Helen hovered above the arena, the spectral shadow of a majestic azure dragon manifesting beneath her, its translucent form shimmering like woven starlight. As she glided gracefully through the air, her presence commanded absolute attention.
She came to a stop in the split center of the two combat stages, her sharp gaze sweeping across the competitors.
"Alright, everyone! I'm sure you're all wondering how we will proceed from this point forward. Allow me to explain."
The murmur of anticipation settled as Helen's voice rang with authority.
"These two stages will now host the Top Five competitors from each group. Those who have remained undefeated will battle to my left. Meanwhile, those who have suffered some losses will battle to my right. Once the matches conclude, the victors from both sides will move forward into the final fight—where the 'Final Five' will be decided."
The announcement sent a ripple of tension through the competitors. Whispers of speculation and excitement coursed through the assembled examinees.
Just as Helen was about to begin assigning matches, she paused.
Then, with a knowing smile, she dropped a revelation that sent shockwaves through the crowd.
"I will have everyone know that those within the Top 30 are all children of the Sacred Families."
Silence.
Then—gasps.
A stunned voice echoed in the open air.
"Really?!"
Helen didn't need to confirm again—the weight of her words had already cemented itself in their minds.
A girl spoke up, her tone matter-of-fact.
"You know what? I'm not even surprised. Considering it's the Sacred Families, it makes sense that they'd dominate the rankings."
A sweet-natured boy tilted his head in thought. "But still, I wonder who the champion of the duels will be?"
"Isn't it obvious?" an indifferent voice cut through the chatter. "It's clearly going to be Lyra Caelumis."
"Are you kidding me? Obviously, Soo-min Hwarangdo will take the championship." A taunting girl countered.
"No, no! Marcus Vestalyn will be the winner."
The moment that name was spoken, the floodgates broke open.
A thunderous wave of conversation spread through the assembled crowd, various groups arguing passionately about their respective champions. Since the competition had now merged into one collective ranking, many siblings from different families gravitated together, their bonds strengthened by their shared lineage.
Amidst the chaos, Lyra Caelumis stood with an unshaken demeanor, utterly indifferent to the petty squabbles of the lesser students.
Her icy blue eyes barely flicked toward the noise.
Beside her, Elian Caelumis sneered in disgust.
"Sister, don't listen to them. These peasants are merely spewing nonsense."
Lyra barely spared him a glance.
"Please, brother." Her voice was smooth, bored even."I have no interest in the meaningless opinions of lesser beings."
But then—her gaze sharpened.
She turned to Elian directly, her previous indifference replaced with something colder.
"What I don't understand is why you lost to Mason Solonar."
A flicker of something dark crossed Elian's face.
He hesitated, looking downward.
"Mason Solonar is… tricky to deal with," he muttered. "He uses the darkness element proficiently."
His words felt hollow.
An excuse.
Lyra's piercing gaze scanned her brother's expression, seeing through him effortlessly.
Then, with detached amusement, she continued.
"Mason Solonar is a disgrace to the Solonar family. I heard he doesn't even receive resources from his own household because of his element. So, tell me, Elian—how does a third-circle mage defeat a fourth-circle mage who has proficiency in four-star spells?"
Her tone was calm. Too calm.
Elian swallowed, his throat dry.
His hands balled into fists, sweat forming along his brow.
"I…" He couldn't answer.
He wouldn't answer.
Lyra sighed as if disappointed.
She stepped forward, brushing past her brother, but not before delivering a final warning.
"Since you refuse to divulge the truth, I will let the matter rest."
Elian exhaled in relief.
But then—
"However… you do realize that Father also saw your battle against Solonar."
Elian froze.
Lyra's voice remained detached, but her words carried the weight of doom.
"And you and I both know… Father despises failure."
Elian's breath hitched, and he swallowed hard.
Lyra didn't need to say anything more.
She simply turned away, letting her brother marinate in his own silent dread.
Among the waiting competitors, Aria Klingenhart stood calmly, her expression focused.
However, a quiet worry gnawed at the back of her mind.
Her brother.
Something was wrong.
Weaving through the gathered students, she searched for him, her eyes sharp and alert.
Eventually, she found Jackson Klingenhart sitting at the edge of the crowd, tending to a wound that hadn't been there before.
Aria's brows furrowed as she stepped forward.
