“The piece of shit… he does this every time.”

  Ada’s voice was low, venomous.

  Then silence.

  “Tomorrow. 9:30 p.m. Same place. Don’t be late.”

  “Excuse me.”

  She stopped mid-step and glanced back.

  “What.”

  “Tomorrow… could you hide your face? Wear a mask or something.”

  “Why.”

  “Some cadets already saw you at the museum.”

  “Not my problem.”

  Before I could respond, she turned and leapt upward, disappearing into the trees as if gravity were optional.

  Leaves settled.

  Silence returned.

  What a weird day.

  I didn’t even get to test the sword.

  Well… worrying wouldn’t fix that. If something couldn’t be changed right now, there was no point wasting energy on it.

  Sleep sounded like the only intelligent decision left.

  My phone vibrated.

  I squinted at the screen.

  “Who remembers me now…”

  [Varek Valkor]

  Prepare for tomorrow’s presentation.

  If you embarrass the group, I will make sure the consequences last longer than the grade.

  …Encouraging.

  “I’m mentally exhausted,” I muttered. “I’ll do it tomorrow morning.”

  I set the phone down.

  Sleep claimed me almost instantly.

  Monday — Theory Class

  Seraphina Vale stood at the front of the hall, posture flawless, voice steady and precise.

  “…therefore, a high-density mana dungeon with unstable terrain should prioritize controlled advancement rather than aggressive exploration. Establishing fallback points every fifty meters reduces casualty probability by approximately thirty percent.”

  Her slides were immaculate — clean diagrams, layered analysis, perfectly structured conclusions.

  She finished without hesitation.

  Professor Voss adjusted his glasses, visibly impressed.

  “Excellent work, Miss Vale. Clear methodology, sound assumptions, and calm delivery. A model presentation.”

  She inclined her head slightly and returned to her seat.

  Naturally.

  Next.

  “Zane Warry.”

  Zane moved to the podium with sharp, purposeful steps.

  While she prepared, someone stopped beside my desk.

  Varek.

  “Have you prepared properly for the presentation?”

  Prepared?

  I had summarized the entire report using the Book of Autherion while running Silent Eclipse in short bursts. I could probably recite it backward if necessary.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t mess it up.”

  Zane began speaking.

  Her style was different — faster, more assertive, tactical rather than academic.

  “…if direct confrontation is unavoidable, the team should split roles immediately. Frontline containment, ranged suppression, and rear-guard extraction. Hesitation increases failure probability exponentially.”

  Less polished than Seraphina.

  More combat-oriented.

  She finished strong.

  Professor Voss nodded appreciatively.

  “Very good, Miss Warry. Practical, decisive, and grounded in real combat logic. Strong presentation.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Zane stepped down, stopped directly in front of Varek, and said quietly:

  “Top that.”

  He smirked.

  “Piece of cake.”

  Then he glanced at me.

  Not friendly.

  Well.

  My turn.

  “Korin Kai.”

  I stood and walked to the front.

  No shaking.

  No dramatic tension.

  Just focus.

  Activate.

  Silent Eclipse sharpened everything — the room, the notes, the projection, the flow of ideas aligning into perfect sequence.

  I began.

  “Our assigned dungeon scenario involves a multi-layer cavern system with fluctuating mana density and intermittent creature migration.”

  Slide change.

  “The primary threat is not individual enemies, but environmental instability. Structural collapse risk exceeds direct combat mortality in prolonged engagements.”

  Another slide.

  “Recommended strategy is phased reconnaissance followed by controlled advancement. Mapping airflow patterns allows prediction of unstable zones before physical contact.”

  I could feel every word landing exactly where it needed to.

  No stumbles.

  No searching for phrasing.

  Just clean delivery.

  Deactivate.

  I finished.

  Silence held for half a second.

  Professor Voss blinked.

  Then smiled broadly.

  “Outstanding.”

  Oh.

  “That was not only comprehensive but exceptionally well structured. Your risk modeling was particularly impressive. Frankly, this is closer to a professional briefing than a student report.”

  Murmurs spread across the class.

  “Excellent work, Mr. Kai. Truly excellent.”

  …Maybe I overdid it.

  I returned to my seat.

  After the final presentation concluded, Professor Voss stepped forward, folding his hands behind his back.

  “All groups have demonstrated commendable effort,” he said, voice carrying easily across the hall. “Evaluation will be completed after a detailed review of your analytical accuracy, strategic reasoning, and presentation quality.”

  A brief pause.

  “The scores will be announced tomorrow.”

  No suspense. No theatrics. Just procedure.

  Class dismissed soon after.

  Applied Combat Systems — Training Hall

  The atmosphere was louder here — metal striking metal, mana bursts cracking through the air, instructors barking corrections.

  The Top Ten stood near the weapon racks while other cadets gathered.

  Varek broke the silence first.

  “What do you think, Aric — whose presentation was better? Mine or Zane’s?”

  Aric considered for a moment.

  “Both were strong,” he said evenly. “Zane’s was tactically grounded. Yours was structurally thorough. They emphasized different priorities.”

  Neutral. Balanced. Useless for settling arguments.

  Zane crossed her arms.

  “So that doesn’t count. The bet was between you and me. You didn’t even present it yourself.”

