Yuna heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind—soft, hesitant ones that were all too familiar.
She didn't turn around. Just sighed quietly and stood up, dusting her hands as if she hadn't noticed anything.
Still, she made to leave, only to realize she'd already been surrounded.
...Persistent bunch.
Theo stepped forward. She didn't look at him, but it wasn't hard to guess what was coming. Probably an apology. She braced herself for the usual awkwardness—something overly earnest she could pretend not to hear.
But instead of words, she heard the sound of knees hitting the ground.
"Yuna," Theo called softly, bowing his head. "Please… don't be angry with me anymore. I'm sorry. I won't ever do it again."
Yuna blinked. Her lips twitched slightly, though whether from amusement or exasperation, even she wasn't sure.
Then came the rest of them.
"Yuna, please don't be angry at us anymore."
"Yuna, we're sorry…"
They echoed him like a chorus, repeating his words like a chant. The kind of scene you'd expect from a school play, not real life. Except it was real, and they weren't stopping.
Yuna resisted the urge to run away, well, she was surrounded anyway, she can't run. Their voices weren't loud, but they were relentless.
Seeing them like this gave her a momentary guilt.
Honestly, most of her anger had faded after the first week. She'd just… gotten used to the peace and quiet. It wasn't bad, having time to herself for once. She hadn't expected them to take her cold shoulder this seriously.
Maybe she had pushed it a bit far. Maybe.
But honestly, the quiet routine of just attending class and retreating back to her dorm without having to deal with anything else—it was too good. A little slice of peace. The kind of carefree academy life she'd always dreamed of: low effort, low interaction, and absolutely no responsibilities beyond the bare minimum.
It was exactly how she dreamed her life in Evigheden academy would be.
But….reality has always been far too cruel.
She can't run away forever can't she? She has to man up and finish the work she started. Sigh….
Yuna crouched slightly and pulled Theo up by the arm.
"Alright, enough already," she muttered.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Where's your summoned being? Didn't I say to keep them by your side and not dump them in the summoned space like worn-out tools?"
She kept her tone flat, but the words made a few of them perk up, visibly relieved. As if her concern—dry and minimal as it was—meant everything.
They scrambled to bring out their summoned beasts, some even grinning a little. The awkward tension started to lift, if only just.
Yuna didn't say anything else. She folded her arms, lips pressed into a line.
She hadn't really been punishing them. More like… taking a break. Letting herself slack off under the guise of anger. Maybe even hoping it could last her forever. Sigh…
She exhaled softly and started walking off again without another word.
Behind her, none of them dared bring up her silence.
But that day, they made a quiet vow to themselves: never to anger Yuna again, never to make her upset.
Being on the receiving end of her cold indifference was something they never wanted to go through a second time.
Unlike other leaders who achieved unity and cooperation through authority, charisma, strength, intimidation, or persuasion, Yuna managed to bring about an unprecedented level of cohesion among her classmates... through a tantrum.
...…
During combat class, Yuna sat lazily on the sidelines, showing no interest in trying to beat the combat puppet herself.
While she watched the ongoing spectacle, she felt a light poke at her side. Turning her head, she met a pair of bright pink eyes.
'Haa… this world really was saturated with color'
"Yes, Cerise?" she asked flatly.
Cerise, the illusion-ability user, leaned in closer and whispered, "Yuna, do you want Heart Class to be the first to beat the combat puppet?"
"If you all can manage it, sure. If not, then forget it," she replied. She wasn't interested in beating the puppet herself, so it would be unfair to force her classmates to obsess over it either.
Cerise grinned mischievously. "If we beat it, what kind of reward will we get?"
Yuna raised a brow, a bit surprised they were suddenly so motivated. Still, she gave a half-hearted response. "I'll think about it."
"You said it, so think carefully about what our prize will be!" Cerise beamed as he stood up. "Now watch your handsome son snatch first place!"
Tsk. Yuna clicked her tongue and shook her head, already too used to Cerise's nonsense. She didn't even bother correcting his playful habit of calling himself her son anymore.
….
The arena floor buzzed with a low hum as the Heart Class stepped into the combat field. Their opponent stood at the center: a towering silver puppet laced with combat runes, its frame still but thrumming with dangerous potential. This wasn't their first time facing it—and certainly not their first failure.
The stands were full. The other Card Classes had gathered again, waiting to see Heart Class falter or play around with the puppet again. No one expected a win.
Not even the puppet.
Its glowing core pulsed once.
Begin.
The puppet surged forward like a steel tempest.
Cerise moved first, fingertips alight with pink mana as his illusions bloomed around the puppet—disjointed, imperfect. The first layer shimmered too early, the second flickered at the wrong angle. Cerise gritted his teeth. His illusions were still unstable when moving at this scale.
Still, they worked.
Just enough.
The puppet twisted its torso to avoid an attack that didn't exist, allowing Theo the narrowest window to shoot.
His arrow flew wide, missing its target.
No—
Midair, his still unstable mana flared, and the arrow jerked back toward the puppet's real body. A tracking curve.
It hit, but not deeply. Sparks flew. The puppet reeled.
"Celeste!" Cerise shouted.