"Brother, are you alright?"
Jackson winced, his muscles tensing as he applied a clear salve to his injury.
Despite the pain, he forced a smile, though it was clear he struggled to do so.
"I'm fine, sister." His voice was steady, but his breathing was not. "Just taking care of the damage I received."
Aria's gaze darkened as she watched him apply the cream, the slight burning noise of the wound healing over reaching her ears.
She waited until he let out a small breath of relief before speaking.
"Jackson, who did this to you?"
A shadow passed over his expression.
He didn't answer immediately.
Aria crossed her arms."Tell me the truth."
Jackson hesitated, then sighed. "Mei Wugongshi."
Aria's eyes narrowed.
Her fingers twitched slightly at her side.
Then, without another word, she turned back toward the arena, her stance unyielding.
Her next opponent—whoever it was—would regret standing in her way.
Aria stood over her brother, watching as he tended to his wounds. Frustration simmered beneath her composed exterior.
"What can you tell me about her?" she asked, voice steady but firm.
Jackson stilled. He knew exactly what those words meant.
"Please, Aria—don't go seeking vengeance on my behalf!" His tone held a caution that bordered on desperation.
Aria shook her head, her expression unwavering.
"Brother, you know me by now." Her voice was softer, but no less determined. "No one messes with our family."
At that moment, a faint but painful memory resurfaced in Jackson's mind—a reminder of the lengths Aria had gone to in the past for their name.
For a brief moment, he considered refusing her again. But Aria was relentless. She always had been.
With a sigh, he relented.
"As you know, the Wugongshi are a family of fire users," he began. "Their guardian beast is the Phoenix, and their martial techniques reflect that element."
Aria nodded—this was common knowledge.
"But Mei Wugongshi is different."
Her eyes sharpened. "How different?"
Jackson's grip tightened around his forearm. "Her final move... it wasn't just fire."** There was something else.**
"For a split second, I saw traces of the Lightning element imbued into her technique. That's why my wound looks like this."
He gestured toward his side, revealing thin, branching burns radiating from a single impact point—lightning scars.
Aria's breath hitched. That shouldn't be possible.
Fire and lightning together? Such a combination wasn't documented in Wugongshi history.
Without thinking, she reached out, gently cupping Jackson's face before pulling him into a light embrace.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that."
She meant it.
More than anything, she wished it had been her instead.
Jackson let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "I'm fine, Aria. Seriously."
Aria didn't respond right away. But when she pulled back, her resolve was written plainly in her gaze.
She stood, casting her eyes toward the combat stage where her next match would take place.
"Don't worry, brother. I'll avenge you."
Jackson sighed. "Geez, you're so lame, sister."
Aria blinked, caught off guard by his teasing.
"Wha—? I mean, I will avenge you, but since you didn't die, I suppose what I mean is... I'll avenge your honor?"
Her hurried explanation only made Jackson burst into laughter.
"So lame!" he wheezed.
A faint blush crept up Aria's neck, but she refused to dignify his laughter with a response.
"Alright, everyone!" Helen's voice rang out, pulling attention back to the present.
Her commanding presence silenced the murmurs in the crowd as she gestured toward the combat stages.
"Now, can you all make your way to your designated stages?"
Some of the younger examinees blushed at her beauty, moving with uncharacteristic eagerness at her request.
As the competitors hurried into position, Percy and Dalton **could feel the weight of their surroundings—**a watchful tension settling over the group.
Percy leaned toward Dalton, voice low.
"Seems like these people know each other."
Dalton nodded in agreement.
"Considering they're all children of the Sacred Families, it makes sense. They've been acquainted since childhood."
Helen continued, unfazed by the conversations around her.
"In order to enter the semifinals, you will need two consecutive wins. As for the finals—well, I imagine that would be simple math. But for those who don't excel in numbers, let me clarify: to enter the Top Five, you must achieve three consecutive wins."
A ripple of understanding spread through the competitors.
The pressure had officially increased.
Helen raised a hand.
"Let's begin."
With a graceful wave, four numbers lit up on either side of the stages.
"If your badge lights up, you have been chosen to fight. Good luck!"
Settling comfortably in her chair, Helen watched as the next duels unfolded.
Two figures stepped forward, locking eyes as if they had already fought a hundred battles.
