CHAPTER 52: DISCIPLE CULTIVATION SYSTEM CH52 DEVIL OF ACADEMIA.

"A knee strike aimed at your abdomen."

Valaria stood rooted to the ground, her mind unable to comprehend whether his words were the truth or a lie.

He had told her not to trust him.

He had told her what to trust—and yet, her mind was blank and her reaction delayed.

"Ugh—!"

Before she could even process it, an attack struck her abdomen, lifting her momentarily off the ground.

"An upward kick will follow."

Gripping the batons tightly, she gritted her teeth and swung them down to intercept—but her attack met no resistance, as if nothing had been there to begin with.

"You—!"

Landing on her feet, she choked just as she was about to complain but her defiance was quickly interrupted by Art.

"I told you not to trust me." Art grinned, having not so much as moved since his knee strike. Just because he spoke of an attack didn’t mean he was obligated to attack.

"An axe kick from the front."

The moment he spoke, he blurred and reappeared behind Valaria, his leg raised high for swift and precise descent.

Disregarding his warning about trusting him, she moved her batons over her head to shield herself—leaving her back vulnerable. A hammering kick rippled through her body, sending her collapsing helplessly to the ground in a daze state.

"Move!" He warned, stabbing where she laid.

Val, acting on instinct, rolled aside, narrowly avoiding being impaled by his sword which cracked lightly after his attack.

"Rest up!" Art said disappointly, walking to the edge of the roof for a quick breather.

Leaning against the rails, a soft sigh escaped his lips as the evening breeze brushed against his skin and tousled his blonde hair.

"There isn’t enough time." He muttered.

After hours of trying to mold Val into the state he wanted, that was his unfortunate conclusion.

Val wasn’t weak—just unlucky.

It pained him to admit it, but this time, the failure wasn’t her’s—it was his.

Her unexpected memory loss had further blocked her growth and negatively affected her Aura.

She had overcome a similar predicament in the game’s storyline, but back then, it had been trauma hindering her growth—now, it was the missing memory gap.

Val was supposed to win the rank games by defeating Trish. That singular future must remianed untouched.

If that objective wasn’t met, everything—including future character growth—would be hindered.

Just imagining what such possibility entitled scared him.

"Should I force a duel with Trish and eliminate her before she can get Val?"

Forcing an awakening for Val was a no, but manipulating Trish into losing wouldn’t cause much damage.

She would still lose, but...

"No. That would leave Enko. And that one, I can’t manipulate."

Trish wasn’t the only monster among the first years.

There was Kai, a disciple of the Red Lily Sect, whose skills matched the "crazy sword woman." There was also Kiara from the magic department, whose spells posed a threat even to instructors.

But the true powerhouse was undoubtedly Enko—a student from the Isles of Ignarion.

A bona fide true dragon nearing maturity.

In the original game, she had been caught off-guard by Trish, who—deducing her strength—slayed her before she could pose a threat.

If Enko wasn’t eliminated by Trish, the game would be ’her’s".

Val had to win—Art had to ensure that.

But how was the problem.

---

Valaria lay flat on the ground, her chest rising and falling from exhaustion.

From midday to evening, she had fought relentlessly against Art—and yet, victory seemed impossible.

If this ordeal had been about winning, she wouldn’t have cared as much—but it wasn’t.

This blind training wasn’t about victory—it was about survival.

And she was failing miserably.

"Maybe I should just give up. It’s not like this will be the only rank game I’ll experience."

She was beginning to accept that she wouldn’t achieve much the next day—so she concluded that giving up was the only option.

She wanted to win—but she also had to face reality.

And right now, reality was crushing her, telling her that this wasn’t her time.

Or so she wanted to believe.

The first stage of acceptance was successfully manipulating your thoughts into believing that what you wanted to achieve held less value than you originally thought.

The rank games only decided current rank—not potential.

Just because she would lose to Trish now didn’t mean she would lose in the future.

