The hum of the Student HUD verification unit echoed faintly through the corridor, a rhythmic pulse of light scanning the countless names and faces of new entrants. Muhan had reached the very threshold, his hand hovering lazily at his side as though he carried not the slightest weight of nerves. Yet, just as his foot was about to cross the glowing threshold, something—a pressure, heavy and unignorable—brushed against the edges of his awareness.
He paused.
Turning slightly, Muhan's gaze drifted behind him, and there it was. The source of that aura—not subtle, not humble, but raw and domineering—stood at the far end of the corridor. A boy, perhaps no older than himself, leaned casually against the wall as though he owned not just this hallway but the very air everyone was breathing. His blonde hair caught the dim lighting, reflecting faint strands of gold as if it had been brushed by sunlight that refused to let go of him. But it was his eyes—crimson, sharp, predatory—that pinned every wandering glance to him, like a predator letting prey know escape was not an option.
And then he smirked.
It was the kind of smirk that stripped away any doubt of who he was: arrogant, commanding, dangerously sure of himself. It wasn't loud, yet it was thunderous in meaning. It wasn't large, yet it swallowed the corridor whole. Students who had been chatting nearby grew quiet, whispers breaking like ripples across water as the weight of that presence thickened the air.
For a moment, tension coiled. Eyes shifted between the golden-haired boy and the dark-haired figure standing calmly before the HUD unit. Two storms, opposite in nature, locked within the same sky.
But Muhan…
He didn't bristle. He didn't rise to the provocation, nor let the arrogant pressure dictate the rhythm of his pulse. Instead, his lips curved into something subtle, something dangerously soft yet devastatingly irresistible—a smirk not born from arrogance but from a quiet, untouchable charm. His aura did not roar like his opponent's; it flowed—calm, magnetic, unshakable. It was the kind of smirk that drew eyes without demanding them, that stole breath without forcing it.
The corridor itself seemed to shift—two forces now marked: the domineering flame and the unfathomable sea. Everyone watching felt it in their bones. These two were not ordinary students. They weren't destined to blend into the faceless crowd of enrollees.
No—they were predators, standing at the same gate, neither willing to bow.
The HUD scanner hummed louder, as though it too recognized what had just ignited in the stillness of the corridor: a silent proclamation that one day, this soft-smiling boy and that crimson-eyed smirker would clash—and when they did, the academy itself might tremble.
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From the far end of the corridor, just as the atmosphere thickened between the two boys, a new presence unfurled itself—not loud like the blonde-haired boy's dominance, nor quiet like Muhan's effortless charm, but something altogether different. Grace itself stepped into view.
The sound of a door clicking shut echoed faintly, and out she came.
A girl with fine, raven-black hair that cascaded down like silken ink, framing her soft, porcelain features. Her eyes—violet tinged with a faint pink glow—were striking enough to halt conversations mid-word. They weren't merely eyes; they were windows that seemed to contain hidden constellations, veiling both innocence and power. She had just emerged from the academy's changing hall, her slender fingers tugging delicately at the hem of her short uniform skirt, smoothing it into place before straightening the polished badge on her chest.
The name gleamed beneath the hallway's cool lights:
Mi-cha Lawson.
The name itself carried weight, though many in the corridor had only heard it whispered in rumors. But her presence silenced speculation. It wasn't only beauty—it was the aura of someone meant to be remembered.
And then—her gaze found him.
Muhan.
The instant her violet-pink eyes landed on his striking blue ones, the world seemed to fold. Time stuttered. Space blurred. The hum of the HUD, the quiet chatter of nearby students, the lingering clash of auras—all of it faded into insignificance.
The corridor no longer felt like a crowded space within Wysteria Academy. Instead, it became a canvas where only two figures existed: the boy with eyes like sapphire flame, and the girl with eyes like celestial dusk.
For a heartbeat, everything else bowed out of existence.
Mi-cha's lips curved into a smile—soft, radiant, almost fragile in its tenderness, yet carrying an emotion that shook Muhan's heart far deeper than any battle ever could. It was the smile of recognition, of reunion.
They hadn't seen each other since the day they were sent away for training—days that felt like years, trials that felt like lifetimes. And now, here she was, in the uniform of Wysteria Academy, her presence matured, her beauty sharpened, yet still unmistakably her.
Muhan's chest rose slowly, breath caught against the tide of emotion swelling within him. His eyes, normally calm and unshaken even in the presence of enemies, now shone brighter—as though the sapphire within them caught fire the moment they met hers.
For Mi-cha, the corridor's details blurred. She no longer saw the other students staring, nor the blonde boy smirking arrogantly near the wall. All she saw was him. Taller than she remembered, shoulders broader, an aura deeper, more infinite—yet his presence still struck her the same way it always had.
Like coming home.
It was undeniable, inevitable. Wysteria Academy might have been built from stone, steel, and light, but in this single moment, the walls felt like they were bending inward, making space for a story only these two could write.
For a breathless moment, neither of them spoke. The world still felt blurred, as if reality itself hesitated to interrupt what was unfolding.
Mi-cha's smile lingered, her delicate fingers still adjusting her name tag as though she needed something—anything—to do with her hands while her heart raced. Her violet-pink eyes softened, but a mischievous sparkle danced in them, one Muhan remembered all too well.
"...You got taller," she finally said, breaking the silence with a light laugh, tilting her head just enough for her hair to catch the corridor's glow. "Or maybe I just got shorter. Either way, it's unfair."
Muhan let out a low chuckle, the kind of sound that carried warmth yet teased without effort. His blue eyes held hers with that same irresistible steadiness, his lips curving into a soft, knowing smirk. "I'd say you got prettier… but I don't want the Academy thinking I'm already biased."
Her cheeks colored faintly, the violet-pink of her eyes glowing just a touch brighter. "Still a smooth-talker, aren't you?" she murmured, pretending to glance away as if the compliment didn't sink too deeply.
"Only with you," Muhan replied without missing a beat, his voice calm, almost casual, yet undeniably sincere.
That stopped her. Mi-cha's breath caught for half a second, her heart betraying her with a flutter so obvious she had to bite back another laugh. She swatted at him playfully, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder. "You haven't changed at all… except maybe you've gotten worse. Now you'll make the girls around here faint before they even reach the classroom."
Muhan tilted his head, feigning innocent curiosity, though his smirk deepened ever so slightly. "Would that bother you?"
Her lips parted, but she quickly pressed them into a mischievous grin. "Only if you let them," she shot back softly, eyes locking with his in a way that made the corridor feel even smaller, as if they were standing alone in a universe of their own making.
The background students who had been pretending not to eavesdrop now exchanged wide-eyed glances. First the tension between Muhan and the blonde boy, and now this—the kind of reunion that carried so much unspoken weight it made even the HUD scanner's hum sound like part of a romantic melody.
But neither Mi-cha nor Muhan cared. For them, the Academy could crumble, the stares could multiply a thousandfold, and still, in that moment, there was only the teasing, the laughter, and the familiarity of hearts that had been apart too long.