Mei Wugongshi's fiery confidence radiated from her stance, while Claire Lunarae's icy calm reflected her control.
Percy, observing from the sidelines, raised an eyebrow.
Dalton, ever the encyclopedia of noble lineages, leaned in.
"The girl with the fiery smile is Mei Wugongshi," he murmured. "The one with silver hair is Claire Lunarae."
Mei stepped onto the stage first, graceful yet coiled like a predator.
As a 3rd Circle Mage, her mastery of the Phoenix Ascension Breathing Technique had refined her movements into something fluid yet devastating.
Across from her, Claire Lunarae exuded an aura of controlled calculation.
A 4th Circle Mage with proficiency in 4-star spells, she commanded Darkness, Psychic, and Ice— a rare and powerful combination.
Her eyes glinted with both confidence and curiosity.
She wanted to test Mei.
Helen's voice rang out:
"Begin!"
Claire was the first to move, her hands weaving through the air.
"Darkness Veil."
Shadows erupted, coiling around the stage, blanketing the battlefield in a void of obscurity.
Mei's stance shifted.
"She's trying to disorient me."
She took a deep breath.
"Blazing Feather Sweep!"
Her arms spread wide, releasing a wave of flickering fire that blasted outward, pushing back the darkness and reclaiming her vision.
Claire smirked.
"Nice move," she mused, "but how about this?"
Her fingers twisted in the air.
"Ice Shards!"
Glittering spears of ice materialized in an instant, launching toward Mei from multiple directions.
Mei reacted with lightning-fast reflexes.
"Ashen Shadow Dodge."
Her form blurred, disappearing and reappearing like a phantom, evading each shard with a precision honed from years of martial training.
A sly grin tugged at her lips.
"You'll have to be faster than that."
Without warning, she launched into her counterattack.
"Flame Talon Strike!"
She moved with blistering speed, her burning strikes aimed with lethal intensity.
Claire barely had time to raise a defense.
"Psychic Barrier!"
A translucent field shimmered, absorbing the blows—but Claire's mind raced.
{She's a martial artist, not a typical mage. Her physical prowess is remarkable.}
Claire's hands snapped forward.
"Psychic Chains!"
From the shadows, ethereal chains shot out, twisting toward Mei like living creatures.
Mei's response was immediate.
She twisted in midair, evading the grasp of the chains with a fluid spin.
Her next attack came without hesitation.
"Soaring Ember Spiral!"
Mana gathered around her, flames twisting into a rising cyclone.
The air trembled.
The battle had only just begun.
Claire's eyes widened as she felt the searing heat radiating from Mei's rising inferno.
"Impressive," she admitted, her tone laced with both respect and wariness.
Mei didn't respond—her focus remained unshaken, her stance unwavering as she rode the momentum of her attack.
Claire, however, had no intention of letting Mei control the tempo.
With a sharp inhale, she retaliated—a pulse of pure psychic energy exploding outward from her body.
"Psychic Pulse!"
The invisible force crashed into Mei, her form jolting mid-step as her balance faltered.
{She's strong.}
The realization hit Mei in an instant, but she had no time for hesitation.
{But I can't let her dominate the battle.}
Mei clenched her fists, drawing upon the raging fire within. The embers of her soul flared, channeling into her next strike.
Her body moved before thought.
"Flame Talon Strike!"
The attack was blisteringly fast, a precise arc of flames cutting through the battlefield like the claw of a phoenix.
Claire's breath caught.
{Oh crap!}
She had mere seconds to react.
Summoning every ounce of mana, she conjured a barrier—a thick wall of glacial ice rising between them.
The fire met ice.
Ssssshhhhh!
Steam erupted as the ice sizzled and cracked under the intensity of Mei's attack.
Even through the haze, Claire's lips curled into an approving smirk.
"You're tough," she admitted, her voice edged with admiration. "But let's see how you handle this—
Her fingers twisted in the air, shadows coiling like living tendrils.
"Shadow Bind!"
Darkness snaked forward, tendrils wrapping tightly around Mei's limbs, locking her in place.
Mei gritted her teeth.
The shadows dug in, their chilling embrace restricting her fluidity.
But Claire had underestimated something crucial.
Mei Wugongshi was born in fire.
And fire could not be contained.
{She can't hold me for long.}
Mei closed her eyes—her breathing steady.
