Morning in the Grand Academy of Absolute Restraint arrived like a slow, teasing pulse—soft golden light spilling through stained-glass windows depicting chaste saints with scandalously suggestive poses. The halls that felt suffocatingly rigid by night transformed in the day, becoming a paradoxical playground for discipline and desire.
I sat cross-legged on the polished marble floor of the training hall, eyes half-closed, focusing on the subtle rhythm of my breathing. Around me, other students moved in slow, deliberate motions—each engaged in their own rituals of edging and control. The air was thick with anticipation and more than a little nervous energy.
Nothing says "martial arts" like a bunch of people quietly trying not to explode. If I had a dollar for every sweaty palm in here, I'd be a billionaire.
The Academy prided itself on the subtlety of its techniques—each movement was a dance between pleasure and pain, mastery and submission. Today's lesson was on what they called The Art of Subtle Submission. It sounded innocent enough until you realized the "submission" part meant willingly surrendering control over your desires—but only just enough to gain power, never too much to lose it.
Master Stifford stood at the front, his lips pursed into that signature grim line that screamed I hate everything about this.His voice was low and measured as he explained the day's exercise.
"Control is the battlefield," he said. "Submission is the weapon. Master these, and you wield power beyond physical limits."
I stifled a laugh, picturing myself as a general commanding an army of half-mast soldiers. Somehow, the image was fitting.
My mind drifted to Grandpa, who had been training me relentlessly since the day Dad was taken.
"Power comes from within, Ben," he always said, "but the real strength is knowing when to hold back."
Grandpa wasn't your average old man. He was a legend among the underground Gooners—an old-school master with a wealth of forbidden techniques that could shake the very foundations of this sterile world. He taught me how to channel my energy, how to edge infinitely without losing myself. And most importantly, how to hide my true strength from those who would try to crush me.
Because let's face it: looking weak is the best way to make your enemies underestimate you. Plus, I enjoy the smug satisfaction.
The first challenge of the day was simple in theory but devilishly difficult in execution: maintain the perfect balance between sensation and denial while performing a series of fluid, almost hypnotic hand movements. These gestures, the instructors explained, stimulated the G-spot of the mind—a focal point where mental and physical restraint converged.
Sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud. But here, in this bizarre little cult of chastity and control, it was deadly serious.
The students shuffled into position, faces tense with concentration. I took my place and began the ritual, focusing on the slow build of sensation as I traced the intricate hand forms Grandpa had taught me.
The secret, I knew, was not just in the motions but in the mindset—letting the pleasure simmer just beneath the surface, never boiling over.
Kind of like my love life. Just enough heat to keep things interesting but never enough to actually commit.
Just as I settled into the rhythm, a voice broke through the silence.
"Well, well, if it isn't Ben Dover," sneered a figure from across the room.
I looked up to see Vance Velour, the Academy's golden boy. Perfect hair, perfect posture, and a smirk so thick with arrogance it could choke a man.
Vance was everything this place stood for: polished, pretentious, and utterly convinced of his superiority.
He strutted over, dripping with disdain. "I heard about your little stunt in the Chastity Chamber. Surprising you lasted that long—must have been beginner's luck."
I smiled inwardly. Vance was exactly the kind of person I needed to keep my true strength hidden from.
Time to play the role of the weakling. Sorry, Vance, but this underdog's got some tricks up his sleeve.
I bowed slightly, voice light and playful. "Oh, Vance, always the charmer. I'm just trying to keep up with the legends around here."
He sneered. "Legends? You? Don't make me laugh."
The training continued, but the tension between us was palpable.
Vance made a point to show off every chance he got—exaggerated motions, loud breathing, and a confidence that bordered on arrogance.
But I knew better.
Beneath that smug exterior was a man desperate to prove himself, and I had no intention of giving him the satisfaction.
As we moved through the exercises, I felt my energy grow—not just from the physical practice but from the mental game unfolding between us.
Playing possum has never been so satisfying.
After hours of grueling practice, we were granted a brief respite.
In the quiet courtyard, the scent of jasmine mingled with the lingering tension.
Talia approached me, her fiery hair catching the sunlight.
"You're holding back," she said softly, eyes sharp.
I shrugged, feigning innocence. "Maybe I'm just pacing myself."
She laughed—a sound like bells on a summer day. "Or maybe you're hiding something."
Like my secret stash of forbidden magazines?
"Maybe," I replied with a wink.
Later, in the dim light of the dormitory, I sat alone, reflecting on the day's events.
The Academy was a labyrinth of power plays and whispered rivalries.
Vance was just the tip of the iceberg.
I knew that to get stronger, I'd have to navigate this treacherous world carefully.
And to do that, I'd need allies.
Luckily, I'm pretty good at making friends… or at least useful acquaintances.
I thought of Talia—fierce, talented, and possibly the only person here who saw through the Academy's bullshit.
And Rex—strong, loyal, and maybe a little too fond of bad jokes.
Together, we could become something more than just pawns in this game.
Just as I was about to drift off to sleep, a sharp knock startled me.
A folded note slid under the door.
I unfolded it carefully.
"Meet me at midnight. The library. There's something you need to see. —Anonymous."
My heart quickened.
The plot was thickening.
Looks like the night shift is about to get interesting.
As midnight approached, I crept through shadowed halls to the Academy's vast library—a place where secrets were whispered between the pages of forbidden tomes.
The air smelled of old paper and something else—danger.
In the deepest corner, a figure emerged from the shadows.
It was Luna, a mysterious student known for her unparalleled knowledge of ancient Gooner techniques.
Her eyes glinted with intensity.
"Ben Dover," she whispered, "the Academy is hiding things. Things that could change everything."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Care to elaborate? Or are you just here to make me more paranoid?"
She smiled, a secretive curve of lips.
"Follow me."
The library's hidden chamber was small and dusty, filled with scrolls and artifacts banned by the Council.
Luna pulled out an ancient manuscript, its pages brittle but glowing faintly with arcane power.
"This," she said, "is the key to mastering The Eternal Edge—a technique lost to time. It allows the practitioner to maintain the edge indefinitely without the usual drawbacks."
My pulse quickened.
Infinite edge? Sounds like my kind of power.
She looked at me seriously. "But beware. Those who master it risk losing themselves to the very desires they seek to control."
A chill ran down my spine.
Nothing worth having is ever easy.
The night deepened as we poured over the text, deciphering cryptic symbols and ancient wisdom.
For the first time, I felt a glimmer of hope—not just for revenge, but for becoming something truly unstoppable.
The road ahead would be dangerous, filled with temptation, betrayal, and battles both physical and mental.
But I was ready.
After all, every time I beat my meat, I level up.
And this was only the beginning.