"Excuse me, are you alright?"
Her voice was soft—like the brush of wind through leaves—laced with genuine concern.
I glanced up, meeting her eyes. Deep green, like polished jade. Kind. Wary, maybe. But kind.
A faint smirk threatened to tug at the corner of my mouth.
How considerate.
I smothered it quickly, replacing it with something gentler. A polite, disarming smile. The kind that said, Thanks for asking, I'll be fine.
"Yes, I'm fine," I said, keeping my tone light, as if nothing in the world could possibly be wrong.
She relaxed almost immediately. I watched it in the way her shoulders dipped, the small crease between her brows smoothing out. That's all it took—one smile, one practiced line—and she bought it.
Good.
I let out a soft sigh, a carefully measured exhale, like someone who'd just been offered a bit of kindness on a long day.
Of course, it was all fake.
But faking it came naturally.
Ever since I was a kid, I'd been trained—by life, by necessity, by survival—to keep my face under control —emotions were a liability.
They clouded your judgment, gave people leverage, made you vulnerable. And vulnerability? That got you crushed. Mocked. Left behind.
So I learned early how to wear a mask.
The one that smiled even when it hurt.
The one that nodded even when I disagreed.
The one that said "I'm fine" when I was anything but.
And right now, I needed that mask more than ever.
Because Lena—though she looked like someone offering help—was far from a harmless bystander. She was dangerous. I knew that. Knew who she was, what she represented.
The Chairman's shadow.
The protagonist's future mentor.
She didn't exactly blend in. Her long, black hair shimmered in the sunlight, and those emerald eyes were sharp, taking in everything—my stance, my tone, maybe even my heartbeat. She was stunning, sure, but there was something more beneath the beauty. A stillness. A calculation.
If she was here, it wasn't just coincidence. Someone like her didn't just stumble across a dying cadet in the mountains at dawn.
She was watching me.
Evaluating me.
"You don't look fine," she said, raising a brow.
Clever. Sharp. She didn't buy the act completely.
Still, she wasn't pushing. Not yet.
"I'm just… catching my breath," I replied, with a sheepish chuckle. "Climbing mountains on an empty stomach isn't exactly ideal."
A pause. Her eyes narrowed slightly, scanning me again.
Then, without a word, she reached into her coat and pulled out a small silver flask.
"Water," she said, extending it.
I hesitated. Just for a second.
Then I took it.
Not because I trusted her.
But because I needed it. And playing the part of the grateful student was easier than raising suspicion.
"Thank you," I said softly, unscrewing the cap and sipping.
The water was cold. Crisp. It hit my throat like a blessing, but I didn't let it show. Just another small nod, another practiced smile.
"Maybe you should rest a bit before going any further?"
Her concern felt real. Almost too real. Like she was just a stranger passing by, offering casual advice to someone she happened to meet on a forest trail.
But I knew better.
This wasn't just a kind woman checking in on a lost-looking cadet.
She was assessing me.
Testing me.
I couldn't slip up.
"Yeah... I guess I am a little tired," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "Didn't realize how far I'd walked."
That earned a small chuckle from her. A short, melodic sound. "It's easy to lose track of time out here. The trails can be deceptively long."
I nodded, chuckling softly too, matching her mood.
Keep it light.
Keep it believable.
Because right now, the only thing standing between me and discovery… was my ability to lie with a smile.
And luckily, I'd been doing that for as long as I could remember.
I looked towards once more before looking away.
I know why she's here, she's watching me.
By the orders from chairman.
But I didn't panicked, I already knew something like this would happen.
It was only a matter of time before the Chairman took interest.
But that was fine.
Because right now, Lena wasn't here as a hunter.
She was here as a watcher.
And I was going to make sure she saw exactly what I wanted her to.
She was probably watching me from the very start.
I had predicted that.
She was probably watching me from the very start.
I had predicted that.
I wasn't stupid. Not anymore. The moment I survived the Trial with injuries that should've crippled me, I knew eyes would be on me.
Eyes like hers.
And if Lena was the one sent to watch me… that meant two things.
One: The Chairman was seriously considering me.
Two: I didn't have much time left before everything started moving faster.
I took another sip of the water, slower this time. Measured. Controlled. The kind of sip that said I'm trying to gather my strength, not hide my intentions.
She sat down a short distance away, cross-legged, as if settling in for a chat. Not too close to be intrusive, not too far to seem disinterested.
"I think it's time I should start going on."
"Already? I think you should rest bit more before going on."
Lena said while scanning my body.
In fact anyone else would have said the same thing as her.
"No, I'm sorry," I said, forcing a faint smile. "But I can't rest. I need to keep going a little further."
Lena frowned slightly, her eyes sweeping over me with a clinical sharpness. She didn't miss a thing.
