"Darion, stop!" Seraphina's voice rang out sharp and sudden, cutting through the chatter of the gathered students like a blade through silk. Her hand clutched his arm tightly, eyes wide with alarm—not fear, but something dangerously close to it.
All around them, heads turned. The right-side group, those tasked with clearing weeds and muttering complaints, stopped mid-motion. Tools dangled forgotten in their hands. Everyone was watching now.
Darion didn't stop. He didn't even flinch. He yanked his arm free from Seraphina's grip like she was nothing but a twig caught on his cloak. Then, without a word or warning, he lunged forward and threw a punch straight at Rayden's face.
But something strange happened.
Rayden didn't see the punch coming—but somehow, his body moved before his mind could catch up. His feet twisted, his shoulder dipped, and the fist sailed past him in a blur. And then—almost by accident—his own leg bumped into Darion's with just enough force to trip him.
Darion fell. Hard.
There was a beat of silence, and then the courtyard exploded with laughter.
Not cruel laughter—just surprised. It rolled through the students like a wave. Some tried to muffle it, others didn't bother.
Troy and Rubby stared in disbelief. Luis's mouth was slightly open, blinking like he'd seen a ghost.
"Did he just...?" Troy began.
"No way," Rubby muttered, shaking his head. "No freaking way."
They clapped before they even knew they were doing it. Something about it—Rayden dodging that punch, tripping the academy's golden boy by accident—it was just too perfect.
But Rayden wasn't smiling.
His breath hitched. His hands trembled. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might crack open his ribs. He looked around, eyes wide with panic. "I... I didn't do that," he stammered. "I swear I didn't do anything. Please, I'm sorry."
He wasn't even sure who he was apologizing to.
Darion stood up slowly, brushing dirt off his knees, but the smile on his face was twisted now. It didn't reach his eyes. There was something darker there—mocking, dangerous.
"Cute trick," he muttered.
And then, as if the air around him answered his anger, his right hand began to glow. Not with fire. Not with any clean or noble light. It was murky—like dying embers mixed with shadows. [Middle-high rank: Element of Obsidian Flame.] The glow pulsed in sick waves, flickering between black and deep crimson.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Someone whispered, "He's going to kill him..."
Rayden froze. His legs refused to move. His breath turned shallow.
Darion took a step forward, his eyes fixed on Rayden like a predator closing in.
Then, suddenly, Seraphina stepped between them.
She held her ground, arms spread wide. "Darion, are you insane?! You can't attack another student—this isn't a duel, it's not allowed."
He didn't respond. Not with words.
The backhand came so fast even she didn't see it. His hand cracked across her cheek, sending her stumbling sideways. Her fingers flew to her face, holding the spot where he struck her. Her skin bloomed red, the pain written across her expression like a fresh wound.
The courtyard went quiet.
And then Darion stepped past her like she was nothing more than a curtain in his way—and punched Rayden square in the jaw.
Rayden's head snapped back. Before he could react, the second blow came—this one to his stomach. The air fled his lungs, and a sick noise escaped his lips as he dropped to his knees, blood spilling from his mouth.
He collapsed onto the grass.
Rubby made a move toward him, but Troy grabbed his arm and shook his head. "He'll crush us too," he whispered. They were helpless. Their mana ranks didn't come close to Darion's. Stepping in meant suicide.
Rayden lay curled in pain, barely breathing. His fingers twitched in the dirt.
Then came the sound.
Footsteps—fast, heavy, and many.
From the far path, the black-uniformed Disciplinary Squad burst into view, their boots striking the ground like war drums.
Darion heard them too.
He looked over his shoulder, hissed under his breath, and without another word, turned and ran. He leapt the low stone fence at the edge of the yard and disappeared around the corner of the main building.
Two members of the squad rushed to Rayden. Another grabbed Troy by the collar.
"What the hell happened here?" the squad leader demanded.
Luis didn't even hesitate. He pointed toward the direction Darion had vanished. "A student with black hair, taller than me, punched my friend without provocation. Hit him twice. Ask anyone—he didn't do anything."
The squad exchanged glances.
"Name?"
Luis frowned. "Darion. He's in third-year."
The squad leader cursed and turned. "Pursue him. That's grounds for suspension. Maybe worse."
Three officers broke off and took off after Darion. The others helped lift Rayden, who winced and spat blood into the grass.
