The wind whispered secrets as Arashi sat against the cold stone railing, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the rough surface, each movement deliberate yet absent-minded.
Above, the clouds stretched in a vast, unbroken gray—silent, indifferent, endless—like the watchful eyes of forgotten gods.
Then, a presence.
He didn't turn. He didn't need to.
Lavender and steel.
A familiar weight in the air, pressing against his senses like an invisible blade.
"Ilyana," he murmured, the name itself a quiet surrender to the inevitable confrontation.
The girl standing before him, arms crossed with casual authority, studied him with sharp violet eyes that missed nothing—cataloged everything.
Her uniform, pristine as always, bore the crest of House Velcrest—one of the Six Great Families.
A noble lineage bathed in reputation and power. Blood that commanded respect without asking.
But Arashi didn't care about her name.
What mattered was why she was here, disturbing the quiet sanctuary he'd claimed.
A Conversation of Blades
"You should have held back, why?"
Ilyana's voice was quiet, but there was an unmistakable edge to it—steel wrapped in silk.
Arashi sighed, rubbing his temple, a veil of exhaustion settling across his features. "You're going to have to be more specific."
Her gaze sharpened, cutting through his pretense. "The duel. Renji should have at least landed a hit."
He exhaled slowly, his head tilting slightly as he regarded her, measuring his response against the danger she represented.
"So?"
"So?" she echoed, a trace of irritation flickering across her normally composed face like lightning across a still sky.
"Don't insult me."
Ah.
She wasn't asking as a bystander.
She was asking as a swordswoman.
A fighter who had witnessed something wrong—something that didn't fit into the laws of combat she understood and lived by.
She had seen through the illusion of weakness with eyes too perceptive for comfort.
Arashi tapped his fingers against the railing, considering his words carefully, each passing second a gamble.
"…Maybe he was just weaker than you thought."
Ilyana didn't even blink, her stillness more accusatory than any outburst. "Lies don't suit you."
'Tsk. What a pain.'
He glanced at her again. There was no malice in her gaze. No arrogance.
Just pure, dangerous curiosity.
And that made her more dangerous than any noble schemer with agendas and plots.
Still, he couldn't just tell her the truth that clung to him like a second shadow.
So he settled for a half-lie, a morsel of truth wrapped in misdirection.
"Renji fights too predictably." He shrugged, the gesture deliberately casual.
"His footwork is sloppy, his stance overcommitted. He swings for a decisive victory but leaves himself wide open."
Ilyana frowned slightly but didn't argue, her silence more telling than words.
That was the difference between her and the others.
She didn't believe him, but she also wasn't dismissing his words entirely.
A moment of silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring, before she spoke again.
"…One day," she murmured, her violet eyes studying him carefully, peeling away layers he couldn't afford to lose, "I'll figure you out."
Arashi chuckled, his gaze drifting back to the sky, seeking refuge in its vastness.
"Good luck with that."
And just like that, she was gone, leaving behind only the lingering scent of lavender and unanswered questions.
In the depths of the academy, behind closed doors and gilded walls that whispered secrets centuries old, the Student Council convened once more.
This time, their attention was fully locked onto one person.
Kurobane Arashi.
Leonhart Valerian sat at the head of the table, fingers steepled beneath his chin, a perfect picture of controlled power.
"We'll invite him," he declared, each word falling like a judge's gavel.
The room grew tense, the air suddenly heavy with unspoken concerns.
One of the council members—an older student with an aristocratic air that spoke of generations of privilege—frowned. "You think he'll accept?"
Leonhart smiled. It wasn't warm. It was the smile of a predator who had already calculated every possible escape route.
"It doesn't matter."
The pieces were moving.
And soon, the board would be set, the game already decided before the first move.
Arashi knew the academy was like a giant beast, ancient and patient.
If you moved quietly, you could avoid notice, slipping between the cracks of attention.
But the moment you did something strange—even the smallest action—the beast turned its head, its countless eyes fixing upon you.
And once it noticed you, it never looked away, its gaze burning into your back like a brand.
'…I should've stayed in bed.'
A new, unexpected force enters the fray
Ilyana's growing suspicions deepen, roots taking hold in fertile soil.
The day passed in an uneventful haze—at least, as uneventful as it could be when half the academy was whispering about him.
Their words scurrying through corridors like rats in darkness.
Arashi wasn't stupid.
He knew how rumors worked.
And after the duel, his name had begun to crawl through the halls like an unseen shadow, growing larger with each retelling.
Some thought he had gotten lucky, fortune's blessing on an otherwise unremarkable student.
Others believed he had connections, invisible strings pulling him upward.
And a few, the dangerous few, weren't satisfied with those answers, their hunger for truth insatiable.
