My Life Changed with the Unlimited System

The moment Bamba completed his fiftieth lap, he stopped at the center of the arena.

"All right! The first training completed!" he shouted.

Every Vanguard could see it—there wasn't a single drop of sweat on his skin.

His breathing? Unchanged. He looked just as steady as he had when he first walked into the arena.

He turned around slowly and looked at the trail of exhausted bodies scattered across the dome. Some had collapsed outright. Others were on their knees, trying to steady themselves. A few were still gasping mid-run, trying to squeeze in one more lap before accepting the inevitable.

None made it.

Not a single one.

Red collapsed onto all fours just before the thirty-ninth. His arms shook beneath him, and he spat onto the floor, cursing under his breath.

Maria stopped at lap forty, her legs trembling as she leaned against the wall. Her expression was tight, her pride bruised more than her body.

And Ethan, he managed to push farther than the rest. Forty-one laps. One lap into the impossible.

But even he had to stop. His lungs burned, and sweat soaked through his training suit. It wasn't his body that gave out—it was his mind. His focus.

Every step had felt like walking through a fog that threatened to swallow him whole.

'This is the first time I've felt exhausted since getting the system,' he thought.

Ethan fell to one knee, panting hard. His hands pressed to the floor. The ground felt solid, but his surroundings spun slightly. He had no idea what Bamba had done, only that the man's aura had filled every inch of space, weighing down on their thoughts like lead.

Bamba's voice cut through the heavy silence.

"Fifty laps. That was the minimum."

Everyone's heads slowly turned toward him.

His eyes swept across them without the faintest sign of pity. "None of you finished it."

A few groaned in frustration. One Vanguard slammed his fist to the floor. Maria closed her eyes, her jaw clenched tight. She was ready to talk back.

But, Bamba stepped forward, his footsteps calm and deliberate.

"Don't bother making excuses," he said. "Don't blame the pressure. Don't blame the pace. Don't blame the number."

He stopped near Red, who was still on the ground, chest heaving.

"You didn't fail because your bodies gave out. You failed because your minds did."

Red didn't respond. He didn't have the strength to argue.

Bamba walked on.

"You call yourselves Ascendants, and now you're on your way to becoming Vanguards."

He paused before adding, "You've trained. You've fought. Some of you probably think you're ready for real war."

His tone never rose, but it echoed through every corner of the dome.

"You're not."

Maria looked up, her face hardening.

Bamba stopped in front of her for a moment.

"You held up better than most," he said, "but you stopped too. You let your limit decide when to quit."

He turned to Ethan, the last one standing or kneeling, rather.

"And you."

Ethan lifted his head, breathing rough but eyes steady.

"You went the farthest," Bamba said. "One lap past what the rest couldn't. But that's not enough."

Ethan didn't speak. He was still catching his breath.

"Out there," Bamba said, turning his back to them all, "one lap can be the difference between living or dying. One more push. One more second. One more step. That's what decides it."

He walked back to the center circle.

"This is Nemesis," he said. "We don't train to survive. We train to outlast."

Silence followed. The only sound was the slow breathing of the Vanguards scattered around the dome.

Then, Bamba clapped his hands once. Sharp and loud.

"Break. Five minutes. Then we start real training."

Ethan looked up again. His mind was buzzing. 'That was just the warm-up?'

Maria's eyes narrowed.

Red groaned into the floor.

Bamba didn't wait for questions. He simply sat down in the center circle, legs crossed, back straight, as if fifty laps hadn't happened at all.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Because they all knew now that this was the standard.

And none of them had reached it.

Exactly five minutes later, Bamba stood up. Not a second more.

No whistle. No warning.

Just his presence alone was enough to get every Vanguard back on their feet and into line—some still shaking, others still soaked in sweat, but none daring to stay down.

Ethan wiped his forehead and took his position again. His muscles were still aching from the run, but his breathing had steadied. Maria stood to his right, silent, focused. Red lined up on his left, his usual grin long gone.

Bamba scanned the row of exhausted but upright figures.

"Now that your legs remember what effort feels like," he said, "let's see what your fists can do."

