The metallic click of the spear as Corin snapped it into its shortened form was almost soothing. A clear rhythm amidst the pulsating hustle and bustle of the southern training yard. The air was permeated by the metallic sound of crossing blades, short commands and the dull thud of bodies hitting mats.
Corin straightened up, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and let his gaze wander over the grounds. He didn't have a shift today, a rare gap between tournament responsibilities, committee work, missed classes and training sessions. Time that he actually wanted to use for himself.
But something was... wrong. The atmosphere in the courtyard was too tense. The students' movements seemed harder than necessary, the conversations louder, more shrill. A few shoved each other after losing a sparring match. Others grimaced in frustration, even though they had won.
'Overstimulated. All of them.'
He was just about to control his breathing when suddenly a short scream rent the air. Corin turned around immediately.
Two students were standing opposite each other in one of the outer sections. One with a strong physique, a pale face and a too-hard expression. The other... slight, trembling, uncertain. It wasn't a duel, not an official training session. It was a fight - one that threatened to tip over.
The first one stormed off, grabbed the other by the collar and rammed him against the wall.
A few bystanders paused, but no one moved. Nobody intervened.
Corin took a calm breath. Then he set off. Not hastily. Not in a panic. But with the kind of movement that demanded attention. Clear, focused, unstoppable.
The attacker was just about to strike again when Corin's arm grabbed him by the elbow, his grip as if made of steel. At the same moment, he pulled him back and sent him crashing to the ground with a precise twist.
A dull thud. Then silence.
Corin knelt over him, pinning his shoulders, but not with unnecessary force. The look he gave him was calm. Without anger. Without remorse.
"Pull yourself together," he said. His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the noise like a knife through cloth. "You have no idea what you almost just did."
The student gasped. His gaze was blank. No hate, no shame, just confusion. As if he hadn't realized how he'd gotten here.
'This is not normal. It reminds me of the Slums.'
Corin stood up, took a step back. The injured boy was still panting against the wall, holding his chest. Corin knelt down to him, made a cursory check of his condition, no broken ribs, presumably. A few bruises, nothing more.
He could feel other eyes on him. Some students had interrupted their training, were whispering, staring. Not out of fear. Rather growing respect. Or perhaps awe.
'I'm not here to make an impression,'
He straightened, looked up at the sky. The wind carried the distant sound of a gong over the rooftops, a sign of the next block of tournament matches.
He looked around again. Several faces, irritated. Shrugging shoulders. Reddened eyes. It wasn't just this one student. It was a pattern.
Corin picked up his spear, shouldered it calmly, and left the courtyard. He would talk to Nomen.
The setting sun bathed the courtyard of the Committee Wing in pale, golden hues. Shadows crept up the stone pillars as the sounds of the Academy slowly faded, only the distant clink of training and muffled laughter from the Dorms remained.
Corin climbed the last few steps. The night would soon begin, and with it the second shift for the committee.
Only one figure was waiting at the top, Nomen, alone, as so often. He was sitting on the wide stone railing of the terrace, his legs crossed, a delicate porcelain cup in his hand. The steam rose softly and was carried away by the wind. Corin stepped closer, put his bag down and leaned against the railing next to him, his sunglasses pushed up.
"The students really have respect for the committee."
"Most people think strength is what keeps us up here," Nomen said without looking up, taking a quiet sip. "But it's patience, Corin. Patience and a good memory."
Corin raised an eyebrow slightly. "I would have thought it was control."
A faint smile stretched across Nomen's lips. "That's just the tool. Control over others doesn't come until you have control over yourself."
Then he looked directly at him. "And you learned that surprisingly early. That's why you're respected, why we're respected."
For a moment, no one said anything. The wind blew through Nomen's long braid, making the fine chain on Corin's glasses clink softly. It was strange. Corin had seen more and more of the nobility in recent weeks. Some of the prejudices he had were confirmed. Nomen, on the other hand, was different. His grudge against the Valtros was justified and would not go away anytime soon. However, Nomen seemed to see the world from a different perspective.
Then Corin spoke, quietly: "Tell me... was your family proud when you became chairman?"
Nomen looked off into the distance, to where the roofs of the academy cut against the light. "They didn't even look."
The silence after that was another. Not a silence, but a space in between full of unspoken things.
Then: "Have you noticed?" asked Nomen, setting his cup down on the railing. "There have been a lot more incidents since the tournament started."
Corin frowned. "Minor fights?"
"No." Nomen shook his head. "Violence. Outbursts. Aggression that has no root. Students who completely lose control. Especially the younger ones, rank 0 and 1."
"Is there a connection?"
"Not a clear one yet. But it's increased. We've had more disciplinary cases in two days than in the entire week before."
Corin thought about it. "And none of them... are higher than rank 1?"
"That's exactly what's strange." Nomen looked at him again. "The weaker the student, the more unstable they become. Almost as if something is breaking them open."
Corin crossed his arms. "Do you think someone's testing something?"
"Maybe." Nomen looked tense. "Or something's gotten loose. I'll ask Serena to look through the medical logs."
Corin nodded slowly. Something about this felt wrong. Not just coincidence. Not simply pressure.
"I'll keep my eyes open."
"Do that." Nomen reached for her cup again, but now with a blank stare. "And if you see anything, tell me. Before someone dies."