The next morning came quietly.
No glowing eyes.
No whispers.
No cracked mirror.
I'd already cleaned up the mess last night — swept the broken glass, wiped the surface, tossed the shards into the trash.
There was no trace left of what happened.
At least, not in the bathroom.
But I could still feel something lingering inside me. A subtle shift. Like a shadow that only moved when I wasn't looking.
Still, I didn't dwell on it.
Instead, I stood in front of the now-empty wall where the mirror used to be, dressed in the academy-issued training gear instead of the usual uniform.
Today was the long-awaited combat evaluation — the day that would determine my standing at Apogee Academy.
My placement. My trajectory. Maybe even my role in this messed-up narrative I've been thrown into.
The day that decides my fate.
And strangely…
I felt fine.
Too fine.
No racing heart. No trembling hands. No lingering dread from what happened last night.
Just calm.
And that… was the most unsettling part.
When I saw the first vision five days ago, I couldn't sleep. I spent the entire night turning under the sheets, half-convinced I was going insane.
But last night?
The moment I laid down, sleep took me.
No tossing, no dreams — just stillness. Deep, uninterrupted rest.
As if something wanted me to be well-rested. Wanted me to be ready.
And my body listened.
The bruises and soreness from yesterday's sparring match — gone.
Completely.
I peeled off the last of the bandages this morning, bracing for a dull ache or fresh pain. But there was nothing.
Not even a scar.
Like my body had reset.
Or… been prepared.
A creeping thought slithered into my head the moment I recalled last night.
Who was that thing in the mirror?
And what did it mean by a "gift"?
The question surfaced—
—but then it sank just as quickly.
Like a rock tossed into deep, dark water.
Strange. Unnatural.
Like something was whispering directly into my mind:
"Not yet. You'll know everything when the time comes."
And I accepted that.
Not because I wanted to.
Because it felt… right.
This calmness — this stillness — it wasn't normal.
It wasn't peace.
It was that dangerous kind of quiet. The one that settles just before the world shifts.
Unsettling. Hollow. Controlled.
I should've been panicking. Doubting everything. Losing sleep over what I saw.
But instead, I just stood there, staring at a blank wall like it was any other morning. Like nothing had changed.
When deep down, I knew everything had.
---
Hashh…
I let out another sigh.
I've been sighing a lot lately. Too much.
I glanced at the clock.
9:00 AM.
The duel starts at 9:30.
Thirty minutes.
I didn't rush.
Just grabbed my jacket, adjusted the cuffs of my training gear, and left the room — not toward the classroom, but toward the dueling arena.
The main stage for today's event.
The one that will decide where I stand… and how much longer I'll be able to coast under the radar.
The academy hosts several types of combat evaluations throughout the year — carefully structured, brutally executed.
They test everything: power, adaptability, and presence.
Usually, they fall into one of three categories:
First — Inter-Class Competitions.
Full-class engagements. Class A through E pitted against each other in tactical team battles. A test of coordination, cohesion, and leadership.
Second — Mixed Group Trials.
Randomized groups made from different classes. You don't know your allies, and you definitely don't know your enemies. Pure chaos. A test of instinct, and a real test of adaptability.
Third — Individual Duels.
One-on-one fights. You stand alone. Just you and your opponent.
No excuses. No distractions. Raw ability on full display.
But today's event?
It's a blend of the first and third.
An individual duel format — where students fight one-on-one…
…but each win contributes to their class's overall score.
So yes — I'll be fighting alone.
But I'll also be representing Class B.
Every student is matched with a fighter from a different class. At the end of the day, the class with the highest win ratio walks away with victory.
Simple.
Brutal.
The kind of battlefield this academy respects.
It's not about just strength.
It's about delivering when it counts.
About knowing how to stand out…
…and making sure no one forgets your name.
As my thoughts came to a halt, I finally reached the dueling arena — already packed with students. A quiet buzz filled the air, voices overlapping, eyes scanning, nerves building.
And me?
I was the last to arrive.
Well, not technically late. There was still time before the event officially began.
It's just… everyone else had shown up way too early.
Overachievers. Or maybe just people who didn't spend their morning staring at a wall wondering if a mirror demon had rewired their brain.
Hard to say.
I made my way toward the line where Class B was gathered.
A few students threw glances my way, clearly wanting to say something — maybe a snide remark, maybe just small talk.
But they didn't have the guts.
Well… not everyone.
