Alicia knew Lunar City well. Compared to her, Alex was practically a stranger—and that wasn't his fault. Poverty had a way of shrinking the world down to what was necessary. When survival came first, exploration became a luxury.
So Alicia took the lead.
They wandered through illuminated avenues and quieter side streets, blending into the crowd beneath subtle disguises woven from magic and mundane concealment alike. Alicia had no intention of being recognized—not when she wanted Alex all to herself.
And she did.
Shamelessly.
She dragged him from place to place at her own unhurried pace—cafés, rooftops with sweeping night views, tucked-away eateries she remembered fondly. If Alex hesitated, she tugged him along. If he tried to protest, she ignored it. Every moment, every step, was her way of indulging the ache she had suppressed for far too long.
'My disciple.' she thought, glancing sideways at him.
She wanted to keep him. Just for a little longer.
But reality intruded—as it always did.
She had waited too long to have him back—and she refused to give him up easily now.
A message arrived from Elena: preparations for the tournament had begun, and Alex needed to return to the academy soon.
Alicia scowled at the message for a solid minute before flicking it away. 'Annoying old hag.' She ignored it—for now.
For the next few days, Alex remained with her. Three days blurred into four. Alicia claimed every moment without restraint, as if making up for time stolen from her.
On the fourth night, they finally returned to the city's quieter districts. The city lights dimmed into scattered constellations by the time they reached the hotel district.
Alicia had booked a private suite—lavish, secure, and far too extravagant for anyone but her. She stopped at the entrance, fingers lingering briefly around Alex's wrist before letting go.
Alex could finally return to the academy alone, under the cover of night.
He headed straight back—not to his dorm room. Instead, toward the central block, toward the temporary quarters assigned to him above the main training hall. The building loomed quiet and dignified, bathed in soft mana-lamps that cast long shadows across polished stone.
As he stepped through the entrance, the doors ahead opened.
Someone exited at the same time.
Alex slowed.
The woman was tall and composed, her presence sharp enough to cut through the stillness. Steel-gray hair was tied back neatly, her dress immaculate, her posture rigid to the point of severity. Her gaze was forward, measured—until it landed on him.
Irene. Vice Principal of the Knight Faculty.
Alex had seen her before—many times, in fact—but always from a distance. On the training grounds. During formal assemblies. Watching students with a critical eye that tolerated nothing less than discipline and precision.
They had never spoken.
Alex straightened instinctively. "Good evening, Vice Principal—"
She stepped forward.
Blocking his path.
Her eyes were cold and assessing, something unmistakably sharp lying beneath her composure.
"So," Irene said, her voice firm and unyielding, tinged with faint hostility, "we finally meet, Alex Blanc."
Alex froze.
"The one and only disciple of Alicia Valtoria."
And the quiet of the central block suddenly felt much heavier.
Alex swallowed. "Yes, ma'am."
Irene's expression darkened by a fraction.
She had never hidden her distaste for Alicia. Reckless. Lawless. Power without restraint. Everything Irene despised.
And yet—
Her eyes narrowed, thoughtful.
His name had been added to the tournament roster at the last moment, approved directly by Elena.
She had no issue with that decision. None at all. She had personally witnessed Alex's swordsmanship in the Giant's Valley. His physical aptitude was outstanding. His technique—abnormally refined for his age.
But there was a problem.
"You've been absent." Irene said flatly. "Three days of preparation. Missed."
Alex stiffened. "I—"
"Save the explanation." she cut in. "The principal has already provided one."
Which meant: Alicia.
The memory of that day surfaced unbidden—the suffocating pressure, contained almost immediately within the central building.
But not perfectly.
A faint residue had still leaked out, barely perceptible. Sensed only by those truly powerful—or exceptionally sensitive.
Whatever had truly occurred behind closed doors, Irene knew one thing for certain.
An S-rank had lost control.
And this boy had been at the center of it.
Irene studied him again, more intently this time. There was no arrogance in his stance. No fear, either. Just… steadiness.
That irritated her—his steadiness, more than fear ever would have.
"You should not miss sessions simply because of your associations." she said coldly. "If you are to represent this academy, then you will follow its rules—attendance, decorum, and proper procedure. No exceptions."
