By the ti the heated bickering between the three had finally settled it was already morning.
The exhaustion of the night's chaos clung to the room, yet the tension had long since faded into sothing else—a lingering curiosity, a subtle shift in thought.
The Dean stretched slightly, suppressing a yawn before muttering—
"It's ti for my early morning sleep."
Her tone carried nonchalance, as if the entire night had been nothing but an extended form of entertainnt.
Just as she turned to leave, Frederick's voice rang out, his words uncharacteristically steady—
"I will return to teaching."
Hamiel, standing near his desk, carried the expression of a man who had lost a long battle—worn, mildly frustrated, yet sohow contemplative.
But the mont he heard Frederick's words his head tilted slightly in quiet surprise, even the Dean who turned sharply, watching Frederick with a new kind of intrigue.
Her eyes narrowed, curiosity evident in her tone as she questioned—
"Now don't tell it'll be the first years."
Frederick rely smiled, offering nothing more than a vague response, his words short yet weighted—
"Who knows?"
And with that—he vanished, disappearing into thin air.
His departure left behind a silence, one that Hamiel broke a mont later with a knowing sigh.
His fingers drumd absently against the desk as he muttered—
"It must be because of that brat. I'm sure Number Two saw sothing interesting in him as well."
Though his words were casual, his tone hinted at a deeper realization, an acknowledgnt that sothing about Adlet was different.
With that final thought, Hamiel strode toward the door, his presence fading from the office, leaving behind nothing but the scattered remnants of the prior night's discussions.
The Dean remained for a mont longer, her eyes drifting toward the now quiet office.
A smirk curled against her lips as she murmured, voice barely above a whisper—
"We'll et soon… Adlet."
….
The sharp blare of the alarm jolted Ashok awake, pulling him from the depths of sleep into the quiet embrace of dawn.
He stretched briefly, his body still carrying traces of exhaustion, unaware of the chaos that had unfolded behind his back after he left Hamiel's office the previous night.
Without lingering in thought, he slipped into his track suit, adjusting the fit before making his way to the rooftop.
The clock read 5:00 A.M, the crisp morning air carrying a gentle chill as the first hues of sunlight bled into the sky, casting soft golden streaks over the academy grounds.
Ashok exhaled, watching as the world slowly stirred awake, before shifting into position.
He began his training, moving fluidly through the Set of Twelve Postures, designed specifically to be perford under the morning sun.
As he transitioned through each movent, he imdiately noticed the difference.
Unlike the midday set, where the intensity of heat weighed heavily on his muscles, the morning set felt considerably lighter.
The strain was still there, each posture pressing tension into his limbs—but compared to before, the pain was far more manageable.
His body reacted differently, adapting smoother to the flow of movents.
By the ti he completed the set for four tis, an hour had passed.
He stood steady, breathing evenly, feeling the subtle relief spread through his muscles.
The soreness that usually gripped him was gone, replaced by an unfamiliar lightness.
Though tired, he was certain—
The morning set suited him far better than the midday routine. Though that doesn't an he can omit the midday one.
Ashok wiped the sweat off his brow, his breathing steady but deep, as he reflected on the difference between his morning and midday training.
'Performing the midday set without the morning was foolishness on my part.'
The thought settled in his mind like an undeniable truth.
Though the Art only ntioned the postures and their designated timings, it never explicitly warned about missing a set—yet now, Ashok was certain.
'This must be a form of punishnt by the Creator—to make others feel what happens when a set is skipped.'
A quiet sigh escaped him, his body still recovering, though lighter than he had expected after such rigorous training.
With a glance toward the rising sun, Ashok muttered to himself—
"Maybe the midday set is difficult for refinent, while the evening one—just like the morning—is ant for relaxation."
His fingers wrapped around his protein shake, taking a slow sip as his mind continued to process the possibilities.
Then, his gaze flickered to the half-filled bottle in his hand, a stray thought sparking in his mind—
'Can this be mixed with Spirit Wine?'
The idea was ridiculous—yet strangely intriguing.
Setting the bottle down, Ashok now had another solid reason to et the Third Year.
Without wasting any more ti, he descended the stairs, heading toward his quarters to freshen up before class.
Just like the previous day, Ashok arrived early, stepping into the classroom before most students even thought to show up.