A single, measured inhale.
Then—an explosion of raw power.
"Phoenix Ascendancy!"
Pillars of fire erupted around her, scorching the battlefield in a dazzling inferno.
The heat was blinding, the sheer force overpowering Claire's shadow grip with brilliant intensity.
Claire instinctively raised an arm, shielding her eyes from the searing glow.
Her mind raced.
{She's more powerful than I thought.}
She needed to end this—now.
Her mana surged, the temperature around her plummeting as she wove her next spell.
Her silver hair whipped around her as crystals of ice formed midair.
Then—
"Frozen Lance!"
A massive spear of ice materialized, hurtling toward Mei with deadly precision.
Mei did not panic.
She did not falter.
Her mind was crystal clear.
In the instant before impact—
She moved.
A single flowing motion, her body bending with the wind as she dodged the frozen projectile with precise agility.
The moment her feet touched the ground, she pushed forward.
"Blazing Feather Sweep!"
Her fierce, fiery arc carved through the air—hitting Claire squarely and sending her skidding backward.
A hush fell over the arena.
Smoke curled upward, the air thick with the scent of scorched mana.
Both warriors stood still—breathing heavy, their forms drenched in battle sweat.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then—
Claire fell to one knee.
Her mana drained, her endurance spent.
She exhaled sharply, lifting her gaze toward Mei.
"You win."
There was no bitterness in her voice.
Only respect.
"Your skills are incredible."
Mei relaxed her stance, the heat around her finally dissipating.
For the first time in their battle, her eyes softened.
"It was a close match, Claire."
She stepped forward, extending a hand.
"You fought with great strength."
A beat of silence.
Then—
Claire reached up, taking Mei's hand.
Helen's voice rang through the battlefield.
"Victory to Mei Wugongshi!"
The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, their cheers filling the arena with raw exhilaration.
Claire stood, her grip firm, her silver eyes burning with determination.
"Thank you, Mei."
Then—her lips curled into a resolute smirk.
"This isn't the end. I'll get stronger."
Mei chuckled, nodding in approval.
"I look forward to our next match."
Side by side, they walked off the stage.
The cheers of the crowd still ringing in their ears.
The grand hall of the Sacred Families buzzed with conversation, yet all discussions gravitated toward one undeniable reality—Claire Lunarae's unexpected defeat at the hands of a martial artist.
Seated at the head of the Lunarae delegation, Lady Evelyn Lunarae remained composed, her expression a mask of poise and calculated restraint. However, the faint tightness in her clasped hands betrayed her underlying frustration.
Turning to High Seer Evander Celestari, the leader of the Celestari House, one of the Lunarae's esteemed vassal families, she sighed.
"Claire fought bravely, but it appears our training must adapt to these evolving styles."
Her voice carried a rare note of regret, a sentiment Evelyn despised allowing others to see.
Evander, his ethereal presence as unreadable as ever, inclined his head slightly, the constellations embedded in his pale skin flickering like dying stars.
"Indeed, Lady Evelyn. It was an unexpected turn. We must never underestimate the adaptability of those outside our traditions. Martial artists, despite their lack of arcane supremacy, compensate with sheer discipline and refined combat instincts."
His voice was smooth, measured, as if he already foresaw the ramifications of the battle long before it happened.
Lady Evelyn stood gracefully, her presence immediately drawing attention.
She could feel their gazes—the silent judgments, the unspoken challenges.
She let the weight of their expectations settle before she spoke.
"I must express my apologies."
Her voice was steady, yet laced with undertones of strain.
She swept her gaze across the assembled lords and ladies, each a powerful figure in their own right—some allies, some rivals.
"Claire's defeat today was unforeseen."
Her heart ached for her daughter, but Evelyn knew that only strength mattered in this room.
A loss was a weakness to be exploited.
She inhaled deeply, forcing her voice to carry with unwavering conviction.
"But I assure you—she will learn from this and return stronger."
A beat of silence.
Then, a slow, deliberate chuckle.
Lord Cedric Aurorix, ever the serpent in noble garb, leaned forward.
A smirk played on his lips, his tone deceptively light.
"Ah, the Lunaraes and their swift decisions for the next heir," he mused, his fingers tapping idly against the polished armrest.
His gaze flicked to Evelyn, feigning curiosity.