"Well, well. Edward Brightwill finally graces us with his presence," a familiar voice said, laced with sharp sarcasm. "I thought you'd show up even later — maybe right before the match starts."
I let her words pass from one ear and out the other.
Not in the mood.
"Still doing that whole 'silent and mysterious' thing, huh?" she added, clearly enjoying herself. "Must be nice — being so broody you forget how conversations work."
I didn't respond.
Some people don't understand the concept of leave me alone.
"So, Edward," she said, stepping closer with that usual glint in her eyes, "what do you think? Which class will win today?"
"Miss Yelena, I think—" another boy beside me tried to chime in.
"Did I ask you?" she cut in sharply, not even sparing him a glance. "Or him?" Her gaze slid toward the unfortunate guy whose face practically screamed 'feet-licker.'
He shut up immediately — wisely.
"Now," she turned back to me, voice sweet but laced with intent, "my dear Edward. What's your thought?"
She was clearly hinting at something. And I knew exactly what she wanted to hear.
"Class B will win," I replied, dry and flat.
A smile curled on her lips. "Good. That's what I like to hear."
Then she leaned in, eyes narrowing slightly.
"So make sure to win every fight, Edward. I expect you to play your part… sincerely."
She really likes to be in control, huh.
I didn't answer right away.
Not because I was thinking — just because I knew the silence would annoy her.
She didn't show it on her face.
But I saw it. A flicker in her eyes.
I didn't dwell on it.
"Yes."
That's all I said.
---
Just as the conversation trailed off, the sharp sound of approaching footsteps cut through the arena noise.
The faculty had arrived.
A group of professors made their way toward the front of the dueling arena, each one assigned to their respective class from A to E.
At the front of the group stood a man with a sharp presence — red hair, long coat, and a gaze that made most students straighten without being told.
Professor Credic Crimson.
Homeroom teacher of Class B.
Also known as the kind of guy who looked like he'd rather be doing anything else than standing here wasting breath.
He stepped onto the dueling platform, gave the gathered crowd a single look, and then spoke.
"Looks like all of you are present."
His voice echoed across the arena — calm, loud, and undeniably sharp.
"Good. Saves me from dragging anyone out by the collar."
He paused, folded his arms behind his back.
"Now, I'm not the type to waste time with speeches. But rules are rules. So I'll repeat the format one more time — even though we already sent everything to your devices yesterday."
A brief pause.
"And I assume there isn't anyone here stupid enough not to check their messages."
...That was definitely aimed at someone.
Probably not me.
Hopefully not me.
Though with his tone, it's hard to tell.
Honestly, if he hates announcements this much, maybe just let another faculty handle it.
But of course not. That would be too easy.
This is Professor Crimson we're talking about.
The kind of guy who'd break your arm for missing a detail… but only after giving you exactly one warning — just to say he did.
Professor Crimson continued, voice steady and unimpressed —
"So here are the details."
"Today's evaluation will be solo combat. One-on-one duels only."
"Each student will represent their class and participate in four matches — against opponents from the other classes, chosen at random."
"No rematches. No substitutions."
He glanced across the crowd, eyes scanning slowly.
"The class with the highest win ratio at the end of the day will be declared the victor."
Short. Simple. Efficient.
Of course, we'd all received these details yesterday on our devices, but Crimson wasn't the kind of guy to trust that anyone had read them.
Honestly, he's probably right.
There's always someone who shows up thinking they're here for a group dance or something.
Professor Crimson continued, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade.
"The duel ends under three conditions: when one opponent gives up, gets knocked out, or is deemed unable to continue."
"There will be no tolerance for cheating. And I trust none of you are foolish enough to try anything under the eyes of your instructors."
He didn't linger on the threat. Just moved on like it was standard procedure.
With a wave of his hand, he ended the briefing.
"Alright. That's all. Look up — your matchups are displayed now."
Right on cue, a large holographic screen shimmered into view above the dueling arena, casting a soft glow across the crowd.
Dozens of names began appearing in pairs — match after match, class after class.
Some names I recognized. Others were a blur.
I looked for Leon first. For some reason, I thought he'd be matched with me.
But no.
He was paired against someone named Brian Dickman.
I blinked.
Brian what?
What kind of cursed last name is that?
Anyway.
I continued scanning the list until I saw my name.
Edward Brightwill vs. Robert Hooke.
Robert Hooke.
Wait…
Isn't that the same name as the guy who discovered the cell?
I stared at it for a second, unsure if I should laugh or feel mildly threatened.
Let's just hope this version doesn't bring a microscope to the fight.