SSS Ranked Awakening: All My Skills Are at Level 100

Chapter 12 – ”Three Years, One Master, Ultimate Move”

Three years.

That’s how long Leon had been in Duskmoor.

From the filth-stained gutters of Grayridge to the polished floors of a military estate, the difference was night and a very well-funded day. He had traded soup ladles for daggers, alley shadows for sword drills, and the constant ache of hunger for the constant ache of training.

And now, ten years old, leaner, faster, and far more dangerous, he was doing his usual morning routine—

Losing to his master.

Clang!

Steel sparked as Leon parried, pivoted, and lunged in a blur of silver motion. His twin daggers danced in his hands with honed precision, striking at precise angles, every step fluid, calculated.

Across from him, barefoot on polished stone, stood Commander Seraphine Vael. No armor today. Just a sleeveless black tunic, fitted trousers, and the relaxed poise of someone in complete control.

A soft smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as they moved. She wasn’t mocking. Just... pleased.

Leon gritted his teeth and pressed harder.

Sometimes, he thought he had her. A twist of the blade, a fake-out feint, a half-step forward—

But the moment he got close, her pressure shifted.

Her smile sharpened.

And then came the mana.

_Fwshh!_

She surged forward—blade glowing faintly, speed multiplied—and within seconds, she disarmed him. One dagger flew across the floor. The other was batted from his grip like a toy.

Leon stumbled back, breathing hard. A faint cut trailed along his forearm. Nothing serious.

He stood still, silent, jaw clenched, eyes cast downward.

Defeat.

Again.

No tantrum. No complaint.

Just the quiet weight of falling short.

He barely registered the sound of her sword being sheathed.

What he _did_ register, however, was her sudden _movement_.

In a blur, she crossed the distance and—

hugged him.

Not a polite pat.

A full-bodied squeeze, arms wrapped tight, burying his silver-haired head against her chest.

Leon stood there, stiff as a training dummy.

Expression flat. Eyes half-lidded.

”...Was that necessary?” he asked dully.

”Absolutely,” Seraphine said, resting her chin on his head. ”You’ve improved more than I expected. It deserves praise.”

”I’d prefer not being used as a living plush toy.”

”Too late. You’ve been claimed.”

Leon gave a small, suffering sigh. ”This is emotional misconduct.”

She squeezed a little tighter, unfazed. ”This is mentorship.”

His eye twitched. ”It’s weird.”

”No. It’s effective.”

Leon didn’t return the hug, didn’t fight it either. He just endured it—expression unmoved, dignity slowly draining like bathwater circling a drain.

Somewhere in his soul, he quietly made peace with his fate.

’Three years of training... and somehow _this_ is what defeats me.’

_____

Leon didn’t move even after she finally released him.

His daggers lay forgotten on the polished floor, and his arms stayed at his sides, but his brows were slightly furrowed—just enough to reveal the thought forming behind those sharp silver eyes.

”...You’re not winning without mana anymore.”

Seraphine blinked, stepping back half a pace.

Leon tilted his head slightly, voice low, calm, and direct. ”It’s been a month now. Every time we spar, you hold back until the end. And then—” he made a vague swirl motion with his hand, ”—_mana cheat activated_.”

She gave a faint smile. ”It’s called magic enhancement.”

”It’s called unfair,” he muttered. ”And while we’re on the subject—when are you taking me to the Class Awakening dungeon?”

Silence.

A flicker passed through her eyes.

He’d asked before. Twice. Each time she’d redirected with food, sparring, or some random excuse about preparations.

But now?

Now he wasn’t letting it go.

Seraphine exhaled slowly, walking toward the bench near the courtyard wall and sitting down, armorless and elegant even in casual clothes. For a moment, she said nothing.

Because the truth was...

She knew Leon was ready.

In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure she could beat him anymore without magic. His movements, instincts, precision—he was already fighting like someone twice his age. He was _ten._ That shouldn’t have been possible.

And yet—

He was.

He was more than prepared to awaken. She had no doubt he’d breeze through the dungeon. And that was the problem.