They were the ones watching.
Waiting.
Plotting.
He sighed as he walked toward the academy library, a place of silence, books, and most importantly—no people bothering him with questions he wouldn't answer.
At least, that was the plan, fragile as morning mist.
And then, the voice came, shattering his momentary peace.
"Kurobane Arashi."
A single sentence.
Calm. Absolute.
And backed by a weight that sent a ripple through the air, disturbing the very fabric of his carefully constructed anonymity.
Arashi stopped, his gaze shifting toward the owner of the voice, muscles tensing imperceptibly.
Leonhart Valerian.
The Student Council President.
And standing beside him—two other figures, their eyes locked onto Arashi with an almost clinical interest, dissecting him without a single touch.
"You've been invited."
A Meeting with the Student Council
The room was large, filled with bookshelves and gold-trimmed furniture that screamed wealth and power, centuries of privilege condensed into physical form.
Leonhart sat at the head of a long table, his expression unreadable as still water.
Arashi, on the other hand, simply stared at the ornate chair across from him, its intricate carvings telling stories of a legacy he didn't share.
It was way too fancy, gilded edges catching the light like warnings.
Was he supposed to sit in that?
He decided against it and leaned against the bookshelf instead, a silent rejection of their world.
The move didn't go unnoticed, a pebble creating ripples.
A faint smirk tugged at Leonhart's lips. "Not one for formalities?"
Arashi shrugged, shoulders carrying the weight of deliberate nonchalance. "Not one for pointless meetings."
A flicker of amusement crossed the president's gaze before he gestured toward the two figures beside him, chess pieces moving into position.
"This is Vincent Albrecht, our Vice President."
A tall man with silver hair and sharp, calculating eyes gave Arashi a once-over, his gaze weighing him like a merchant appraising goods at market.
"And this," Leonhart continued, "is Aisla Veyne, our Strategist."
Aisla was different.
While Vincent analyzed him, she studied him.
Not like a merchant.
Not like a noble.
But like a hunter staring at a potential rival, measuring the threat with cold precision.
'…Annoying.'
Arashi crossed his arms, building walls with body language. "I assume you didn't drag me here for tea and pleasantries?"
Leonhart chuckled, the sound hollow and rehearsed. "No. We're offering you a position."
Arashi stared.
Then blinked.
Then stared again, genuine surprise cracking his carefully maintained facade.
"…What?"
Vincent folded his hands together, fingers interlocking like a perfect, bloodless trap.
"The Student Council needs capable individuals."
Arashi tilted his head slightly, suspicion darkening his features. "And you think I'm… capable?"
Leonhart leaned forward, resting his chin on his fingers, eyes never leaving Arashi's face.
"Renji was stronger than the average student. You avoided his attacks with unnatural ease. That's enough reason to be curious."
'Tsk. What a pain.'
Arashi kept his expression neutral, a mask firmly in place. "So? Plenty of people here are strong."
Leonhart's gaze didn't waver, a predator's patience. "Strength is only part of the equation. We need someone who understands how to move unseen. Someone who knows how to manipulate the pieces on the board without making a single wrong move."
'…Oh?'
Now that was interesting.
They weren't just looking for raw power, the common currency of this academy.
They were looking for someone like him.
'That makes this even more dangerous.'
A Response Given in Shadows
For a long moment, Arashi didn't speak, silence stretching between them like a gauntlet thrown.
Then, he smiled.
The kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes, a curtain drawn over a locked door.
"I'll have to decline."
Silence, heavy and expectant.
Vincent raised an eyebrow, surprise briefly flickering across his composed features.
Aisla's fingers twitched slightly, as if resisting the urge to reach for something concealed.
And Leonhart?
He just chuckled, the sound cutting through tension like a blade through silk.
"I expected as much."
Arashi turned, already heading for the door, escape within reach. "Glad we understand each other."
But just as he reached for the handle, freedom just a touch away—
Leonhart spoke one last time, words falling like stones into still water.
"You can decline the offer, but you can't decline the game."
Arashi paused.
A moment of stillness, the world holding its breath.
Then, without a word, he left, the absence of response its own answer.
The door closed behind him with a soft click, the sound of a lock engaging.
'So that's how it is.'
He had avoided the chains, slipped through the collar they'd prepared.
But the shadows still followed, clinging to him like a second skin.
The Student Council wasn't just another noble faction playing at politics.
They were something else entirely, a machine with purpose he couldn't yet see.
And now?
They had turned their eyes fully on him, their gaze impossible to escape.
'…I really should have just stayed in bed.'
The thought came again, but this time with the bitter knowledge that beds offer no refuge from predators who know your scent.
The game had begun.
And he was already playing.