His eyes swept across the familiar space, noting the usual details—
Roan, still sprawled lazily on the last bench, deep in sleep, completely undisturbed.
And as expected—that sa early-arriving student, a side character the one who seed like nothing more than a background presence, was already seated, just as he had been yesterday.
Unlike the previous day, the mont Ashok stepped into the classroom, the student's gaze briefly darkening with hostility before quickly turning away, as if refusing to acknowledge his existence.
'Not much of a surprise. I made enemies out of the entire class yesterday. If I didn't receive at least this much hostility—it wouldn't be Aether Class.'
He exhaled quietly, making his way toward his seat, fully expecting the tension in the room to rise as the morning progressed.
As he approached his desk, without him noticing Roan stirred at the back of the classroom.
Roan, still sprawled across the last bench, shifted slightly, his body barely moving as he tilted his head ever so slightly—
Just enough to open a single eye, scanning Ashok's figure with mild intrigue.
For a brief second, his lips parted, almost as if to say sothing—
But then—he closed his mouth, shook off the thought, and drifted back into sleep.
Ti passed, and just like yesterday, the classroom gradually filled with students, their presence shuffling in one after another.
Yet despite the growing numbers, not a single person said anything to Ashok.
Just the suffocating weight of silence that carried an undeniable edge.
Still, Ashok remained unmoved, sitting in the center of the classroom, arms crossed, ignoring the atmosphere.
As the number of students increased, so too did the intensity of the glares directed toward him.
Every eye that landed on him carried unmistakable hostility and it also worked in increasing his attention level.
[Attention Level: dium]
[False Monarch]
The passive hostility did nothing to faze him.
Instead, he rely glanced at the ti on his watch, unbothered by the tension that had long since settled upon him.
As the minutes crept toward the start of class, Princess Elara gracefully made her way to her assigned seat beside Ashok.
Unlike him—who sat alone, silent, unbothered—her re presence ignited a reaction the mont she settled into place.
Students, both male and female, imdiately rose from their seats, drifting toward her like moths to a fla, forming a loose semi-circle around her desk, eager to bask in her attention.
Though there were still ten minutes before class officially began, that didn't stop them from launching into conversation—
"Princess Elara, how was your day yesterday?"
"Princess, what additional courses have you picked?"
"Princess, are you free after class today?"
Their questions flowed effortlessly, their eagerness almost suffocating, as if securing even a second of her ti was a matter of great importance.
Ashok's desk had effectively been split into two halves.
One side, belonging to Elara, surrounded by eager voices, faces filled with admiration, curiosity, and a quiet sense of competition.
And the other side—belonging to Ashok, who sat entirely alone, arms crossed, staring at the ti on his watch, his mind untouched by the chaos unfolding beside him.
He didn't acknowledge the students gathering around her.
Ashok's eyes flickered across the room, observing the patterns forming among the students.
They weren't just gathered around Elara—their attention was equally divided among Leon, Althea, and Isolde, each commanding their own cluster of admirers, students hoping to secure a mont of interaction with them.
Yet—despite the eager social circles forming, there were others who remained untouched by the enthusiasm.
Alina, Elira, the beastn duo, and the barbarian—each of them stood apart, intentionally omitted, their presence heavy with an aura of warning.
Their body language spoke louder than any words could—they weren't here for idle chatter or needless socializing.
Anyone who tried to approach them would likely be t with sothing far worse than rejection.
And so—no one did.
It was plain to see that the largest crowd had ford around Elara, the attention she commanded effortlessly surpassing that of any other student.
Yet, as expected, she addressed them with a soft yet firm voice—
"Everyone, please call Elara. There is no need to call 'Princess'—we hold no titles in the Academy."
Ashok, seated just beside her, internally scoffed, his thoughts laced with dry amusent—
'As if.'
Her request should have been simple—yet the gathered students imdiately protested, their words flowing with unwavering reverence—
"How can we do that, Princess?"
"Princess, please don't put us in a tough spot."
"Yes! We cannot commit the sin of calling the Princess by na!"
Their voices carried genuine concern, bordering on devotion, as though even the suggestion was too much to accept.
Elara, however, remained composed, shifting the conversation forward without hesitation—
"Everyone, please do not break the rules of the Academy. I will not speak to anyone who calls 'Princess' from this point forward."
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