"Claire has always been formidable, but perhaps she was chosen… a bit too quickly?"
The murmur of intrigue spread.
Cedric let it simmer, enjoying the tension before continuing.
"Of course, this is but a minor setback. Yet, one can't help but ponder the wisdom of such hasty choices."
Evelyn's heart pounded with a mixture of anger and cold calculation.
{How dare he bring this up in front of everyone?}
But then—Cedric delivered his killing stroke.
His smirk widened, his words slicing through the air with practiced precision.
"And let us not forget the one who is never spoken of—"
The air grew heavy.
"Your hidden son."
Gasps echoed through the chamber.
A forbidden name had been invoked.
Cedric leaned back, his amusement undeniable as he cast Evelyn a mockingly sympathetic glance.
"Might he have been a better choice?"
A slow, seething fire burned in Evelyn's chest.
She fought the urge to curse Cedric aloud—to rip apart his arrogance in front of the entire chamber.
But she did not.
Instead, she held his gaze, her lips pressed into a firm line.
The other mages shifted uncomfortably, knowing full well that Cedric had crossed a boundary few dared tread.
Evelyn's eyes flashed dangerously.
Her fists clenched at her sides, but her voice—when it came—was cold as the void.
"Claire will prove herself."
Each syllable was spoken with deliberate weight, as if she were branding the very air.
"Our choice was made with careful consideration."
Cedric merely shrugged, raising his hands in mock innocence.
"Of course, of course," he said smoothly. "I meant no offense, Lady Evelyn. Only that we must ensure our children do not become… complacent."
He cast a knowing glance around the room, relishing the discord he had sown.
Before Evelyn could respond, a calm yet commanding voice cut through the tension.
"Claire's skills are indeed impressive."
Lord Alistair Solonar spoke with an air of quiet authority, the subtle undertone of challenge unmistakable.
His presence alone commanded silence.
"But perhaps she underestimated her opponent."
He stroked his chin, as if considering a deeper truth.
"We must teach our children to respect all forms of combat."
A pointed pause.
"Even if we believe our magic to be superior."
His gaze flickered briefly to Lord Cedric, a silent warning.
Then, his eyes met Evelyn's, a glint of reassurance within them.
"It's crucial that we guide them to be well-rounded in their abilities, prepared for any challenge that may arise."
A subtle reminder.
Their families had once stood unshaken together.
And that alliance still held.
Cedric's smirk faltered—just slightly.
His gaze narrowed.
"Are you implying, Alistair, that the Lunaraes have been negligent in their teachings?"
Alistair did not flinch.
He straightened, his posture unwavering as he met Cedric's thinly veiled challenge.
"Not negligent, Cedric," he corrected. His voice was even, yet edged with steel.
"Merely suggesting that every defeat is an opportunity for growth. Claire's setback today can serve as a lesson in humility and versatility."
Evelyn glanced at Alistair.
A wave of gratitude passed through her.
{Always the strategist. Always the ally.}
Cedric's expression tightened.
His smirk remained, but the amusement in his eyes had dimmed.
"Let us hope," he drawled, "that Claire's future victories will reflect the wisdom you so generously offer, Alistair."
Alistair smiled, calm yet unwavering.
"Indeed. And let us also hope that all our children learn to value resilience and respect above all else."
The tension in the room thickened, a silent war of influence playing out beneath polite words.
The air in the chamber was dense with tension, the silent battle of influence and power clear to all present.
Lady Evelyn Lunarae took a slow breath, her resolve solidifying like tempered steel.
She would not allow the Lunaraes to be undermined.
She would ensure that Claire—and all of her lineage—emerged stronger than ever.
From across the room, Lady Morgana Tempestarii let out a sharp sigh, her frustration barely concealed.
"We cannot allow this to tarnish our reputation," she declared, her voice cool and edged like a blade.
Straightening her shoulders, her posture exuded hardened resolve.
"Our children must strive to be the best—no matter the opponent."
Her gaze flickered toward Lord Cedric Aurorix, a silent agreement passing between them.
Then—to Evelyn.
"Cedric makes a valid point," Morgana continued, her tone laced with icy amusement.
"The Lunaraes' hasty decision to elevate Claire does raise… questions."
Then—the dagger.
"Perhaps Jason Lunarae, the hidden child of the sun from the family of the moon, might have been a more prudent choice?"