"You're sweating a lot," she pointed out, her voice steady but firm. "Your breathing is rough and uneven. And… you're trembling." Her gaze narrowed. "I think you really need to rest. Even just for a bit."
I clenched my jaw.
Damn.
There was no need for her to spell it out—I already knew how pathetic I looked. A seventeen-year-old boy barely able to stand, drenched in sweat, limbs shaking from the strain.
I wanted to scoff. To say something self-deprecating.
Yeah, I'm a real mess, huh?
But I held my tongue.
I couldn't let my mask crack.
Instead, I lowered my gaze slightly, just enough to seem embarrassed, not ashamed. Vulnerability could be useful—in small, controlled doses.
"Guess I overestimated myself," I murmured, letting out a sheepish laugh. "Thought I could push through it."
Lena's expression softened, but only a little. She was still watching, still analyzing. That calculating glint never left her eyes.
"You're not weak for needing rest," she said. "Even the strongest know when to stop."
I looked up at her then, letting just a flicker of doubt cross my face.
"But if I stop now… I might not start again."
That struck a chord. I saw it. Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something but didn't. Instead, she leaned back, folding her arms over her knees.
Silence stretched between us, filled only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds in the distance.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
I chuckled weakly, keeping my expression as lighthearted as I could.
" I've been weak ever since I was young, so I want to push myself a little further. You know… to build up my health."
Lena tilted her head slightly, her gaze still fixed on me, sharp and unreadable.
"Weak?" she echoed softly.
I nodded, forcing a bitter laugh under my breath.
"Yeah," I said, my voice low. "Some kids are born strong. Some have to catch up. I've always been in the second group."
It wasn't a lie.
Not entirely.
I had been weak once—frail, even. But that was before. Before the memories, before the plans, before the rebirth into someone who couldn't afford weakness.
Still, the vulnerability in my voice sounded real enough.
Let her hear it.
Let her feel it.
Lena's expression didn't change, but I saw the flicker in her eyes. Something between sympathy and suspicion.
Good.
"Then why push yourself so hard?" she asked, her voice calm, curious. "Why keep walking when your body is clearly at its limit?"
I looked away for a moment, as if the question stung.
Truthfully, I had rehearsed this.
A dozen versions of this conversation had already played out in my head, each one tailored to build a specific image.
A driven cadet.
A struggling underdog.
Someone too stubborn to quit.
She wouldn't be able to leave me here.
I could see the hesitation flicker in her eyes.
That was my cue.
"Actually…" I lowered my voice, as if confessing something. "I heard there's a hidden spring at the top of this mountain, known only to a few in the academy, one that's said to have healing properties. so I came to look for it." I rubbed the back of my neck, glancing away as if embarrassed. "I'm not very healthy, so… I wanted to try it. Thought maybe it could help."
I didn't have to fake the exhaustion in my voice—it was already there.
Her expression softened instantly.
Got her.
"Ah…" Her voice lowered slightly, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that's why you were out here."
Of course she didn't.
Because I had fed her a reason that sounded just naive enough to be true, just desperate enough to be believable. A fragile hope clung to by someone too weak to fight in any other way. Someone who would seek out fairy tales about healing springs instead of confronting the cold truth.
She looked away for a moment, her brows drawn together, thinking.
I didn't interrupt. Silence could be a weapon too—let her fill it with her own assumptions.
Then, softly, she spoke again.
"I've heard of that spring," she said. "Most think it's just an old cadet legend. But some of the staff… they speak of it differently."
I perked up—just a little. Not too eager.
"Really?"
She nodded. "It's said to be hidden somewhere in the north ridge, guarded by natural barriers. Most who look for it get lost or give up halfway."
That matched what I'd planned. I made sure the lie was close enough to some obscure truth to pass as sincere.
"I figured it wouldn't be easy," I said, huffing a laugh. "But I had to try."
Lena looked at me for a long moment. Not saying anything. Just… watching.
"But the terrain gets worse past this point. Steeper, rougher. Even some upper-year students avoid that path."
Perfect.
That was exactly what I needed—an obstacle. One that justified my current state, one that gave her a reason to believe my struggle wasn't just bravado or bravado alone.
I hesitated for a second, glancing toward the path ahead like someone on the verge of giving up.
I forced a small, self-deprecating smile and took a shaky step back.
"Then I'll get going now."
"Wait! Didn't you here me?"
"I did but that doesn't mean I'm going to stop."
Lena didn't say anything, just looked at my face.
"I'll excuse myself now," I mumbled quietly, as if unwilling to burden her further.
Then, with visible effort, I dragged my reluctant feet forward.
I didn't need to act pitiful.
I was pitiful.
Every step felt like trudging through thick mud, my legs threatening to buckle beneath me. My arms felt heavy, my breath shallow.
But I kept going.
At the same time
From the corner of my eye, I caught the faint crease of worry on Lena's brow.
She won't leave me alone.
Just as I wanted.