Chapter 67: Students Council (1)
Arrival at the Council Hall
The polished marble of the Student Council building glimred faintly with layered wards, runes etched into its foundation that humd like a beating heart. Compared to the training fields or the lecture halls, this place felt different. Serious. Dangerous.
I pushed open the double doors, their brass handles cold beneath my palm. A faint echo rang as they shut behind , sealing into the lion’s den.
The wide corridor stretched forward, banners of the Academy crest hanging from the ceiling, gold-thread embroidery catching the torchlight. The air itself felt heavier here—authority condensed into stone walls and flowing mana circuits.
...So this was the heart of the Academy’s influence.
The ga’s script had painted the Student Union as a stage of silent wars—deals whispered, reputations sculpted, pawns moved across an invisible board. And now, for whatever reason, they wanted in it.
My boots tapped steadily against the floor as a senior student escorted toward the chamber. Whispers followed us like a tide.
"That’s him."
"The first-year..."
"The one from the Demon Ball?"
"Rank 1, they say. A commoner, yet..."
Their eyes pressed on like blades. So curious, so envious, so outright hostile. I ignored them all, keeping my posture loose but deliberate. Calm. Controlled.
Don’t falter. Don’t give them the satisfaction.
We stopped before a pair of tall oak doors. My escort bowed stiffly.
"They’re waiting for you inside."
The doors creaked open.
The chamber was circular, lined with stained-glass windows that painted the polished floor in hues of crimson and sapphire. A long table stretched across the center, papers neatly stacked, crystal orbs glowing faintly with mana projections.
And seated at that table—four people.
Emily Lionheart.
She was exactly as I rembered from the fragnted mories of the "ga"—radiant, commanding, posture straight as a drawn blade. Leon’s sister carried the sa aura of nobility, but magnified—an authority that didn’t need to be spoken. Her golden hair caught the light, her eyes sharp yet warm, like a general assessing both her soldiers and enemies at once.
Beside her sat Alice Nightveil. She leaned back in her chair with elegance, raven-black hair cascading like ink, eyes cool and unblinking. If Emily was the sun, Alice was the moon—soft, mysterious, but no less dangerous. Her faint smile when our eyes t carried both amusent and warning.
Across from them lounged Ren Rugua. Arms crossed, smirk plastered across his face, posture screaming arrogance. His gaze sharpened on instantly, and my system-gifted instincts scread a faint warning. In the original tiline, he was just a background character. But now...
No. Not background. A plant. Daven’s dog sitting in the Council’s shadow.
The last was Sergio Dersis. Calm, neutral, like an old bureaucrat in training. His pen scratched softly across a notebook, though I noticed his eyes flick up once in quiet appraisal.
The mont I stepped in, silence consud the room. Their gazes pinned down like arrows.
I let the quiet stretch a mont longer, then casually slid my hands into my pockets and strolled forward. Each step echoed, deliberate, the sound of defiance.
Finally, Emily gestured gracefully toward the empty chair opposite her.
"Michael Willson. Thank you for coming."
I inclined my head faintly, neither bowing nor sneering, and took the seat.
Alright then. Let’s see what kind of ga you want to play, Lionheart.
---
Emily’s voice carried a perfect balance of warmth and command.
"You’ve made quite the impression already. Surviving the Demon attack. Rallying your classmates. Even the instructors have taken note. You’ve proven... resourceful."
Alice’s lips curved faintly.
"Or reckless. Resourcefulness and recklessness are often difficult to tell apart."
Ren snorted, leaning forward.
"Tch. Don’t glorify him. A fluke in one crisis doesn’t make him worthy of this chamber."
Emily silenced him with nothing more than a glance. Ren’s jaw tightened, though his smirk remained.
My eyes narrowed slightly. His hostility wasn’t just arrogance. It was personal. Planted. Testing .
Emily folded her hands together.
"Still, the fact remains: you stood as a leader when chaos struck. Many owe you their lives. That kind of presence... cannot be ignored."
Her words were honey, but the steel beneath was obvious. They weren’t calling here out of courtesy. This was recruitnt.
But the question was... why now?
I flicked my gaze across them once more, and the thought clicked.
The elections.
Magnus Daven. In just a month, he’d be challenging Emily for the Council presidency. And she... she wanted a banner. A figure to rally the first-years, a living shield against Daven’s encroaching influence.
So, that’s why.
Emily Lionheart doesn’t want . She wants what I represent.
I hid my smirk, leaning back slightly in my chair.
This was going to be interesting.
The air in the chamber was thick enough to choke on. No laughter, no idle chatter only the steady hum of the mana wards embedded in the walls.
Emily leaned forward slightly, her golden eyes locking onto .
"Michael Willson," she said, tone calm yet heavy. "You are not just another first-year cadet. You’ve shown qualities that stand above your peers. Command under pressure. The ability to weave strategy where others fell into panic. And... the courage to act when others froze."
