Coming back to class didn't feel like coming back at all.
The corridors of Imperium Academy looked identical to the previous day, yet something had shifted in the way people moved through them. Less noise. Fewer unnecessary gestures. More observation.
Ymir noticed it immediately.
Not because anyone was openly staring at him, but because he could sense micro-variations: slightly longer pauses between conversations, glances that drifted toward him for a fraction of a second before being redirected.
They already have the results.
Or at least part of them.
He entered the classroom without changing his pace.
The atmosphere was stable on the surface. But beneath it, something was vibrating. Mentalists rarely stayed silent for no reason. Silence was also a form of language.
The students were already seated.
And at the center of that natural organization, there was a gap.
A space no one occupied voluntarily.
Ymir understood why before even looking directly.
A new student.
Sitting with a calm posture, almost too controlled. No agitation. No visible curiosity. Just a clean presence, as if everything around him was subtly aligned to fit into order.
Light brown hair, refined features, neutral expression. Nothing remarkable… except that subtle sense of structure in his behavior.
A Mentalist.
Ymir sat at his usual place without altering his rhythm.
The newcomer turned his head slightly.
Not directly toward him.
Just slightly off.
As if he hadn't fully decided to observe him yet.
Then:
— Ymir, right?
The voice was calm. Too stable to feel entirely natural.
Ymir didn't respond immediately.
A detail.
He doesn't need to look at me to target me.
— Yes.
Simple.
Short.
The newcomer nodded slightly.
— Interesting.
Silence followed.
Not awkward.
Controlled.
Ymir felt a micro-pressure in the back of his perception. Nothing aggressive. More like a test being performed through touch—like a hand placed on a surface to feel its temperature.
Active empathy.
Low level. But precise.
Ymir let it pass without resistance.
The Mentalist observed something.
Then spoke again, unchanged tone:
— You're calmer than what the report suggests.
Silence.
A report.
So yesterday's test results had already circulated.
Ymir tilted his head slightly.
— Reports are sometimes wrong.
The newcomer showed something between a reaction and nothing at all.
— Rarely.
He paused.
Then added:
— Especially Mentalist reports.
That sentence wasn't random.
Ymir understood it immediately.
It wasn't an observation.
It was an invitation to react.
A faint emotional pressure settled into the room. Subtle. Like a psychological temperature shift.
Nothing forced.
Just enough to make people around them slightly uneasy without knowing why.
Basic emotional influence.
Stable level 3.
Ymir noticed several students briefly looking away without understanding the reason.
He observed it without moving.
Then replied:
— You seem very confident in your sources.
The Mentalist tilted his head slightly.
— I'm confident in what I perceive.
This time, the phrase was intentionally ambiguous.
Perceive.
Not read.
Not control.
Just perceive.
But in a world of Mentalists, that word carried too many meanings.
A teacher entered the room, interrupting the dynamic without truly breaking it.
— Group formation. Cognitive synchronization exercise.
The word alone shifted the atmosphere.
Synchronization.
Students began moving slowly.
Ymir immediately sensed the implicit structure reorganizing itself.
Lower-level Mentalists instinctively gravitated toward those who stabilized perception.
Stronger ones… waited.
The newcomer stood up only after a short delay.
Then walked toward Ymir.
No hesitation.
— Looks like chance didn't leave us any choice.
Ymir replied without looking up:
— Chance doesn't exist here.
Pause.
The Mentalist stopped just close enough for the distance to feel intentional.
— Good answer.
Silence.
Then:
— Or a bad one. Depends on what you're trying to hide.
A moment.
Nothing visible.
But Ymir felt a subtle attempt.
Not an attack.
A superficial reading.
Like a mental hand trying to brush against a thought without holding onto it.
Ymir didn't block it.
He let it pass.
But left nothing to grab.
The Mentalist's eyes narrowed slightly.
Very subtle.
Almost invisible.
— Empty… interesting.
He turned slightly toward the board without breaking the conversation.
— You control yourself better than expected.
Ymir replied calmly:
— Or you overinterpret.
This time, something changed.
A faint emotional pressure tried to emerge—doubt, carefully shaped.
Subtle.
Almost elegant.
But Ymir felt it.
And did not respond.
The teacher gave instructions:
— Two Mentalists per group. Cognitive synchronization without domination. Objective: establish a shared flow without cognitive rupture.
A brief stillness.
Then movement.
Ymir and the newcomer naturally remained together.
As if it had already been decided.
They sat facing each other.
A small device activated between them: a shared cognitive interface.
— Begin.
The flow opened.
For a second, Ymir felt something different.
Not a thought.
A rhythm.
The other Mentalist's rhythm.
Stable. Structured. Slightly dominant.
Then an attempt.
A gentle intrusion.
Not aggressive.
A suggestion: cooperation, trust, openness.
Ymir let it approach.
Then slightly adjusted his own cognitive activity.
No resistance.
Just a shift.
The flow broke subtly.
The Mentalist blinked.
Very slightly.
— You're refusing synchronization.
— I'm adjusting it.
— Interesting choice of words.
Silence.
The flow reactivated.
This time more unstable.
They began again.
But it was no longer an exercise.
It was a mutual test.
Every microsecond became analysis.
Every silence became an attempt.
The Mentalist spoke without looking directly at Ymir:
— You haven't shown your real level yet.
Ymir answered after a short delay:
— And you?
A faint smile this time.
— I don't need to hide mine.
Pressure.
A subtle emotional rise within the flow.
Students around them began to feel slight instability without understanding why.
Soft fragmentation.
The Mentalist increased intensity slightly.
Not enough to force.
Just enough to test.
Ymir sensed a structure forming behind the flow: an organized mental architecture.
He understood it instantly.
And didn't destroy it.
He bypassed it.
Like an alternate path.
The Mentalist stopped.
The flow stabilized.
Silence.
Then:
— You're more dangerous than the report said.
Ymir replied simply:
— Reports are rarely wrong.
A shared look.
Short.
But loaded.
Then the session ended.
The field deactivated.
Students began moving normally again.
But between Ymir and the Mentalist, nothing felt normal anymore.
They stood at the same time.
— Adrien Moreau, he said calmly.
— Ymir.
A pause.
Then Adrien added:
— We'll probably meet again.
Ymir didn't respond.
But as he walked away, one thought lingered in the mental space of the room.
Not spoken.
Just sensed.
He tests without forcing.
And on his side, Adrien had already understood one thing.
This wasn't an ordinary student.
And not a simple Level 1 anomaly.
It was something else.
Something not yet ready to reveal itself.
A few moments later, Ymir was heading towards the cafeteria.
Thinking back on his encounter with this Imperium, Ymir thought:
--Damn, why is a young master from a noble family interested in me? It seems I've made too many mistakes these past few days.
On the way In the cafeteria, Ymir crossed paths with someone he should never have met, someone who stands at the top of this academy....