“We must learn to see in darkness.”
Samuel studied him for a moment.
Then he nodded.
Newton flipped the switch.
Darkness swallowed the room.
At first it was absolute.
Samuel took one cautious step.
His shin smashed against the edge of the bed.
“Damn!”
Newton moved forward and immediately bumped into the desk.
They stumbled around the room like blind men.
At one point Samuel walked straight into Newton.
“Watch it,” Samuel muttered.
“I can’t see,” Newton replied.
The first night was chaos.
They knocked into furniture.
Stubbed their toes.
Once Samuel tripped and fell face-first onto the floor.
Eventually they crawled onto their beds and slept.
The second night was different.
The darkness still felt thick, but their bodies began remembering.
Three steps from bed to door.
Two steps from door to desk.
Samuel stretched his hand out and found the wall without bumping into anything.
Newton crossed the room slowly.
Their movements became quieter.
More precise.
Days passed.
The routine continued.
Training.
Study.
Darkness practice.
Two weeks later the room no longer felt black.
Shapes began to appear.
Edges of furniture.
Faint outlines.
Their eyes adjusted.
They could move through the room almost silently now.
While this was happening, Maxwell continued ruling the level.
His reputation returned quickly.
Students remembered Stella’s fate.
And they bent their knees.
Whenever Maxwell entered a room, heads lowered.
Some students who hesitated paid the price.
One afternoon Maxwell ordered his men to drag a boy forward.
The boy had forgotten to bow.
Two of Maxwell’s followers held him down.
Another raised a whip.
The crack echoed through the hall.
Again.
Again.
The boy screamed.
Maxwell watched calmly.
Other punishments were quieter.
A girl who spoke back lost every Ninja coin she owned.
She left the room trembling.
No one argued.
No one protested.
Fear spread through the level like smoke.
Then one evening Maxwell walked toward Dan.
Dan had once been his right hand.
Now he knelt on the floor.
“You were my right hand man,” Maxwell said softly. “But you betrayed me.”
Dan’s head remained lowered.
“I am sorry, man,” he said quickly. “I don't know what came over me.”
Maxwell laughed.
The sound bounced across the room.
He turned toward the rest of his men.
“Did you hear that?”
They laughed with him.
Dan looked up cautiously.
Maxwell stepped closer.
“Alright,” Maxwell said. “I will believe you.”
He stretched his hand forward.
Dan hesitated.
Then relief spread across his face.
“Really?”
Maxwell nodded.
Dan grabbed the hand and stood.
“Thanks man!”
The words had barely left his mouth.
Maxwell’s other hand moved.
Fast.
The knife drove straight into Dan’s chest.
Dan gasped.
His mouth opened but no words came out.
Blood spilled over his lips.
Maxwell released the handle and stepped back.
The knife remained buried in Dan’s chest.
Dan stared at it in disbelief.
His fingers wrapped around the handle weakly.
For a moment he stood there.
Then his legs collapsed.
His body hit the floor.
He did not move again.
Silence swallowed the room.
Dread settled over everyone.
One by one, the students bent their knees.
Respect.
Fear.
Submission.
Maxwell smiled faintly.
Days later, Maxwell passed Newton and Samuel in the corridor.
Both of them bowed.
“Long live the king,” they said together.
Maxwell walked past them without stopping.
When he disappeared around the corner, Samuel straightened.
His fist clenched.
“Why must we bow to this bastard?” he asked.
Newton’s voice remained calm.
“Because we are not strong enough to confront him yet.”
Samuel said nothing.
Two weeks passed.
Then Maxwell gained his extra One CPD point.
The announcement spread quickly.
He had leveled up.
The next morning the restaurant buzzed with whispers.
Students gathered around the tables.
Maxwell stood up.
The room fell quiet.
“I have levelled up and will be heading to level two,” he announced.
A ripple moved through the crowd.
Some murmured.
Some students quietly exhaled.
Andy leaned toward his table.
“At least the devil is going to leave us alone,” he whispered.
But Maxwell raised a hand.
“But I will not leave you without a leader.”
The room froze.
Maxwell turned.
Brian stepped forward.
“Therefore,” Maxwell continued, “I have appointed Brian Kenwool as the new king of level one.”
Some students clapped weakly.
Others remained silent.
Brian smiled.
Maxwell leaned closer to him.
“Do not forget to use violence,” Maxwell whispered.
“That is the only way your crown and your life will be saved.”
Brian nodded.
Samuel’s fists tightened beneath the table.
“If he is leaving,” Samuel whispered to Newton, “how do we kill him?”
Newton’s lips curved slowly.
“He will not escape my wrath,” Newton said quietly.
“Maybe not now.”
His eyes moved toward Brian.
“But he won't escape it.”
He paused.
“However it also means that Brian will die first.”
