---
The mother's gaze sharpened. "It is a spirit that speaks, organizes crowds, and humiliates people with words. Do you want to be roasted in public."
The son went quiet.
The father waved his hand. "Go."
And the thin man left, already planning the faces his spies would wear.
While city predators sniffed the shop, academy predators sniffed something else.
Rhea Flame.
Rhea had been hard to ignore even before she became a rumor. She walked like she knew her own worth and did not need permission to exist. The red ribbon on her head was not a decoration. It was a flag.
Today, she was in the mana control yard, sleeves neat, posture straight, eyes sharp. The way she moved made other first-years check their form without meaning to.
John was there too, keeping his own stance simple, controlled, refusing to show the full reach of his skills.
He had noticed Rhea before.
Not because of her ribbon.
Because of how she watched.