The sound ability user closed her eyes, palm glowing faintly green. Her low hum was off-tempo— Not polished like in practice. She was rushing. The frequency crackled against the puppet's auditory sensors. It paused—but only briefly—before recalibrating faster than any of them expected.
Then it attacked.
Two students went flying—one slammed into the barrier wall, the other rolling across the dirt.
The onlookers gasped.
Yuna did not move from where she sat on the edge. Her eyes were dark, mouth tight.
The injured didn't cry out. Didn't panic. They trusted the boy who stepped forward.
Their healer didn't chant. He didn't shout.
He simply moved.
He'd never healed mid-combat like this, not under pressure, not while mana buzzed like fire through the air. But he remembered what Yuna said—"You are a healer. You control life and death."
Something in him snapped open.
His ability surged—not smooth, but forceful. Like a dam cracking.
The wounds reversed.
Not just sealed. Rewound. Bruises faded as if they were never there. Blood snapped back into veins.
But it cost him—he staggered, breathing hard. He was not yet proficient.
Still, it was enough.
The two injured jumped back into formation.
Theo released another arrow—this one pulsing wildly, guided by his fraying control over his mutated mana. It jittered midair, twitched too fast, then—connected. The puppet staggered.
"Again!" Celeste cried. She'd found the right note now—a trembling, dissonant hum that made the puppet hesitate every few seconds. Every sound that generated inside the combat hall, whether it comes from her or others, it was under Celeste control at the moment.
Cerise redirected his illusions, making some blink rapidly—mimicking movement patterns the puppet was programmed to track. Its head snapped to the false threats again and again.
Its logic conflicted.
Theo was panting now, drawing on unstable mana that stung beneath his skin. But they all kept going. Coordinating without words. One rhythm. One breath.
They knew this puppet. Every pattern. Every glitch. Every failed attempt that had taught them how it moved. Yuna has let them practiced their ability on this combat puppet everyday, they knew this combat puppet well.
A final arrow.
A final blow.
The puppet buckled forward—then collapsed, metal hissing as its limbs shut down.
Silence.
The arena had no music. No announcement.
Just stunned silence.
Cerise doubled over, hands on his knees. "Did we…?"
Celeste exhaled sharply, rubbing her ears. "Yeah. We did."
Theo dropped to one knee, his hands shaking from overuse of mana. The healer stepped toward him—but not to heal. Just to steady him with a hand on the shoulder.
In the audience, the murmurs began to swell.
One Club Class student blinked, eyes wide. "They actually—no way."
Another from Spade Class whispered, "How'd they pull that off?"
"The heart class best it?!!!" It was a voice full of disbelief.
Professor Bales, of Diamond Class, tilted his head ever so slightly. The corner of his mouth twitched—an almost-smile, faint and gone the moment it appeared.
Professor Lirien, Spade Class homeroom teacher, said nothing. But her arms slowly uncrossed, hands clasping behind her back. She stared for a long moment longer before turning away.
The Heart Class didn't celebrate.
They just stood, breathing hard, sweaty, faces flushed.
They'd won.
Finally.
Not through precision.
Not through raw strength.
But through understanding. Through chaotic, imperfect magic shaped around each other like mismatched puzzle pieces forced to fit. Like people who had learned each other not through admiration—but through responsibility, frustration, repetition, and an unwillingness to give up.
They didn't win because they were the strongest.
They won because they were theirs.
…..
For the first time, Crown Prince Alaric Kaelar's gaze settled on the Heart Class.
Until now, he'd never spared them more than a passing glance. A class full of misfits—undisciplined, weak, more interested in playing around than improving. They were the least likely to stand out in an academy teeming with prodigies.
But today, something was different.
Their movements weren't polished, but their coordination was undeniable—messy, instinctive, but unified. Like a group that had failed together so many times they'd stopped needing to speak to understand each other. It wasn't refined excellence. It was earned familiarity.
And more than that—there was something strange about the abilities they wielded.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
The healer. That reverse healing—he'd never seen anything like it. It wasn't just restoring injuries; it was rewinding them, as if turning back time. Dangerous, if honed.
The sound user—her control was still jagged, like a song played by trembling fingers. But the potential was terrifying. She didn't rely on projecting sound, but manipulating it. Even the smallest vibration in the air seemed drawn to her. If she ever learned to master it fully… she'd be lethal.
The illusionist—Alaric watched closely. Cerise's illusions didn't look real at all. They weren't meant to. Jagged colors, flickering outlines—clearly fake to anyone watching. But the puppet was fooled again and again. The boy wasn't crafting believable images—he was targeting the puppet's logic. Understanding how it thought, not what it saw.
Then there was the archer.
Alaric's gaze locked onto Theo.
He could feel it—faint but unmistakable. Theo's mana had mutated. It twisted unnaturally, unstable and wild, but undeniably potent. His arrows bent midair, following paths they should not have been able to. His control was far from perfect, but the foundation was already dangerous.
The entire Heart Class felt… different.
Not stronger in the traditional sense—but awakened somehow. As if something in them had been unshackled over the course of just a few days.
Alaric narrowed his eyes further, thoughtful.
How did it happen?
What changed?