Jackson stared down at the sword in his hands.
"So you react to me," he said under his breath. "But I can't actually use you."
The sword didn't answer. It just sat there, rusty and silent. Heavy, too—like it was trying to make a point.
"Figures," he muttered.
He glanced around the museum, heart hammering after what just happened. No alarm blaring. No running guards. Nobody coming in to see him holding this ancient mess.
Good. No way he could explain all this.
Jackson shifted his grip, trying to hold the sword like the heroes he'd seen on TV. Instantly, it felt wrong. Too stiff, completely unnatural.
"Alright… how hard can this be?" he asked.
Then he tried a swing.
The blade dragged through the air like dead weight, pulling his arm down. He barely managed to stay upright.
"—Whoa!"
He caught himself just before hitting the floor.
"…Okay. Harder than it looks."
[System Notification]
Observation: Host attempting sword usage.
Conclusion: Painfully bad.
Tip: Try not to embarrass yourself.
"Can you not?" Jackson grumbled.
He let out a slow breath, reset his stance. This time he took it slow. Shifted his feet, changed his grip, tried to balance the blade's awkward mass.
Then he swung again.
It looked a little better. Still clumsy, though. The tip dipped and his wrist twisted, but at least he kept his footing.
"…Better," he whispered.
Minutes slipped by.
Swing.
Miss.
Try again.
Swing.
Each attempt felt a little less awful.
His arms started to ache, his palms stung from the rough hilt. Sweat rolled down his forehead. Still—he didn't stop.
[System Notification]
Host persistence detected.
Miracle probability increased by 0.01%.
"…I'm ignoring you now," he said.
Another swing.
And this time—
The blade sliced through the air cleanly. Not fast, not powerful, but controlled.
He froze.
"…Did I just—"
[System Notification]
Basic Motion Recognized.
Progress: 1%
A grin broke across his face.
"No way…"
For the first time, the progress bar actually moved. Barely. But it counted.
"Again."
He set his feet. Gripped tight. Breathed in—and swung.
The rhythm started to click.
Step.
Grip.
Swing.
Again.
And again.
The world faded—no school, no insults, nobody expecting anything. Just him and the sword.
Clang.
He snapped out of it, blinking. The tip had smacked into a metal display stand.
"…Crap."
He glanced around. Still alone.
Lucky.
But when he looked at the blade—
For a moment, he swore the rust shimmered, like something underneath wanted out.
"…You're not normal," he whispered.
The sword vibrated—soft, but real.
[System Notification]
Host has met minimum condition.
Unlocking…
He held his breath.
Sword Path: Trial Initiated
Objective: Perform 100 controlled swings.
Reward: Unlock Sword Module.
Failure: Stay weak.
"…You're really annoying," Jackson said.
Pause.
"…But fine."
He tightened his grip.
"One hundred swings."
He started swinging. His muscles screamed, his shoulders burned, breath coming harder each time.
But he kept going.
Because this time, he wasn't just surviving. He wasn't doing what everyone expected, or being pushed around. He was getting stronger.
Deep inside—
The Call pulsed. Stronger than before.
Watching.
Waiting.
And for the first time—
Jackson answered it. His own way.