Because she knew—_knew_—that once Leon had his class, once he was recognized by the kingdom as a combatant worthy of record and rank...

He wouldn’t stay.

He wouldn’t belong to her command. He wouldn’t settle into her plans.

He would go.

Not out of rebellion. Not out of spite.

But because that was _who_ he was. Independent. Sharp. Free.

He might still visit. He might even remain within Duskmoor for a time.

But he wouldn’t be _hers._

Not truly.

And Seraphine Vael, feared Knight-Commander of Duskmoor, found that thought terrifying in a way battlefield injuries never had.

He was her disciple. Her tiny, grumpy, knife-wielding prodigy. Her emotionally unavailable, sarcasm-powered miniature knight.

And she couldn’t imagine the estate without his quiet footsteps, his blunt remarks, or the subtle, oddly mature way he looked at the world.

He’d wormed his way into her heart—and set up a permanent residence.

A child she wanted to train.

A partner she wanted at her side.

A boy she wanted to squish and protect and never let the politics or leeches of nobility sink their teeth into.

But she couldn’t tie him down.

Because if she tried... he’d cut himself free.

So she stalled.

Made excuses.

Because in her mind, if he didn’t awaken, he wouldn’t _leave_.

And if he wouldn’t become a formal soldier or knight, then at least she could keep him close. Not as some low-ranking grunt—no, those ranks weren’t fit for her cutie.

He had to be near her.

Where she could hug him at will. Where she could tug his soft cheeks after a good spar. Where she could see him every morning and imagine, just for a while, that maybe fate had given her something _just for herself_.

Seraphine smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Because as strong as her presence was, as commanding as her posture appeared—

She was the one being bound now.

By affection. By fear.

By the very bond she’d once imagined using to bind him.

”Leon,” she said softly, her voice carrying both warmth and a quiet ache, ”why are you in such a rush to awaken?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Then: ”Because I want to stand on my own.”

She closed her eyes for a brief moment. Of course. Of course he did.

That was always the reason.

And that was exactly why she was afraid.

____

Leon stared at her for a long second. No sarcasm. No smirk.

Just calm, silver-eyed resolve.

Then he did something he’d never done before.

He stepped closer, tilted his head just slightly, widened his silver eyes until they shimmered like winter moonlight—pure, soft, devastating.

And with a voice that was far too sincere for his usual brand of trouble, he said:

”Please, Master. I really want to grow stronger... and stand on my own.”

Seraphine blinked.

A crack formed.

Somewhere deep in her soul, her composure screamed and _detonated_.

Her thoughts scattered like startled birds.

_Puppy eyes. He’s using puppy eyes. Full tilt. With that voice? That tilt? He’s never—why has he never done this before? That’s illegal. That’s unfair. That’s divine-tier manipulation._

She physically flinched.

It was too effective. Far too effective.

Her hands actually twitched—half-reaching to squeeze him, hug him, drag him back to her office and never let him leave again.

’_Stay strong, Seraphine. You’ve fought warlords. You’ve held fortress gates against ogres. You can resist one tiny—_’

He tilted his head a little more.

She broke.

Almost.

She exhaled like someone surrendering the last line of a losing battle, leaning back slightly in defeat, one hand lifting to rub the bridge of her nose.

”...You’re cruel, you know that?”

Leon’s eyes stayed wide. Innocent. Utterly relentless.

Seraphine glared—but it had no heat. Only resigned fondness.

”Fine,” she muttered. ”You win. I’ll arrange for your awakening trial.”

Leon blinked once. His eyes dimmed back to normal, his posture relaxed, and a tiny, satisfied smirk ghosted across his lips.

She stared at him. ”...You planned that.”

He shrugged. ”I used my best weapon.”

She sighed. ”And I let my guard down. Against a child.”

”A very determined child.”

Seraphine leaned forward, elbows on her knees, burying her face in her hands with a groan. ”This is what I get for adopting a demon with snow hair.”

”Adopting?” Leon echoed, cocking an eyebrow.

She looked up and said nothing.

But her smile—small, warm, and heartbreakingly human—said everything