A week had passed, and Tristan had been traveling back and forth between the Middle District and the High District. During that time, he continued to train relentlessly—swinging his sword day after day. With each passing moment, the blade grew lighter in his hands, becoming less of a tool and more of an extension of himself. Yet, it still wasn't enough.
Over the weekend, Darren pushed him even further. One hundred swings on Saturday became two hundred. By Sunday, two hundred became four. It was grueling, but not impossible. Tristan's body adapted quickly—his stamina surged, and what once seemed overwhelming now felt like child's play.
It was now the final week before the school year would begin, and Tristan had entered the last stage of his training. He moved beyond basic swordsmanship into the realm of agility and endurance. He climbed the thick wooden walls, swam through the pool of water to build stamina while in constant motion, and—most terrifyingly—dodged arrows fired by the elite maids of House Green.
On the first day of the second week, he could barely avoid two arrows. But by the end of the week, his growth became undeniable.
Fifteen arrows flew toward him. Seven he dodged; eight he deflected with his blade. He had done it.
After two punishing weeks, his training was complete. His muscles had grown, his body felt lighter, and his stamina had never been stronger. To celebrate this achievement, the trio decided to indulge in a rare reprieve—they went to Darren's bar and celebrated into the night.
The music was vibrant and electric, filling the room with infectious energy. Darren stood behind the counter, preparing drinks for his patrons, when the same corpulent man who once disrespected Tristan swaggered over and took a seat. His eyes fell upon Tristan, who was seated nearby, with a look of disdain.
"Since when do we mingle with nobles?" he sneered.
Darren, busy wiping down a glass, responded without missing a beat.
"Watch your tongue. My lady is a noble, and Tristan isn't."
The man laughed, slamming his fist on the counter in amusement.
"You really believe that? You must be more drunk than I am. That red hair's a dead giveaway, isn't it?"
Darren calmly set the glass down, mixed a drink, and slid it toward his unwelcome guest.
"Just drink and shut up," he said coolly.
"At least you know it's the only way to silence me," the man chuckled, downing the concoction in a single gulp.
Despite his mocking, deep down, the man knew the truth. As much as he wanted to deny it, Tristan was one of them. But Darren refused to see him that way. To him, Tristan was just a humble boy from the Middle District—someone worth believing in.
Tristan, for the most part, remained seated during the party, sipping on juice and watching the festivities unfold.
'It's unfortunate that I can't drink alcohol—underage drinking isn't permitted in this world either,' he thought with a sigh.
Amelia approached him and sat beside him, her usual stoic expression giving no clue as to her mood. Uncertain, Tristan asked plainly:
"You enjoying the party?"
"Parties aren't really my thing," she replied flatly.
Her answer surprised him… but not entirely. A noble lady was likely accustomed to such events, yet Amelia's personality didn't lend itself to social revelry.
Tristan set his drink aside, stood, and extended his hand to her. She blinked, unsure of his intent, until he spoke:
"Amelia, would you do me the honor of a dance?"
She took his hand with a rare, gentle smile.
They stepped onto the dance floor, the spotlight illuminating them as the music swelled. The crowd faded away. With the grace of seasoned partners, they moved in perfect harmony—every step, every turn synchronized in silent understanding. The room watched in awe as they commanded the scene with elegance and fire.
From behind counter, Darren clapped his hands, grinning proudly at the performance unfolding before him.
The dance lasted long into the night, until exhaustion finally claimed them. Tristan was escorted home, while Amelia was returned to her estate by her maid.
Morning came swiftly.
It was the day of the entrance exam for Constella Academy—a day of reckoning for hundreds of hopefuls. The entrance ceremony would be overseen by the headmaster himself, along with representatives of the Five Great Families. The exam was designed to test the applicants' abilities, to determine whether they were worthy of admission.
Members of the Five Great Families were, of course, exempt. Their bloodlines alone granted them instant entry. High District residents, while not guaranteed entry, often breezed through by virtue of their status and resources.
For those from the Middle District, however, nothing came easy. They had to fight tooth and nail to earn their place. And as for the Lower District… their chances were little more than a cruel joke. Without wealth, status, or noble lineage, they faced insurmountable odds. For one of them to succeed would take nothing short of a miracle.
Tristan dressed carefully, donning a crimson suit tailored just for him. He sheathed the Star Divider into its scabbard and fastened it onto his black belt. He stood before the mirror and took a deep breath.
He was ready.
As he descended the stairs, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder—startling him enough that he nearly stumbled.
"Are you trying to kill me?!" he gasped, heart pounding.
Kenway only chuckled and placed something in Tristan's hand—a brooch, similar to the one he'd worn during training, but this one bore the radiant emblem of a golden sun.
"I've been working day and night to get you your own STAR uniform. I hope you like it," the old man said.
Tristan, never one for sentiment, felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Since the day he arrived, Kenway had clothed him, fed him, given him shelter… and now, purpose. Words could never express his gratitude.
But still, he tried.
"Thank you. I promise I'll do my best."
"I know you will," Kenway replied with a smile.
And so, with the morning sun casting a golden halo around him, Tristan stepped out through the doors of the boutique—ready to face his destiny.
Today, he would take the first step toward greatness.
Today, he would enter the gates of Constella Academy.