There was no sarcasm in his tone. Just cold expectation.

"You'll pair up," he continued. "No volunteers. I'll call it out."

The Vanguards glanced at each other, tension crackling between them.

"Standard spar rules," Bamba said. "No weapons. No killing blows. Win by knockdown, tap-out, or if your opponent can't stand after ten seconds."

He paused, letting that settle.

"Losing means punishment. Double the kind you'll get for failing the fifty laps."

A few Vanguards stiffened. Red muttered something under his breath. Ethan didn't move. He just waited.

"And in case any of you forgot…" Bamba's gaze swept the room. "No one passed the laps. So every one of you is already getting punished. This is just a chance to keep it from getting worse."

Then he took out a crumpled paper from his pocket and began calling names.

"Maria. Vanguard 17. You're up first."

Maria stepped forward without hesitation. Her opponent, a young man with short, spiked hair and a sharp glare, followed. He looked strong and faster than most, but his aura was slightly unstable, still unrefined.

"Red. Vanguard 22."

Red stepped forward, clearly still sore but too proud to let it show. His opponent was a quiet, broad-shouldered girl with thick arms and steady eyes.

Then Bamba turned to Ethan.

"Cole. Vanguard 31," he said. "You're the last to join this batch, which makes the number uneven. So you've got no pair."

Ethan looked at Bamba, waiting for him to finish.

"You'll spar with me."

The entire room shifted.

Maria blinked. Red's head turned.

Even Ethan felt the weight of those words land in his chest.

"You?" he asked, quietly but clearly.

Bamba just smirked.

"I want to see how far that forty-first lap took you."

He turned away and clapped once. "Start. Now."

All at once, the others broke off into their matches. Fists clashed. Feet shuffled across the arena floor. Grunts, breaths, and the thud of impact filled the dome.

And Ethan stood still.

Across from him, Bamba waited. Hands loose at his sides. Face calm.

"You get one chance, Cole," he said. "Don't waste it."

Bamba didn't move right away.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly, eyes still fixed on Ethan. Then, without turning around, he said, "We'll go last."

Ethan blinked. "Why?"

Bamba's tone stayed neutral, but there was a weight behind his words. "Because they need to see it."

He gestured subtly to the others already engaged in sparring matches.

"They need to watch. And you..." His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "I need to confirm something."

Ethan didn't answer, but he felt the pressure build again. A quiet tension in the way Bamba stood, in the pause that followed.

The others had started glancing over now.

Maria threw a quick side glance as she blocked a strike from her opponent. Red nearly got elbowed in the face because he looked away mid-exchange. Even those who hadn't started yet stood a little stiffer after hearing what Bamba just said.

'They need to see it.'

Those words echoed in more than one mind.

To them, it sounded like Bamba was saving Ethan for something special.

Something bigger.

And that didn't sit well with anyone.

Ethan stayed silent, but he could feel it now—eyes on his back, judgments forming in real time.

Red clicked his tongue as he dodged a jab. "Huh. Guess we've got ourselves a favorite already."

Maria said nothing, but her footwork grew sharper, more precise. Her gaze kept flickering toward Ethan's direction between exchanges.

At the far end of the dome, a few Vanguards whispered between punches.

"That guy again?"

"What's so special about him?"

"He only did one more lap."

None of them knew the real reason. None of them knew that Bamba hadn't chosen Ethan out of coincidence or curiosity.

Luciano had told him directly.

Ethan wasn't just another recruit. He was one of the rare few born with a Golden Core—an awakening so rare it bordered on legend.

If that was true, then this quiet-eyed, worn-out-looking boy wasn't just special.

He was extraordinary.

But that wasn't something Bamba was ready to say aloud.

Not yet.

He crossed his arms and turned slightly, casting his gaze across the rest of the room.

Let the others fight first. Let the tension build.

Let Ethan feel the weight of expectation.

He'd push him harder than the rest. Not out of cruelty but because he had to know.

If the boy crumbled under pressure, then he was never the one.

But if he endured...

Then Nemesis might finally have its first true Vanguard in a generation.