"Alright!"
The heat of burning limbs slowly faded as Frost Winister clapped his hands once, the sound sharp enough to cut through the students’ chatter. At once, the flas guttered out, Essence dispersing into thin smoke that coiled upward before vanishing into the morning sky.
"That is enough for today," Frost declared, his voice steady, commanding.
His cloak rippled faintly in the wind as he surveyed the courtyard one last ti. "You have all taken your first steps. From here on, progress is in your hands. Train your Breaths in your own ti—before als, after lectures, in the quiet hours of night if you must. Discipline is the lifeblood of survival, and I will not accept diocrity in this class."
His icy eyes swept the group, pausing montarily on Draco, then Jet, then Lizbeth, as if silently marking them.
"I expect to see progress the next ti we et," Frost continued. "Show you are worth the D-H you’ve been given."
With that, he turned crisply on his heel. Assistants scrambled to pack away the spare hearts and Essence Vials, while Frost strode toward the archway at the far end of the grounds.
His silhouette was frad by sunlight, regal and severe, before he disappeared into the Academy halls without another word.
The mont his presence vanished, tension lted into chaos.
So students groaned and collapsed onto the grass, utterly drained from their attempts. Others laughed nervously, trading stories of how their flas sputtered out or how dizzy they’d felt when Breath Failure struck.
A handful bolted toward the dining hall at once, their hunger finally overwhelming them.
The sll of roasted at and warm bread wafted faintly across the courtyard, reminding everyone how empty their stomachs were.
"Food," one girl moaned dramatically as she clutched her belly. "If I don’t eat now, I’ll pass out before next class!"
Several nodded in agreent, stumbling off toward the dining hall in pairs and trios.
Draco, however, did not move.
He sat on the stone bench lining the wall, resting his D-H in his palm as if studying it.
The faint warmth pulsed against his skin, but his mind was far away.
Hunger never ca—not really.
’I’m Level 15 already... so sothing like this is no big deal.’
His body was already leagues beyond a normal human’s. The System had hardened his fra, boosted his endurance, and rendered trivial needs like exhaustion or constant hunger little more than inconveniences.
Even without a Breath active, he was faster, stronger, and tougher than most in this courtyard.
Instead, his thoughts circled around the words etched into his vision like glowing commandnts.
Primary Quest: Gain Jet Ashborne’s trust until he considers you a friend. (Not Started)
Secondary Quest: Never again lose a single fight inside the Academy until you beco the Pri Student. (Not Started)
Hidden Quest: Repair and rebuild the damage to your image caused by collapsing during the ceremony. (Ongoing)
Draco narrowed his eyes.
The hidden quest was always running in the background—every success in class, every mont of control restored chipped away at the stain of that humiliating collapse.
But that was slow work.
The secondary quest lood over him, its conditions absolute. Losing a fight was not an option.
Not once. Not until he seized the title of Pri Student.
And yet... the first quest tugged at him the most.
’Gain Jet Ashborne’s trust...’ Draco’s lips pressed into a thin line.
Trust was not sothing he actively sought with anyone, so he had very little confidence in that departnt. He was not the most social person, and that was very evident in his interaction with everyone around him.
Aside from Zara, he considered no one his friend.
To him, friendship was a foreign, unneeded luxury. Yet the System made it clear: progress required Jet.
He exhaled sharply through his nose and rose to his feet, brushing dust from his cloak.
’Fine. Let’s start there.’
Across the field, Jet Ashborne stood alone.
Unlike the others, he hadn’t rushed toward food or chatter. He adjusted the clasp of his cloak, thodical and calm, preparing to leave. His dark hair fell across sharp eyes that radiated cool authority, the natural aura of soone used to being followed rather than ignored.
Draco’s boots crunched lightly against the dirt as he crossed the courtyard. A few students glanced at him but quickly looked away, sensing tension brewing.
"Jet Ashborne."
The Pri Student turned, his gaze sharp as glass. His brow furrowed slightly when he saw Draco approaching.
"What do you want?" Jet’s voice was calm, but his glare could have frozen flas.
For the briefest second, Draco considered turning back.
He was not Zara, who could smooth words into smiles. He was not skilled at this—at reaching out. But the System’s glowing command would not vanish until he tried.
Draco extended his hand stiffly.
"Congratulations. On becoming Pri Student." His voice was level, awkward only in its unfamiliarity. "I hope we can get along."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush bone.
Jet stared at the hand. Then, with a sharp movent, he smacked it aside.
"I don’t need your congratulations," Jet said coldly. "And I don’t need your friendship. Stay out of my way, and we’ll get along just fine."
He turned, cloak swaying as he strode toward the archway.
For a mont Draco froze, hand still half-raised. A quiet fury simred under his ribs, twisting into sothing sharp. The sting of dismissal, of contempt, burned hotter than any Breath.
’So that’s how it is?’
His jaw tightened. His pride—bruised from ceremony, from whispers, from always standing one step behind—flared up like fire on oil.
"Jet!" Draco’s voice rang across the courtyard.
The Pri Student stopped mid-stride. His back stiffened, but he did not turn.
"I challenge you," Draco said, voice hard as steel. "A duel."
Slowly, Jet pivoted, his expression unreadable.
The courtyard, once buzzing with chatter, fell silent. Students halted mid-step, mid-sentence, watching with wide eyes.
"You want to fight ?" Jet asked quietly.
His tone was calm, but there was weight behind it, a gravity that pressed down on everyone listening.
Draco’s fists clenched around the Dragonheart. "We’ll use the Rank 1 Amber Ignis D-H. Just like class. No excuses."
Jet tilted his head slightly, studying Draco as though he were so curious insect.
"Why?"
Draco’s lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. "Because just being Pri Student doesn’t an you have my respect."
A ripple of gasps spread across the courtyard.
Despite all of the stares and mounting pressure, and despite the annoyance that burned within Draco’s heart, he was actually rather calm. His thoughts moved smoothly as he logically assessed his situation.
’Knowing Draco, his pride won’t allow him to simply rely on his Pri Student title and let be. He’ll want to prove himself superior. I can use this to start my Secondary Quest, and if I defeat Jet in this match, while playing my cards right, I can turn this into an advantage...’
Jet’s eyes sharpened, a flicker of fire dancing in their depths. For the first ti, his calm mask cracked, revealing a spark of challenge.
"Very well," Jet said. "If that’s what you want, I’ll prove it again. I’ll show you—and everyone else—why I am superior."
Draco stepped forward, his presence radiating heat as his own Dragonheart pulsed in his hand.
"You’re going to lose."
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