That… that got a reaction.
Gasps rippled through the hall. A few students shivered.
The influential nobles hadn't flinched—they already knew. Their families were bound to the Empire's veins, tied to every secret of this school. They knew which paths guaranteed the highest marks, which instructors could be bribed, and which rules bent if enough coin or power pressed against them.
For them, this Academy was a playground, and they played as gods.
For everyone else, it was a revelation. A dangerous one.
Yet silence lingered, heavy and suffocating.
"That's about it," Atsuna concluded. "Thank you for listening. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night."
And with that, her figure dissolved into smoke. In her place, seventy slips of parchment materialized, drifting through the air before lowering into waiting hands.
Vael caught his quickly and scanned the words:
As a student of the Academy, I take an oath never to share information disclosed within these walls to outsiders. Everything—from idle gossip to personal details of staff or students—shall remain among those who have taken the same oath. Should I break this contract, my mana core will be sealed indefinitely. Additional punishments may be imposed depending on the severity of the breach.
Signature:
Vael read it once. Twice. A third time. The weight of it pressed against his thoughts. Losing his core, even temporarily, was no small punishment. For a secret? For a slip of the tongue? He wasn't sure how to feel.
"I wouldn't worry about this oath, contractor."
Oculor's voice didn't just speak—it slid into Vael's mind, steady, unyielding, wrapping around his doubts like a vice. "Anything you learn, you can tell me. Remember—we share the same core. The contract has no claim over me. I will remain untouched."
The words pressed deeper, each one deliberate.
"I can carry truths where you cannot. Secrets that would choke your tongue will flow freely through mine. Nothing they bind you with will ever bind me. You will never be silenced—not while I exist."
Vael hesitated, staring at the parchment. Losing his core meant losing everything. His strength, his purpose, even his revenge. The thought alone twisted his stomach.
But Oculor's certainty was intoxicating. His voice throbbed with a confidence Vael couldn't muster for himself. The loophole gleamed before him like a doorway out of a cage.
Vael exhaled slowly. His hand tightened around the pen.
"…You're right," he muttered.
He signed.
Serpes
The parchment disintegrated into motes of light, slipping past Vael's skin and sinking straight into his chest.
He stiffened. The contract pressed against his core like the tip of a blade—ready to drive in at the slightest betrayal.
His eyes flicked sideways. Kiera met his gaze, her expression unreadable, save for the faint flicker of fury smoldering behind her calm. She wasn't shaken—just quietly, intensely angry.
All around them, white particles swirled through the air as other students bound themselves with the same oath. The hall shivered with the soundless weight of seventy cores tethered at once.
Then the music swelled again, deeper this time—dark, resonant. Servants resumed their motions. The room breathed back to life in an instant, chaos spilling into every corner.
Just as Vael was about to share Oculor's loophole with Kiera, a shadow loomed.
Arconis.
"Why the silence?" he asked, brows knitting as his gaze darted between them. He didn't realize the two were locked in telepathic conversation. "Don't tell me you're still shaken from that second rule."
His scythe was absent, tucked away—likely in his ring—but Vael half suspected the boy never let it leave his side. He wore the uniform now, the polished lines of the fabric framing him cleanly. As much as Vael hated to admit it, Arconis wore it well. If one hadn't seen the exam, they'd never suspect him of being a ruthless executioner. He looked almost princely, misplaced in this hall of cutthroats.
"Oh, no," Kiera said, her tone flat as stone. "Scared is the last thing we are. If anything, we're overjoyed."
Arconis blinked at her, skepticism tugging at his features. "Are you serious? I really can't tell. Maybe you're still mad about our little fight?"
"No." The reply was immediate, cold, monotone.
Which, of course, made it obvious—she was still furious.
"All right, let's change the subject, shall we?" Vael cut in, sensing the weight pressing down on the atmosphere.
"You wanted a fight, right?" His voice was calm, but his eyes locked onto Arconis with a quiet challenge. "I want one too. When we're alone—no holding back."
Arconis's lips curled into a smirk, eyes gleaming. "That's what I like to hear. Tomorrow?"
Vael gave a single, deliberate nod.
Arconis walked off, still smiling to himself, as if already savoring tomorrow's clash.
The quiet that followed didn't last long.
One by one, nobles of every stature drifted toward Vael and Kiera. Some offered clipped congratulations, their words gilded but hollow. Others voiced admiration for their abilities, their eyes gleaming with equal parts curiosity and calculation.
It all rang false.
The smiles, the polite phrases, even the practiced bows—none of it was meant for Vael or Kiera. It was for the cameras, their lenses blinking from every corner, recording every gesture.
The Academy's first game had already begun.