[Julian's POV]
A tray clattered against the marble, the sharp sound echoing like a death sentence passed. Food scattered in disgrace across the polished floor, staining the academy's pristine elegance.
The boy who was responsible for the mess stood paralyzed, fingers trembling as if to undo what had already been done.
Panic surged in him, not from his fall, but from what will happen next to him.
The trembling scholar's robes bore the faded insignia of an obscure house — one whose name barely left a memory, let alone respect within Velthia's exalted halls.
Here, lineage was supremacy and he had none to offer.
Meanwhile, before him was none other than Julian Rozenberg. His mere presence, unmarred by emotion, was judgment enough.
The tension grew heavy, with a scorn colder than words. Julian remained motionless, still as a blade. His eyes, cold and unblinking rubies, lingered on the blot of spillage that had dared mar the purity of his uniform.
