After the brief sparring session, the atmosphere of the training grounds shifted.
What had begun as arrogance had been stripped down into something quieter—something far more honest.
Ron didn't waste time lingering on the earlier clashes. Instead, he moved straight into instruction, correcting stances, adjusting grips, and forcing each of us to repeat the same motions until they felt less foreign.
The reverse grip—something that had initially seemed inefficient—slowly revealed its purpose. It wasn't about power or reach.
It was about control.
Compact movements.
Unpredictable angles.
Relentless pressure at close range.
He made us repeat the basics over and over—footwork, positioning, transitions between grips—until even the most talented among us began to falter.
Without mana, there was nowhere to hide.
No shortcuts.
No enhancements.
Only technique.
And most of us… weren't as refined as we thought.
---
By the time the session ended, the training ground looked like a battlefield after the dust had settled.
Students limped out one after another, their earlier confidence replaced with exhaustion. Even the heirs—those who carried themselves with pride—couldn't fully hide their fatigue. Their breathing was uneven, their steps heavier than before.
Silver Ryker walked out in silence, his expression cold as ever, though the slight tension in his shoulders betrayed the strain.
Yelena clicked her tongue in annoyance, clearly frustrated.
But—
One stood apart.
Reinheart Verilian.
My eyes narrowed slightly as I watched him.
During the initial formation, I had clearly seen him among us.
Yet during the sparring… he had disappeared.
No clashes.
No defeats.
No presence.
And now—
He walked out as if nothing had happened, a faint grin resting on his face.
Beside him stood another figure.
Well-built.
Sharp eyes.
Silver hair.
Darius Whitemere.
Ranked ninth.
I had almost forgotten about him.
They walked together, exchanging a few quiet words before disappearing into the crowd.
Interesting…
Before I could think further—
Smack.
Leon's hand landed on my back.
"Let's go. What, you daydreaming or something?"
I exhaled lightly.
"Yeah… I'm coming."
---
We made our way toward the cafeteria.
The first-year cadets had their own section, separate from the upper years—a wide hall filled with long tables, the low murmur of conversation echoing throughout.
Me and Leon picked a spot near the center.
We ordered some simple food—sandwiches, a plate of pasta, and drinks—and sat down.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then—
My eyes shifted toward him.
Why didn't I think of this earlier…
"Hey, Leon."
"Hm?"
I hesitated for a brief moment.
I had never told him my full name.
"…What do you think about the Valen family?"
He blinked.
"The Valens? Of the Astryx Empire?"
"Yeah."
He leaned back slightly, brows furrowing in mild curiosity.
"What's with the sudden interest?"
"U-uh… nothing much."
I shrugged lightly.
"I just… heard they're strong. Known for their swordsmanship."
He hummed.
"That part's true."
He stretched his arms behind his head.
"The Duke of Valen is a monster. I ran into him once on the battlefield."
My eyes sharpened.
"You did?"
"Yeah," he replied casually. "A long time ago though. Back when the Virelian Federation and Astryx were at war."
A brief pause followed.
"But…" he continued, scratching his cheek, "I don't remember much about them. And it's Astryx—we both know how they are."
His tone turned slightly dismissive.
"They keep everything buried inside their borders. Information doesn't leak easily."
My gaze lowered slightly.
That… didn't help much.
Before I could sink deeper into thought—
Flick.
His finger struck my forehead.
"Hey, idiot."
I blinked, startled.
"You're part of one of the largest guilds in humanity."
My eyes widened.
Right…
I had completely overlooked that.
"Just call Lyra tonight," he continued, picking up his drink. "Tell her what you need. She'll dig something up."
I nodded slowly.
"Yeah… that makes sense."
---
"Pasta?"
The word cut through our conversation.
My eyes lifted.
For a brief second—
Everything felt still.
Then—
Splatter.
Pasta fell.
Right onto Leon's head.
Sauce slid down his hair, dripping across his face and clothes.
Silence.
Leon closed his eyes.
A smile formed.
Slow.
Dangerous.
He stood up.
Behind him stood a boy—well-dressed, posture arrogant.
A noble.
Rank… around twenty-five.
Recognition flickered.
Ah…
The same one who had been talking earlier.
The one mocking me for fainting.
"Hey, mutt," the noble spoke, voice dripping with disdain. "Didn't I tell you to come to my dorm tonight?"
My eyes narrowed slightly.
Tch…
Leon didn't respond.
The noble glanced at me, a sneer forming.
"Seems like the Apex has already picked up a stray."
My hand moved to my forehead.
These idiots…
They had no idea.
Around us, attention gathered.
Students turned.
Heirs watched.
Samuel.