Whatever duel that "crazy girl" wanted, she would accept it—lose with a smile—and when she was stronger, she could request a rematch.

It wasn’t a big deal.

With that thought, she pushed her aching body up.

Her muscles and bones groaned under the strain, having been stressed all day.

Grunts and sobs spilled from her bruised lips, and her vision blacked out several times.

Eventually, she managed to stand—albeit clutching her left hand, which seemed broken.

"Teach, I’m going home!"

Stumbling forward, she observed his side profile.

Art was strangely quiet, his serene gaze piercing the city skyline, seemingly ignoring her.

"O—kay."

Weirded out, she tried mimicking his stance—perhaps thinking it held secrets—but exhaustion overwhelmed her, leaving her too worn out to focus.

"You’ve given up."

It wasn’t a question—it was an insight into her thought process, one Art had grasped easily.

Val stiffened, using the rails for support, unable to defend herself from his accusation.

For some reason, his calm, soft words struck harder than all the physical blows she had endured.

"I—" She started, regret flashing across her face—but she couldn’t continue.

What could she say?

Like her body, her words had reached their limit.

After everything that had happened this week, giving up was the least of her problems.

That was why she wasn’t that affected by it.

Art finally tore his gaze from the horizon, exhaled deeply, and stared directly at her with those sapphire eyes.

"To say I’m not disappointed would be a lie."

Val flinched at the word " disappointed".

"Not at you—but rather, at *me*."

His expression softened, almost pitiful, as he loosened his grip on the rails and patted her head.

"You did good. You just lacked the time."

Biting his lip in frustration, he crouched, the air around him shifting from playful to solemn.

"Val..." he called.

The white-haired girl, engrossed in his words, blinked at the sudden mention of her name.

"Yes?"

"Like I said before—trust your senses." He instructed again pointing at her eyes.

"I understand," she nodded, earning a faint smile from Art.

"Now, let me add one more thing. Your goal is survival—even if you have to resort to underhanded methods."

"Wait, you’re telling me to cheat?!"

Whatever warmth had begun blooming in her heart was instantly incinerated as she slapped his hand away.

"I didn’t say cheat," he flicked her forehead again before she could rant. "Trust your senses. Survival is your goal, and adaptability is key. In a fight, you must know your opponent—their strengths, their weaknesses—and exploit them."

"I see." She understood the gist of what he was trying to say but she just couldn’t make much of it enough to put into practice.

"Of course you do. But remember—among the thousands of students, only one will truly target you: your roommate, Trish. I’ll rephrase this one last time—know what makes her tick. It should be easy, but I’m not generous enough to spell it out for you."

While Art wanted Valaria to win, he also refused to be biased.

He knew some characters were more important than others—that was just how life worked.

But he didn’t want this world to be unfair to his students—current or potential.

He would teach the disadvantaged how to even the playing field—but he wouldn’t spoon-feed them.

He had disappointed Val—he knew that.

Now, he had to find another way for her to win against Trish.

This method was relatively easy—and the most underhanded he could currently use—but also perfect for making Trish vulnerable.

All that was left was for Valaria to understand his words—and develop the mindset to act on them.

"You can go now. Get some rest for tomorrow."

Valaria hesitated, especially after noticing the somber look he wore—but she couldn’t bring herself to ask why.

Today had brought her somewhat closer to Art—but no matter how familiar she grew towards him, she knew when to pry and when not to.

Today wasn’t the day.

So she left the rooftop, leaving Art to his own devices.

A/N: I was just writing to thank you all for the growth in collection. It has really motivated me to put out more Chapters and I am glad because I enjoy writing. As I’ve said before I’m fixing and improving the grammatical errors in the early Chapters. My Chapter stocks were almost finished so I had to ignore fixing the mistakes for a few days and refill my Chapter. Now I have enough to last for a while so I’m now working on the mistakes.

I want to thank you all again and I hope you all will continue to support my story.