By the ti he reached the dormitory stairs, the adrenaline had faded. His hands slid into his pockets, his expression unreadable.
’Sa arrogance,’ he thought. ’Every world, every story, people never change.’
He didn’t enjoy humiliating anyone. He hadn’t even fought, really, just reacted. But the look in Roland’s eyes lingered, that flash of anger and disbelief. It reminded him of sothing older, sothing he’d once read in the novel, how every character, every rival, every "test" was just a narrative device.
But these weren’t words on a page anymore. They were people. Real, breathing, feeling.
And that made it harder.
When he entered his dorm room, the soft hum of the mana lamp filled the quiet. Victoria wasn’t there; she’d returned to their city apartnt for a few days to handle sothing with the landlord. For the first ti in weeks, the room was his alone.
He sat by the window, watching the light fade beyond the academy walls. The horizon was painted in amber and violet, the city beyond just a faint shimr.
His phone buzzed once. A ssage.
[Elara]: Heard you almost got into trouble. You okay?
[rlin]: It wasn’t trouble. Just noise.
[Elara]: Noise still burns if you listen too long. Don’t let them get under your skin.
[rlin]: I won’t. You at the dorms?
[Elara]: Library. You’d hate it here. Nathan’s snoring over an open book.
[rlin]: Figures.
[Elara]: You coming by tomorrow?
[rlin]: Maybe.
[Elara]: You always say maybe.
[rlin]: And I always show up.
A pause.
[Elara]: ...Yeah. You do.
rlin set the phone down, a small smile touching his lips. For a brief mont, the day’s tension dissolved into sothing quieter.
Outside, the courtyard lights flickered on, bathing the academy in a soft glow. The wind rustled through the trees, and far in the distance, laughter drifted faintly from the training grounds, younger students still sparring under the supervision of instructors.
rlin leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closing.
Tomorrow would be another day. Another test.
But tonight, at least, the world was still.
The academy’s courtyard looked different after break.
The trees had shed their first gold, the fountains shimred with faint mana light, and the air was thick with the hum of students returning, louder, sharper, full of post-vacation arrogance.
rlin had forgotten how noisy this place could get.
He walked alone through the main hall, coat draped loosely around his shoulders, the faint wind following him like an obedient shadow.
His expression was unreadable, calm, detached, but his presence had weight. It wasn’t arrogance; it was stillness. The kind that drew eyes whether he wanted it or not.
And eyes followed.
Whispers too.
"That’s him, right? The kid from the exam."
"Yeah, the one who broke Professor Lyran’s mana test record."
"He looks so normal."
"Normal doesn’t walk like that."
He ignored them all.
He’d grown used to it, the attention, the way the academy bent around talent like gravity. He didn’t crave it. He didn’t reject it either. It was just noise.
He was heading toward the training field when the noise sharpened.
Three older students stepped into his path, third-years by their badges. They wore the dark blue cloaks of the combat division, polished, confident, and clearly aware of their seniority.
The one in front smirked. "Well, well. The famous first-year."
rlin stopped, eyes flicking up lazily. "You’ll have to be more specific."
The smirk faltered for a heartbeat, just a heartbeat, before the leader chuckled, adjusting the silver clasp on his cloak. "You’ve got attitude, I’ll give you that. Not smart though. You walk through our court without even showing respect?"
"Respect," rlin repeated, voice flat. "Do I owe you so?"
The second one, tall, wiry, with a scar across his jaw, stepped forward. "You owe every upperclassman respect, rookie. Especially those who kept this academy from being a playground for arrogant brats."
rlin blinked once, then smiled faintly. "You an like yourselves?"
That earned him a laugh, sharp, brittle.
The third one, quieter but broader, leaned on his staff. "You talk big for a first-year. Maybe you need a little... lesson in manners."
rlin sighed. "You’re serious."
"We’re trying to help you," the leader said, taking another step forward. "We break in all the newcors who think they’re special. Keeps the academy balanced, you know?"
"Balanced." rlin’s tone was amused now. "That what you tell yourselves to sleep at night?"
The three stiffened.
rlin could feel it, the shift in the air. Mana rising, faint and sharp, like the mont before a storm. A few nearby students had stopped to watch, whispering behind hands, sensing sothing was about to happen.
The leader’s smile disappeared. "You think you’re untouchable just because you made the rankings last year?"
rlin tilted his head slightly. "I don’t think about it."
"Then maybe we should remind you where you stand."
They moved almost in sync, a coordinated motion born of experience. The leader’s hand flicked, and a gust of force magic cut through the air; the scarred one followed with a mana pulse ant to stagger; the third began a low chant, summoning a restraint circle.
rlin didn’t flinch.
The first gust bent before it reached him, wind folding inward like it had struck a mirror. The mana pulse fizzled mid-air, drained before it could form. The circle beneath his feet cracked, its light shattering like glass.
He hadn’t moved.
He didn’t need to.
The air around him shimred faintly, wind and space magic intertwined, forming a thin distortion barely visible to the eye.
When he spoke, his voice was soft. "That’s your lesson, then."
The leader staggered back a half-step. "What— what did you—?"
"I just showed you the difference between control and noise." rlin’s gaze t his, calm but cutting. "You should practice."
A cold silence followed. The crowd didn’t breathe.
Then the third-year with the scar barked a laugh, hollow, defensive. "Lucky trick."
rlin turned his head slightly. "Try your luck again, then."
None of them did.
The leader’s jaw tightened. His pride wanted to fight; his instincts scread not to. He settled for a glare instead, muttering sothing under his breath before walking off, cloak snapping sharply in the wind.
The others followed, their steps a little too quick, their silence a little too forced.
When they were gone, the courtyard noise returned like a tide. Whispers rushed in.
"Did you see that?"
"He didn’t even move—"
"Third-years couldn’t even—"
rlin exhaled and kept walking, ignoring them. He didn’t need their awe or their noise. He wanted quiet.
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