My Life Changed with the Unlimited System

Five minutes before the time, a sharp hiss echoed across the dome.

The sound cut through the quiet like a blade. Conversations stopped. Movements froze. Every Vanguards inside Arena V-13 turned toward the main entrance.

The doors slid open with a smooth, mechanical hum.

A Vanguard near the edge of the sparring mats took a shaky breath.

"Why's it getting hard to breathe?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Several others glanced at him, nodding slightly. They felt it too.

Then, footsteps. It was slow, heavy, and controlled.

A man stepped into the arena. He wasn't tall, but each step carried a strange gravity, like the ground itself acknowledged his presence. His head was shaved clean. His skin, dark and sun-worn, suggested years under harsh heat, not in comfort. His frame was solid with broad shoulders, thick arms, not bulky but compact like a coiled spring.

But what truly froze the room wasn't how he looked. It was the weight in the air.

Not literal. Not visible. Just felt.

The moment he walked toward the middle of the training ground, something shifted. The atmosphere tightened. Like the air was suddenly thinner.

Ethan noticed it instantly. His lungs felt like they had to work harder. His muscles tensed without warning, like a survival instinct had just been triggered. It wasn't fear. It was awareness. His body knew what his mind hadn't processed yet... someone powerful had arrived.

Maria lowered her blades without realizing it. Her stance faltered for the first time since she entered the dome.

Beside her, Red's smirk faded. "Well," he muttered, "so much for an easy morning."

He recognized the man immediately. Being the son of one of the Core Leaders gave him access to names and faces most operatives didn't know. And this was one of those names he hoped he'd never see in person.

Ethan narrowed his eyes. 'Who is that?' he thought.

He activated Divine Eyes out of habit, wanting to understand what he was feeling. The reading appeared as Higher Four-Star Ascendant.

Same as Mark. Same as Luciano.

Yet this man's presence felt completely different.

'Why does it feel heavier? Stronger? Is this what a true Higher Four-Star is supposed to be like?'

The man wore a white version of the Nemesis training uniform. Same design. Hooded, lightweight, and form-fitting. But the color alone set him apart. No one else wore white.

And across the back of his uniform, stitched in bold black letters, was a single word: INSTRUCTOR.

He didn't speak.

He didn't need to.

Every step he took sounded heavier than it should've. He walked with calm and total control, his gaze sweeping slowly across the room.

When his eyes passed over Ethan, it felt like being scanned from the inside out. Not with malice. Just… intensity. Ethan straightened up without even thinking.

The man came to a stop in front of the center circle. He turned to face them all. The lights above dimmed slightly, almost as if the room adjusted to his command.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"Name's Bamba," he said, voice low but solid. "Instructor for today and maybe the days after if I feel you guys are worth to be trained."

Bamba turned toward Maria, then to Red and then to Ethan before adding, "I don't care who you are or where you came from. Here, everyone bleeds the same."

Silence followed.

No one said a word.

Not even the cocky ones.

Ethan had trained with two of the Five Ghosts of Nemesis before, but this was different. Bamba didn't need to raise his voice or flash power to earn respect. His mere presence had locked the entire room in place.

'If this is how Nemesis trains their Vanguards… I better be ready for anything.'

Bamba scanned them once more, then pointed to the far wall.

"Line up. Three seconds."

No one hesitated.

Not even Maria.

They moved without a sound.

And Ethan, without needing to think, fell into place.

Bamba stood silently at the front of the formation.

His back straight. Hands behind him. No unnecessary movement.

Then he spoke, his voice carrying clearly across the wide arena.

"Follow my lead. Fifty laps around the dome. Stay sharp."

Some of the Vanguards exchanged glances. A few even let out quiet breaths of relief. Fifty laps? That sounded simple enough. After all, they were Ascendants. Running laps was not even considered as a basic training.

Ethan remained focused but relaxed. Even Maria, who hadn't said a word since Bamba walked in, shifted her weight, clearly expecting an easy warm-up.

Then Bamba smirked.

Without warning, he launched forward.

He moved like a bullet. No build-up. No signal. One moment he was standing, and the next he was sprinting full-speed around the curve of the arena.

His footsteps were fast but strangely quiet, barely tapping the ground. His white uniform blurred with motion as he ran the perimeter like it was nothing.

And then, as if remembering something important, he called back over his shoulder.

"Anyone who gets lapped… punished."

The atmosphere snapped.

Gone was the relaxed posture.

Everyone reacted.

Maria shot off like lightning. Red followed instantly. The others were right behind, launching into the run with bursts of speed. They weren't about to test what "punishment" meant in Bamba's book.

Ethan ran too. His feet hit the ground cleanly. His breathing steady.

At first, the pace wasn't too bad. A little faster than normal, but still manageable. Some even dared to think this wouldn't be that hard.

But Bamba didn't stay consistent.

As he rounded the second turn, something changed. A wave of pressure followed in his trail.

It was his aura.

Subtle at first—like a rising tension at the edge of their senses. Then it built quickly. The air started to feel thicker. Vision grew slightly hazy. The rhythm of breathing lost its ease.

Ethan gritted his teeth.

'This is intense.'

Some of the weaker Vanguards began to stumble, their footwork losing form. Not because they were tired. Physically, they were still capable. But something in their minds started unraveling.

It was like running while being watched by something massive. Their thoughts blurred. Doubt crept in. For no reason, one operative tripped over his own feet and collapsed.

Another followed.

By the start of the third lap, Bamba hadn't slowed. In fact, he was moving faster.

His aura thickened again.

But not everyone could hold that line.

By mid-lap, more Vanguards fell.

Some cried out. Others just stopped, clutching their heads, overwhelmed by what they couldn't see.

Red was slowing, barely staying ahead of being lapped.

Maria pushed forward, but even her eyes had narrowed with effort. Her steps were fast, but not effortless anymore.

And Bamba? Still calm. Still running.

No sign of fatigue.

Ethan pushed harder, matching the pace, locking his mind into focus.

Bamba glanced back.

Their eyes met for a brief second.

And for the first time since entering the arena, a small glint of interest flickered in Bamba's expression.

Not approval.

But recognition.

Author's Note:

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