"We're taking him to the infirmary," one of them said grimly. "This is no longer a student issue."
Troy, Luis, and Rubby watched as Rayden was carried off, his head lolling back slightly, eyes half-closed in pain.
Their tools were left forgotten. The weed-cutting, the punishment drills—it all meant nothing now.
Behind them, the rest of the students returned to their tasks, whispering quietly, their eyes flicking toward where Rayden had fallen.
And far above, in the tallest window of the west tower, someone was watching. Quiet. Still. Taking notes.
"Principal," a voice echoed through the tall chamber, thick with the weight of old stone and sharper opinions. "A boy with no mana, not even a hint of it, somehow found his way into Class 1A. You can't just ignore this. It breaks the entire system."
The speaker was no ordinary teacher. She was Lady Elowen, a Council Advisor with the badge of the Trial Wardens pinned across her robe—one of the few who could speak to the headmaster without bowing.
Headmaster Thorne didn't flinch. He sat behind his heavy desk carved from ancient ironwood, his hands steepled beneath his chin. His silver eyes—cold, calculating—lifted slowly to meet hers.
"I know," he said, voice low but firm. "I already summoned you yesterday to address it. I tried to have the boy reassigned to Class 2B."
"Then why—"
"But something happened." The words came with a weight behind them. "Something I didn't expect. Still... order must be restored. Tomorrow morning, escort him quietly. Place him in 2B. Let him begin again, without attention. That's final."
Lady Elowen pressed her lips into a thin line. She said nothing more. Just turned, her cloak sweeping the floor like a trailing shadow.
---
"Seraphina, what the hell is wrong with you?" The words burst from Nyla's mouth, bitter like spoiled wine. "You started all this drama! You touched him like—like you liked him or something."
Seraphina didn't reply at first. Her hand trembled as she clenched it into a fist, then slammed it down hard against the marble bench beside her.
"I didn't know he was standing there!" she snapped. Her voice cracked, raw and too loud for the common room, but she didn't care. "I didn't know! Why is everyone acting like I did it on purpose?!"
Her breath was uneven. Her chest rose and fell in sharp jolts. She looked down at her knees, blinking fast.
"I just… I just need to find a new boyfriend," she muttered, her tone shifting, bitter and shaky all at once. "Someone like him. Like Rayden. Or whatever his name is."
Her friends glanced at each other, their faces unreadable. One of them rolled her eyes. No one replied.
There was silence. Not the comfortable kind. The kind that pressed down on you and made you feel like your own voice had betrayed you.
---
In the boy's dormitory, laughter danced in the air like sparks from a flame.
"Bro, did you see it?!" Rubby said, arms flailing as if he could reenact it. "That move was sick. Like—bam! And then whoosh! I didn't even see him move."
Luis was half-listening. He sat by the window, his brow furrowed, eyes distant. He'd seen it too. But something about it wasn't right.
"It wasn't just reflex," he said under his breath. "Darion doesn't just lose control. Not like that. Why go after Rayden out of nowhere?"
Rubby shrugged. "Who cares? Rayden's a beast, man."
Luis didn't answer. He kept staring out the window, his fingers tapping against the sill.
Troy was on his bed, one foot bouncing absently. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then—
Knock knock knock.
Three knocks. Firm. Not a student.
Troy stood up slowly and walked to the door. His hand paused on the handle.
He opened it.
"Principal," he said, blinking.
And there he was.
Headmaster Thorne. In the doorway.
His cloak was soaked at the bottom from the evening dew, and his expression was unreadable. Behind him stood a pair of silent guards, their uniforms trimmed with silver thread.
"May I come in?" the headmaster asked, though the tone suggested it wasn't really a question.
Rubby stood so fast his blanket fell off his lap. Luis straightened up, heart skipping a beat. Troy stepped aside, unsure if he should bow or just stand still.
"I won't stay long," the headmaster said, eyes sweeping across the room. "I need to speak with Rayden."
The name hung in the air like smoke.
"He's not here," Troy said quietly. "Still in the infirmary, sir."
The headmaster nodded slowly. "I see."
He didn't speak for a moment. Just stood there, as if waiting for the walls to talk. Then he turned to leave, but paused in the doorway.
"Tell him," he said without looking back, "not all power looks like power. But all truth… eventually demands a price."
And then he walked away.