The academy grounds felt different.
It wasn't obvious—not to the foolish and the ignorant. But to those who truly understood the shifting undercurrents of power, it was palpable.
The air itself seemed charged, as if the very stones of the ancient building had awakened to a new presence among them.
Whispers trailed in the halls, voices hushed as students glanced toward Arashi with a new, unspoken wariness.
They didn't speak to him. They barely acknowledged him. Some pretended to study their grimoires with sudden intensity when he passed; others found urgent reasons to take different corridors.
But they noticed him.
And that was more than enough.
'Tsk. How troublesome.'
Arashi walked through the academy corridors with his usual measured steps, his expression unreadable as stone.
The cool morning light filtered through the stained glass windows, casting prismatic shadows across his path.
He preferred silence, the comfort of being ignored, the ease of slipping through the cracks of the world unseen—a shadow among shadows.
Now, however, eyes lingered for too long.
Too many people stole glances at him before hurriedly looking away, their faces a mixture of curiosity and fear.
A first-year student dropped her books when their eyes met, her hands trembling slightly as she gathered them.
They weren't sure what they had seen in that duel.
The memory of it still hung in the air—the absolute stillness that had descended upon the arena, the look of utter disbelief on Renji's face as he realized what had happened.
No flashy spells. No dramatic gestures. Just... inevitability.
But they knew one thing—
He was not normal.
And uncertainty was the greatest fear of all.
Behind the towering, ornate doors of the Student Council Chamber, a group of individuals sat in silence.
The room itself spoke of power and tradition—ancient tapestries depicting the academy's founding lined the walls, magical artifacts hummed with quiet energy in their display cases, and the enchanted ceiling mirrored the turbulent sky outside.
At the head of the table, a young man tapped his fingers against the polished wood, each tap resonating with a strange, bell-like clarity.
His uniform bore a golden insignia, marking him as the Student Council President—a figure of absolute authority among the students.
Leonhart Valerian.
The heir to House Valerian. A noble among nobles. His very presence commanded respect, the air around him seeming to shimmer with barely contained power.
His piercing blue eyes—cold as midwinter ice—locked onto the reports in front of him.
A muscle in his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Kurobane Arashi."
He spoke the name slowly, as if tasting it, testing it. Each syllable hung in the air like frost.
A girl with silver hair and glasses adjusted her documents, speaking in a neutral tone that belied the tension in her shoulders.
The light caught on her family ring—House Silverwind, known for their analytical minds and unparalleled information networks.
"A commoner with a weak magical aptitude. No significant family ties. Previously dismissed as unremarkable." She paused, a flicker of something—perhaps concern—crossing her features.
"However—" She adjusted her glasses with a practiced motion. "After today's events, we can no longer say that."
The others exchanged glances, the weight of unspoken thoughts hanging heavy in the air.
"It wasn't magic." One of the council members leaned forward, brows furrowed, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"He didn't use any spells. No recorded artifacts. No known techniques. The monitoring crystals registered almost nothing."
Another scoffed, running a hand through his flame-red hair. "Then how did he win? Renji isn't weak. He's from House Stormhaven—their combat magic is legendary."
Silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the soft ticking of the enchanted clock in the corner.
Leonhart exhaled slowly, his gaze sharpening. When he spoke, his voice was calm, controlled—and all the more dangerous for it.
"It wasn't strength." He traced a finger along the edge of the report. "It was something else."
The room grew heavy, the magical lights dimming slightly as if responding to the mood.
The silver-haired girl nodded, her quill scratching softly against parchment. "If I had to name it…" She hesitated, choosing her words carefully, weighing each one.
"Control."
The term sent a shiver through some of the weaker council members. One of them, a boy with scholarly eyes, dropped his gaze to the table.
Because control was more terrifying than power.
Raw strength could be countered. Magic could be measured, categorized, understood.
But control—the ability to dictate outcomes before the fight even began—was something far more insidious.
It meant seeing the pieces before they were in play, understanding the game better than those who had created it.
And far more dangerous.
Leonhart's fingers finally stopped tapping. He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed to slits of blue fire.
"…We will watch him."
No further words were needed.
The decree had been made.
The game had begun.
Arashi exhaled softly as he sat on the rooftop, his back against the cold stone railing.
The wind tousled his dark hair, carrying with it the scent of coming rain and distant mountain pine.
The sky stretched above him, an endless sea of gray clouds, roiling with unspoken promises of storms to come.
He liked the rooftops. No people. No noise. Just the wind, the distant murmurs of the world below, and his own thoughts.
Up here, the constant pressure of pretending—of holding back—eased slightly. He could breathe.
'They're going to move soon.'
He wasn't foolish enough to believe he had remained in the shadows.
Not after today. Not after the way Renji had fallen—not defeated, but dismantled, his techniques rendered meaningless before they had even begun.
The Student Council would act. The nobility would take notice. The instructors would start paying attention during classes, watching for signs of what they had missed.
And, worst of all—
The ones lurking in the true depths would finally turn their gaze toward him.
The hidden powers that operated beneath the veneer of the academy's prestige. The ones who collected gifted students like rare specimens.
Not yet.
Not now.
But soon.
He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of inevitability settle over him like a cloak.
'I should've let Renji win.'
It would have been easier.
Smoother. Simpler.
The path of least resistance—continue being overlooked, continue being underestimated. Safety in obscurity.
But something in him had refused to.
Not out of pride. Not out of arrogance.
Just an annoyance—a deep, simmering irritation at the foolishness of the world.
At Renji's casual dismissal, at the system that valued bloodlines over merit, at the waste of potential all around him.
He had merely corrected one small mistake.
And yet, even that had sent ripples across the surface of the academy's carefully maintained order.
A shadow flickered nearby. Someone was coming. The soft scrape of boots against stone, purposeful and measured.
He didn't need to turn to know who it was.
A familiar scent—lavender and steel. The subtle hum of a well-crafted magical focus.
"Arashi."
A quiet voice, calm but tinged with something sharp. Something demanding.
Arashi opened his eyes, glancing to the side. The clouds shifted, allowing a beam of pale sunlight to break through, illuminating the figure standing there.
Standing there, arms crossed, was Ilyana Velcrest.
His classmate. Her silver-white hair caught the light like a halo, contrasting sharply with her dark uniform. Her stance was relaxed, but her eyes—ever watchful—missed nothing.
And the second-ranked student in the academy. The pride of House Velcrest.
The prodigy everyone expected to claim the top position this year.
Her violet eyes were unreadable as she regarded him, though a faint crease between her brows betrayed her inner thoughts.
"…We need to talk."
Arashi sighed again, feeling the moment of peace slip away like water through cupped hands.
So much for solitude.
The game was moving faster than he had anticipated.