She turned on her heel and gestured toward the training hall.
"Come," she said. "We'll spar."
Alex blinked. "S-Spar? With you?"
"Yes." She glanced back, eyes sharp. "Unless you believe yourself unworthy."
That was not a challenge he could refuse.
"No, ma'am." Alex said immediately. "I'd be honored."
Aurora floated at his side, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with interest. "Oof, she's in a mood. Try not to get skewered."
The training hall lights flared to life as Irene stepped onto the polished floor. She removed her coat, revealing a lean, powerful frame honed by years of pure sword discipline.
Alex followed, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The other day, while he was with Alicia, he had finally purchased the Sword Expert C-rank passive skill.
Ever since acquiring it, something had subtly—but unmistakably—changed.
It didn't feel like a sudden leap forward, nor an unfamiliar power forced into his body. Instead, it was as if everything he already possessed had been refined and aligned. Like countless hours of training he had never lived, layered seamlessly atop his own.
"Begin." she said.
Alex moved.
He didn't rush—and he didn't hesitate, waiting for her to come. One controlled step, then another, his presence sliding forward with a fluidity that felt wrong for someone his age. His blade came free in a smooth, economical arc. No flourish. No wasted motion.
Irene met him head-on.
Steel rang sharply as their swords collided.
Her eyes widened—just a fraction.
Alex flowed from strike to parry without any visible seam between motions. His footwork shifted subtly, never crossing, never overcommitting. Formless Steps—not as a named technique, but as instinctive motion. Movement without pattern, advancing and retreating in ways that refused to settle into predictability.
Irene pressed harder, layering feints with sudden changes in tempo.
Alex answered every one.
His blade slid along hers, redirected by minute pressure changes. When she forced power into a downward cut, he didn't resist—he yielded, rotating his wrist and stepping inside her range, turning her momentum aside.
She increased her tempo, driving him back—
Only to feel him adjust mid-exchange.
His stance shifted, weight redistributing as if he had already anticipated her next strike. His sword snapped forward in a straight, merciless thrust—stopping a breath away from her shoulder.
They broke apart.
Silence fell.
Irene's grip tightened around her hilt.
'Impossible.' Not the strength—the understanding of the way of the sword.
She had seen prodigies before. Gifted swordsmen. Talents polished by obsession and relentless training.
This was different.
'So this is it.' she thought. The source of that woman's madness.
They resumed—faster now.
The hall echoed with clashing steel, sparks flickering as their blades kissed and parted. Irene fought with ruthless efficiency, every strike meant to end a real fight. No theatrics. No mercy.
Alex, slowly but steadily, began matching her.
Each exchange sharpened him further, his responses tightening, growing more decisive. His sword carried a pressure she recognized instantly—not brute force, but domineering intent.
The same overwhelming assertion Alicia used.
He wasn't just skilled.
He was learning while fighting her.
The realization sent a chill down Irene's spine.
They disengaged again.
Irene stepped back, chest rising slowly, eyes locked on him.
A monster, she admitted silently.
The youngest she had ever seen—or even heard of—to stand at the threshold of true Sword Grand Mastery.
And for the first time, a bitter, reluctant thought surfaced—
'That woman really does have an eye for choosing disciples.'
But unlike Alicia's wild, overwhelming dominance, Alex's strength was… contained. Disciplined. Sharpened inward instead of spilling outward.
That made it worse.
She sheathed her sword with a decisive motion.
"That will suffice." Irene said.
Alex immediately followed, sliding his blade home before bowing deeply. "Thank you for the match."
Irene studied him for a long moment—eyes sharp and measuring, but not unkind.
Then she turned away.
"Do not be late again." she said evenly. "Your absences will not be overlooked—regardless of your associations."
Not an accusation.
A statement of principle.
"The tournament is not a stage for excuses." she added. "Only the results of training and preparation."
As she walked toward the exit, her expression remained composed, but her thoughts moved quickly.
'Principal… what exactly have you brought into this academy?'
Behind her, Alex let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Aurora hovered at his side, grinning.
"Well," she said lightly, "you survived a disciplinary lecture and a sword test in one go. That's impressive."
Alex managed a weak smile.