A ripple of murmurs spread through the room.
Eyes darted toward Evelyn, awaiting her reaction.
A slow, seething fire burned in Evelyn's chest.
Her fingers curled, her nails pressing into her palms to keep her composure intact.
Her voice—when it came—was lethal in its restraint.
"That 'child' is not up for discussion, Morgana."
A hush fell over the room.
Evelyn's words were low but sharp, each syllable a blade meant to cut deep.
The rivalry between them—**old as their bloodlines themselves—**now lay bare for all to witness.
Morgana's lips curled slightly, the ghost of a smile.
A taunt.
"Of course, Evelyn. But we must consider all options to ensure our lineage remains… unblemished."
Evelyn took a deliberate step forward, her piercing glare locking onto Morgana's.
"Our reputation will remain intact. Claire will prove her worth. And I would appreciate it if you refrained from questioning decisions that are none of your concern."
Morgana raised a single brow, her demeanor still calm, unreadable.
But her eyes—they burned with challenge.
"It is the concern of all our families, Evelyn. We must ensure our legacy endures."
The room held its breath, the mana in the air tensing like a coiled spring.
A power struggle that had existed for decades—now laid bare.
Evelyn's fists clenched at her sides, but she forced herself to exhale slowly.
Her mind raced, already devising countermoves to Morgana's insinuations.
Before the tension could escalate further—
A heavy silence fell.
Then, a measured, authoritative voice broke through.
"Enough."
The weight of that single word was absolute.
The chamber froze.
Even the most seasoned mages felt the shift—the pressure in the air thickening with raw, controlled mana.
Lord Alaric Caelumis, the patriarch of the Caelumis family, had spoken.
His expression remained neutral, but his mana exuded dominance, a silent reminder of why his family stood among the strongest of the mage clans.
His gaze swept over the room, ensuring that his command was understood.
Then, his voice—steady and unwavering.
"Claire's defeat today is indeed a lesson," he declared.
"They must learn to adapt and overcome, regardless of the discipline they face. This is a time for reflection, not for further division."
His words carried both warning and wisdom, quelling the rising discord.
Turning toward Evelyn, his sharp gaze softened—just slightly.
"We must guide them," he continued. "Ensure they understand the importance of versatility and resilience."
Evelyn inclined her head, grateful for Alaric's intervention.
Alaric's tone shifted, his presence commanding a shift in focus.
"Now, let us welcome our esteemed guest."
A flicker of anticipation ran through the chamber.
"The Headmaster of Solarskis University has honored us with his presence."
The doors to the chamber swung open.
A figure—cloaked in dark robes—entered.
His presence alone sent a chill through the room, a stark contrast to the heated tensions that had previously dominated.
The aura that accompanied him was not just power—it was something else.
Something… unnerving.
Alaric inclined his head in a gesture of respect.
"Headmaster, we are honored by your presence."
The room fell silent, as every mage present turned their attention to the figure before them.
The Headmaster's Arrival – A Presence That Stirs Fear
The atmosphere changed.
The tension from earlier dissipated—but it was replaced by something far more unsettling.
Lady Evelyn, still simmering with residual fury, forced herself to focus.
Yet, despite all her experience, she couldn't ignore the inexplicable chill that radiated from the Headmaster.
As he stepped forward, his movements were eerily fluid, the dark fabric of his robes seeming to move of its own accord.
Then—he lifted his head.
And smiled.
A shiver ran down the spine of even the most seasoned mages.
His eyes—**dark, fathomless, an abyss of knowing—**scanned the room slowly.
With a voice like silk and shadow, he spoke.
"Greetings, esteemed leaders of the mage families."
His smile widened, adding a quality of unnerving amusement to his demeanor.
"The honor is all yours."
A pause.
"To be in my presence is, after all… a blessing."
His words sank into the room like venom.
Silence.
A silence so thick and absolute that no one dared to break it.
Every mage present felt the weight of his scrutiny.
His eyes lingered on each of them, as if dissecting their very souls.
Then—his tone shifted.
"Let's discuss my domain… and its rules."
There was no question.
No room for debate.
Only authority absolute.
The leaders exchanged uneasy glances, the implications of his words looming over them like an executioner's blade.
The game had changed.
And the Headmaster had just made his move.