The Academy's grand sparring hall roared with life.
Shouts. Clashing steel. The snap of spells against warded tiles.
It was rare to see every class called together — from D to A — all gathered beneath the domed ceiling of Velgrath's combat sanctum. Stone seats spiraled up the walls, forming a coliseum where faculty and students alike watched the chaos below.
Alyss stood at the highest balcony. Silent. Watching.
Below, dozens of duels unfolded at once — blades colliding, fists meeting ribs, and aether igniting mid-air like fireworks. The air stank of sweat and spell-burnt ozone. And still, her golden eyes moved with calm precision, scanning one match after another like data points.
"Posture, tempo, opening. Too wide. Too proud. Weak left foot," she muttered under her breath.
Then her gaze caught on him.
Down in the ring.
Noven.
He hadn't been called until near the end — almost forgotten. Class D's leftover. The one no one really expected to show anything.
He stepped onto the arena floor without fanfare. His movements were slow, quiet, almost lazy. His red eyes half-lidded like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Alyss narrowed her gaze, and her stomach tightened — and not for any strategic reason.
It was those damn eyes again.
Cold. Sharp. Still.
She'd thought the distance would help. Thought maybe she was just imagining it the first time. But now, watching him from above, the irritation flared again like a low-grade fever.
She hated how much they pulled her in.
Across from him, a larger boy from the same class cracked his knuckles — tall, broad-shouldered, too eager. His aura was already flaring before the match began, green and wild, like smoke leaking from a broken seal.
"That kid's got the record for Class D's best first week," a voice near her said.
Alyss didn't respond. She already knew that. She didn't care.
Not about him.
Only about the one without a record.
Down below, the larger student sneered.
"Don't take this personal, ghost-eyes," he said, tightening his grip on the spear. "But you're in my way."
Noven didn't reply. He simply walked forward and stepped into stance.
The bell rang.
The fight ignited.
Spear met sword, and the noise changed. Their weapons clashed like thunder — blades scraping, boots shifting, spells flashing mid-swing. Dust rose in spirals as tiles cracked beneath the force of their footwork.
Alyss leaned in slightly.
The opponent was a brute — fast, yes, but too obvious. He bled aggression, his attacks full of showy force meant to overwhelm.
But Noven?
Noven didn't fight like a student.
He fought like a shadow.
No aura. No wasted motion. No ego in his blade.
He moved like he was half a step ahead, always barely avoiding, barely blocking — like he already knew what his opponent would do.
To the crowd, it looked even. Maybe a lucky draw.
But to her?
It wasn't close.
He was in control the entire time.
And he was hiding it.
On purpose.
The instructor called it before either could escalate further — a clean draw.
The crowd erupted in murmurs.
"Who the hell is that guy?"
"He's not even using aura…"
"Was he holding back?"
"He's from Class D?"
"He doesn't belong there…"
Alyss wasn't listening.
She was already walking.
Down the steps. Through the crowd. Toward the front.
As Noven stepped calmly out of the ring, she moved like a blade through soft cloth, parting the arena's attention in her wake. Every student turned to look.
She stopped near the railing, directly above him.
And pointed.
"I'll challenge him next."
The arena fell silent.
Even the faculty looked up.
Whispers ignited again.
"Did she just—?"
"Alyss Renwyn?"
"She's top of Class A."
"She's serious."
"Why him?"
But she didn't care.
Her coat caught the breeze as she stood there, perfectly poised, golden eyes locked on his.
Red eyes stared back.
Still. Cold. Unfazed.
She hated how much she noticed them.
How beautiful they were.
Not in a soft, tender way. But in the sharp, unbothered way. Like staring into the heart of something that didn't need to explain itself.
And worse—
She hated how her own pulse skipped.
Just once.
A betrayal.
Of all the people to find interesting…
His expression didn't change. But she thought — just for a second — that his gaze held something new.
Not surprise.
Not arrogance.
But… curiosity.
And that was almost worse.
This wasn't planned.
This wasn't protocol.
But it was happening.
Fine, she thought. Let it happen.
She'd test him herself.
Break the mystery open.
And if her hands trembled during the fight?
She'd blame the mana.