"Looks like they’re all staring again," Byun muttered, tilting his glass toward the nearest knot of nobles. "You’d think they’d never seen a farm boy walk upright before."
"Farm boy?" Jae raised a brow, his voice low but carrying easily across the small space between them. "That’s rich, coming from you."
Byun smirked, leaning against the column with practiced nonchalance. "Difference is, when I walk in, they whisper praise. When you walk in, they whisper scandal." His shadow flickered across the marble floor like a silent warning, almost teasing, almost dangerous, but all play at the mont.
Elise frowned, tugging slightly at the sleeves of her gown, though not out of embarrassnt so much as unease. "They should be whispering thanks. If not for Jae, we—" Her words faltered when her gaze caught the sharp glare of two noble girls a few paces away, their mouths pinched into thin lines, their expressions hovering between irritation and curiosity. Her cheeks flushed lightly, but Jae only chuckled quietly to himself.
"Relax, Elise. Let them whisper," he said, brushing a hand through his hair. His red eyes glimred faintly in the candlelight, catching the soft reflection of chandeliers and glittering jewelry. "I don’t care what they say."
"You should," Yuna cut in, striding over with a plate piled high with sweets. She shoved a tart into her mouth, the other half of the plate aid toward him in mock accusation. "Image matters more than truth here. If you don’t defend yourself, Sun’s friends will."
Her timing couldn’t have been more exact.
A hush spread across the nearest circle as Fin, Sun’s ever-loyal shadow, stepped forward with another boy at his side. The second was broad-shouldered, draped in noble finery with a smirk too polished to be genuine. The boy’s golden hair caught the faint glimr of chandelier light, and he held a goblet lazily, a deliberate contrast to the tension in his gaze. Every movent, every tilt of his head scread aristocratic composure, but the contempt in his eyes was unmistakable.
"Well," the boy drawled loudly, ensuring the nearby crowd caught every word, "so this is the so-called hero. The one who nearly killed our crown prince while flailing about with his little tricks."
Conversations stalled. Heads turned. Even the music softened, the strings of the ensemble shrinking in volu as if the musicians themselves had grown curious. The hum of soft conversations turned into a ripple, spreading across the hall, everyone straining to catch what would happen next. A few noble children shuffled nervously, aware that their parents’ attention had shifted, while servants froze mid-step, aware that the atmosphere had changed, charged like air before a storm.
Elise’s face went pale. Byun’s smirk vanished, replaced by a frown that was almost protective. Yuna’s lips tightened, but her eyes sparkled with anticipation, the faint thrill of watching chaos unfold lighting her expression. Tirel, on the other hand, leaned in with an eager grin, clearly waiting for Jae to make a scene. The air around them felt charged, a mixture of tension, curiosity, and expectation, as though the academy itself were holding its breath.
Jae didn’t disappoint.
He let the insult hang in the air for a heartbeat, letting the words sink into the crowd before he tilted his head slightly, his smirk widening. "Little tricks, huh? Funny. My little tricks saved your pampered hide when the shadows broke through the wards."
The noble’s smile stiffened. He laughed, but it was a sharp, forced sound, the kind taught in finishing schools to disguise irritation. "You mistake coincidence for skill, farm boy. Anyone can get lucky once. What matters is breeding, bloodline, heritage—things you’ll never understand."
Byun shifted at that, his shadows twitching across the floor like restless snakes, a warning that danger lurked in subtle form. But Jae’s hand lifted, stopping him before he could interject. The smirk on his face deepened, and his posture relaxed yet sharpened, like a predator taking careful aim.
"Bloodline, huh?" Jae said, his voice low but carrying clearly through the hushed hall. He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, the marble floor seeming to whisper under his boots as the crowd instinctively parted to give him room. "Then let’s test whether bloodline keeps you standing."
The noble sneered, leaning slightly backward to keep distance, his voice carrying the practiced arrogance of soone accustod to obedience. "Are you threatening ? Here, in front of—"
He didn’t finish.
Jae’s fist tightened, mana flowing through him naturally, like water filling a riverbed. The tension in the hall deepened, almost palpable, as if every chandelier and banner absorbed it and reflected it back. The floor beneath them cracked lightly as he swung forward—not at the noble’s body, but at the air itself, and with the shift of his focus, gravity seed to obey.
The crushing force struck like a collapsing weight. The noble’s knees buckled instantly, his goblet flying from his hand as the pressure drove him forward. His descent was painfully slow in the eyes of the spectators, every second stretching like a taut wire, the marble floor rising to et him as if it had taken on life of its own. Gasps erupted around the hall, crystal glasses tipping and shattering as servants stumbled back, avoiding the invisible quake that spread outward.
The boy struggled, arms trembling, and though he tried to lift himself, the weight only pressed harder. He felt pinned, humiliated, an insect trapped beneath glass. The jeweled cuffs at his wrists scraped against marble, but it did nothing to lessen the pressure; it only emphasized the unyielding dominance of the force. Every eye in the room followed his flailing, so horrified, so fascinated, but no one dared intervene. The collective awareness of who wielded the power made it impossible for anyone to move.
Jae stepped closer, the slow, deliberate movent amplifying the tension. His smirk sharpened like a blade, cutting through the atmosphere. "Guess bloodline wasn’t enough."
The whispers exploded. So students clutched their gowns, faces flushed with excitent or fear. Nobles whispered behind jeweled fans, stifling laughter or gasps, unsure whether to be horrified or impressed
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