Yelena.
Silver's eyes narrowed slightly.
At another table, Reinheart leaned back, watching with clear amusement.
Even Clara, who had just entered, froze mid-step.
"U-uh…"
The noble turned back to Leon.
"Hm… I never asked your name, mutt."
Leon wiped a bit of sauce from his cheek, his smile widening.
"…Nick."
"Pfft—Nick?"
The noble laughed.
"Very well, Nick. I am Carl Thornfield."
He straightened his posture slightly, pride swelling in his tone.
"Now kneel and serv—"
He didn't finish.
Thud.
Leon's fist connected with his face.
Clean.
Brutal.
Carl's body flew back, crashing into another table, wood splintering under the impact.
Silence.
Then—
Tension.
The surrounding nobles stood up instantly, their expressions darkening.
"Fucking mutt…"
Leon rolled his shoulders, grin widening.
"Never—even on the battlefield—have I been treated with this much disrespect."
His eyes gleamed.
"Come at me, you fucking losers."
Chairs scraped.
Students backed away.
The air shifted.
I exhaled slowly.
Then—
I stood up.
That alone drew even more attention.
A faint smirk formed on my lips.
I hadn't planned on getting involved.
But—
This looked fun.
And honestly—
I wanted to beat the shit out of them too.
——
The moment stretched for just a fraction longer—
Then I moved.
The plate of food still in my hand tilted slightly as I stepped forward.
Carl had already pushed himself up by then, wiping the blood from his nose, his expression twisted with humiliation and rage. His eyes locked onto us—sharp, furious.
"Haah…" he exhaled, his mana flaring instinctively—
Fire gathered in his palm.
So he really thought this was still a playground.
I grinned.
"Fucking fatty."
Before he could even complete his movement—
Smack.
The plate collided with his face.
Food splattered everywhere—sauce, bread, whatever remained—painting his expression in pure disbelief before his body staggered back.
Around us—
The tension snapped.
The nobles surged forward.
Leon's grin widened, almost feral.
"Come here."
He lunged.
---
What followed wasn't a fight.
It was a dismantling.
They tried to retaliate—some swung wildly, others attempted to coordinate—but without the space to properly channel mana, without any real combat instinct—
They were slow.
Predictable.
Weak.
Leon moved through them like a storm restrained just enough not to reveal its full nature.
A punch.
Thud.
Another.
Crack.
One after another, bodies dropped.
The cafeteria erupted.
Cheers.
Laughter.
Shouting.
"FIGHT! FIGHT!"
The crowd wasn't horrified.
They were entertained.
Because strength—raw, unfiltered—was something they understood.
Something they respected.
---
I didn't stay back either.
Carl had barely regained his footing when I stepped in.
My fist connected with his face again.
PUNCH.
His head snapped back.
"Who fainted again, fucker?"
Another strike.
PUNCH.
"Keep talking shit."
Another.
PUNCH.
"Lost already?"
His body wavered, barely standing.
"Fat fuck—"
---
"STOP. IMMEDIATELY."
The voice cut through everything.
Sharp.
Absolute.
The noise died instantly.
Leon clicked his tongue in irritation but didn't swing again. He straightened up slowly, his body marked with a few minor hits—but most of the blood on him wasn't his.
A figure stepped into the cafeteria.
Silver hair.
Piercing blue eyes.
Her presence alone shifted the atmosphere.
Behind her stood two others—one tall, broad-shouldered with orange hair, the other a shorter girl with soft pink hair—but neither of them drew attention away from her.
Because she stood at the center of it all.
Composed.
Cold.
In control.
The white uniform and blue scarf marked them clearly.
Student Council.
Murmurs spread immediately.
"That's her…"
"Yeah… no way…"
"The president…"
I exhaled quietly.
Of course.
Out of everyone—
It had to be Seraphina Ravenshade.
---
Her gaze swept across the scene.
Broken tables.
Bruised students.
Blood.
Then—
It landed on us.
"Both of you," she said, her voice unwavering, "with me. Now."
I raised a hand slightly.
"Hey, I know how this looks, but they were the ones who started it."
Carl, barely conscious, forced himself to speak, blood still dripping from his nose.
"H-he is lying…"
Leon snorted.
"Shut up, fatty. Want another round?"
I pressed my hand against my forehead.
Yeah… we definitely look like the bullies here.
Seraphina didn't react to either of us.
Not to Carl.
Not to Leon.
Not to me.
"There will be a proper investigation," she stated calmly.
A pause.
"But for now… you two are coming with me."
Her tone didn't allow room for argument.
And judging by the way the entire cafeteria had gone silent—
No one here was stupid enough to challenge it.