  “Wrong,” Varek replied calmly. “The bet was whose presentation the faculty would rate higher. Not who delivered it.”

  “That’s not what—”

  “Didn’t any of you notice something else?” Selene interrupted quietly.

  Aric, Varek, and Zane all turned toward her.

  “What?” they asked almost simultaneously.

  Selene’s gaze shifted across the hall.

  “Korin is wearing glasses.”

  Varek frowned slightly.

  “So?”

  “He wasn’t wearing them before,” she said. “He started today.”

  “Maybe he strained his eyes preparing the report,” Varek said. “Weak eyesight.”

  “Then why is he still wearing them during combat training?” Selene asked.

  That gave him pause.

  Iris, who had been watching silently, spoke next.

  “Selene’s right.”

  All attention shifted to her.

  “At the museum, his eyes were visible,” she said slowly. “Deep graphite gray. Almost colorless.”

  She nodded toward Korin across the hall.

  “Through those lenses… they look black now.”

  Not a dramatic statement.

  Just observation.

  Before anyone could respond—

  Instructor Thorn entered.

  The entire hall snapped to attention.

  “Form groups of four,” she ordered. “Use the same teams assigned in Theory Class.”

  Students began moving immediately.

  “You will begin coordinated drills,” she continued. “Starting next week, you will be deployed to hunt mana-beasts. Individual strength is irrelevant if your team collapses.”

  A ripple of tension passed through the hall.

  Real hunts.

  Not simulations.

  Selene glanced toward Varek.

  “Now is your opportunity. He’s in your group.”

  Varek didn’t look away from Korin.

  “You don’t need to tell me,” he said quietly.

  “I was already planning to.”

  The moment the order was given, the hall dissolved into movement — cadets converging toward familiar faces, weapons drawn, voices low and urgent.

  Varek didn’t move at first.

  He simply watched.

  His team approached him instead — exactly as they should.

  Rank mattered here. So did presence. And Varek had both in abundance.

  Good.

  He stepped forward once they formed a loose circle.

  “Report your weapons,” he said. “Then give me a brief demonstration.”

  No wasted words. No theatrics.

  Authority didn’t need decoration.

  Hugh Darnell

  The tall boy swallowed hard and lifted a long spear, hands positioned carefully along the shaft.

  “S-spear… sir. Mid-range control.”

  He thrust forward experimentally — not sloppy, but cautious. The tip stopped precisely short of an imaginary target, then retracted smoothly.

  Defensive posture. Conservative mindset.

  Varek noted the stance, the foot placement, the hesitation before extension.

  Reliable. Not aggressive. Will hold formation but won’t break one.

  “Acceptable,” Varek said.

  Hugh looked visibly relieved.

  Jain Patel

  Jain adjusted his glasses before raising a compact crossbow already resting against his forearm.

  “Ranged support,” he said. “Rapid reload mechanism.”

  He fired at a training dummy across the hall. The bolt struck center mass with a sharp thud. In one fluid motion he reloaded and fired again — second shot slightly off center but still lethal.

  Efficient. Technical. Dependent on distance.

  Good for sustained pressure. Vulnerable if engaged directly.

  “Maintain spacing,” Varek said. “You don’t survive close combat.”

  Jain nodded immediately.

  My Turn

  Varek’s eyes settled on me last.

  Hatchets.

  Five of them, evenly spaced at my belt.

  Unconventional. But not inherently useless.

  “Demonstration.”

  I stepped forward without hesitation, drew a hatchet, and flicked it toward a distant target.

  Clean throw.

  Direct hit.

  Controlled. Minimal.

  Holding back, Varek concluded.

  Not fear. Not uncertainty.

  “Last time,” he said, “you weren’t wearing glasses.”

  I adjusted them slightly.

  “Oh. Yes. I started using contact lenses, but they didn’t suit me. Infection.”

  A simple explanation.

  Possibly true.

  Possibly not.

  Varek held my gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

  No flinch.

  No defensive posture.

  No attempt to oversell the story.

  Either honest…

  or very practiced.

  “Understood,” Varek said at last.

  He straightened and addressed the group as a whole.

  “Listen carefully.”

  The ambient noise of the hall faded from his awareness. Everything narrowed to structure, positioning, outcome.

  “Hugh — front line. You maintain distance and control approach vectors. Do not chase targets.”

  Hugh nodded quickly.

  “Jain — rear support. Prioritize suppression over kills. If you’re reloading, announce it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Korin — flexible position.”

  Varek’s gaze sharpened slightly.

  “You will operate between front and rear. Intercept threats that breach formation or exploit openings when they appear.”

  Not quite trust.

  Not quite doubt.

  Utilization.

  Varek continued.

  “We move as a unit. No heroics. No improvisation without communication.”

  He stepped back half a pace, then added:

  “If a mana-beast breaks through Hugh’s line, Korin intercepts. If multiple targets appear, Jain suppresses while we reposition.”

  Clear.

  Efficient.

  Functional.

  Not a classroom strategy.

  A battlefield one.

  Varek folded his arms.

  “Our objective isn’t to look impressive,” he said.

  “It’s to survive the hunt.”

  His eyes swept across them one last time.

  “Questions?”

  None came.

  Good.

  “Then we run a dry formation drill first,” he ordered.

  “Move.”