Her words were precise, asured. Not flattery weaponized praise.
Alice tilted her head, her long black hair brushing her shoulders as her lips curled into the faintest smirk.
"Courage, perhaps. But courage without structure can lead to recklessness. To unnecessary sacrifice."
Her eyes glimred faintly violet under the stained glass light. "Isn’t that so, Michael?"
I didn’t answer imdiately. Silence stretched between us, and I let it. Watching. Weighing.
Finally, I smirked faintly. "Recklessness... or necessary risks others didn’t dare to take? Sotis they’re the sa thing. Only the outco decides which label sticks."
A small chuckle slipped from Alice.
"How interesting. He deflects with philosophy."
Ren snorted loudly, leaning forward.
"Tch. Stop dressing him up. He’s just a lucky brat who happened to be in the right place at the right ti. You think surviving one demon attack makes him fit to sit in this chamber? Don’t insult the rest of us."
His eyes bored into , venom lacing every word. I caught the subtle flicker in his expression the calculated edge that didn’t match his mockery.
Not just arrogance. He’s baiting . Testing . Reporting every word I say back to Daven, no doubt.
Emily’s gaze slid toward him, sharp as a blade.
"Enough, Ren."
Ren clicked his tongue but fell silent, though his glare didn’t waver.
Emily turned back to , her tone smoothing once more, as though his outburst were nothing more than a breeze.
"Michael. The Academy is not just a place of study. It is a stage where futures are forged, where alliances are ford. And for those with talent..." her eyes sharpened, "...the Student Council is where true influence begins."
There it was. The opening move.
Alice folded her arms, her gaze not leaving .
"Influence can be a dangerous word. Especially when it falls into unsteady hands. The Council is not a playground for experintation. It requires loyalty."
Her tone was velvet, but her words cut sharper than Ren’s mockery.
Emily didn’t flinch. "And it requires vision. Which Michael has already demonstrated."
I tilted my head slightly, letting my voice slip into calm curiosity. "So. You want here. Why?"
The faintest curve touched Emily’s lips. "Because next month, the Council Presidency will be contested."
Ah. She said it outright.
Her voice fird. "Magnus Daven has already announced his candidacy. His faction grows louder by the day. He seeks to claim the Council and bend it to his house’s will. I intend to stop him."
Her eyes glowed with quiet fire. "But for that, I need more than noble lineage. I need results. Symbols. Proof that my leadership draws strength from every corner of the Academy."
She leaned forward, her gaze burning into .
"I want you, Michael Willson, as the banner of the first-years."
The chamber stilled.
Alice’s smile widened just slightly, as though this was the mont she’d been waiting for. Sergio’s pen paused mid-stroke. Ren’s smirk twisted, though his clenched jaw betrayed irritation.
And ?
I sat back, folding my arms loosely. My thoughts spun fast.
So, it’s exactly as I thought. She doesn’t want for who I am. She wants the weight I carry after the Freshers Ball—the whispers, the respect, the awe. A first-year hero turned Council symbol. A tool for her war with Magnus.
Still... there was value in this. The Council wasn’t just politics. It was access. Resources. Information. If I played this ga carefully, I could slip past noble suppression and carve my own path faster than the story ever allowed.
But chains were chains, no matter how gilded.
Before I could speak, Ren barked a laugh.
"A banner? Him? A commoner pawn paraded around like so trophy? Pathetic."
His eyes flicked toward with malicious glee.
"Tell , Michael, do you really think you belong here? Sitting at the sa table as nobles? As leaders? Or are you just enjoying the attention before reality crushes you?"
I t his gaze evenly, then let a faint smile tug at my lips.
"Belonging isn’t sothing decided by birth. It’s proven by results. And results..." I let the words hang, "...are sothing I have more of than you."
Ren’s smirk faltered. For just a second.
Alice’s chuckle broke the silence. "Bold. Very bold."
Emily didn’t laugh. She simply watched, golden eyes unwavering, her expression unreadable.
Finally, she spoke again.
"This isn’t an order, Michael. It’s an invitation. Few cadets in their first year have ever been offered this seat. Fewer still deserved it."
Her tone shifted, heavier.
"Think carefully. With us, you gain protection and influence. Against us..." her gaze flicked briefly to Ren before settling back on , "...you stand alone."
I leaned forward just slightly, letting the smirk drop into sothing cooler, sharper.
"Protection? Influence? Those are useful words. But I don’t follow. I cooperate. If I step into this circle, it will be on my own terms."
The chamber vibrated faintly with the weight of silence.
Sergio exhaled softly, muttering, "Well now..."
Alice’s eyes glead. "I like him."
Ren snarled under his breath. "Arrogant bastard..."
Emily’s gaze didn’t waver. For a heartbeat, her lips curved—not into a smile, but into sothing sharper. Approval, maybe. Or recognition.
"You speak boldly, Michael Willson." Her voice lowered, carrying steel beneath silk.
"Then prove you can back those words."
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