Who does he think he is claiming to know what I've been through?
I hate his kind. Arrogant. Entitled.
The type that wears their connections like a badge, thinking it gives them the right to speak on things they couldn't begin to understand.
Just because he knew my father, he assumes he can say whatever he wants. Act however he pleases.
Fuck him.
I don't care what he has to say.
I'm not interested in his opinions, assumptions, or shallow sympathy.
From this moment on, I'll treat him like air.
Invisible. Silent.
I'll ignore his very existence.
He actually managed to get to me.
I could feel it the tightness in my chest, the cold flare of anger curling beneath my ribs. I was already halfway to class, but every step felt heavier, dragged down by the weight of everything I didn't say.
The Headmaster made me lose my cool.
And I hate that more than anything.
If only I could…
My fingers twitched at the thought.
Just a snap a single pulse of mana, and silence.
He wouldn't even see it coming.
No.
I exhaled through my nose, steadying myself.
Calm down, Cecilia Florence.
You can't kill someone just because they get under your skin.
Not in public, at least.
Not yet.
I kept walking, jaw clenched, eyes forward.
But the thought lingered warm, tempting, and waiting.
And gods help the next person who thinks they can test me today. But for now, the least I can do is wear my good girl mask and smile like nothing happened, Like I didn't just came dangerously close to losing control.
"Apologies, Instructor. I'm late — the Headmaster summoned me," I said, feigning breathlessness as if I had rushed here.
"Cadet," a voice called from behind me.
Judging by the shadow cast at my feet, the speaker was someone of considerable stature. His tone was firm, his presence commanding. There was something familiar about that voice, but I couldn't quite place it.
"Cadet," he repeated, this time stepping in front of me.
"Late on the first day," he said coldly. "The one thing I despise most is a lack of punctuality."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"I'll overlook this once," he added. "But don't expect it next time."
"As punishment for your tardiness, run fifty laps around the training ground."
Fifty laps? That's nothing for me though I doubt the rest of these students could manage even half.
In moments like this, Nox always told me to grumble, to put on a show of reluctance. "Blend in," he'd say. "Act like it's hard."
So what now?
Should I pretend to struggle after a few measly laps just to keep up the act?
I gave a nod, expression unreadable.
"Understood, Instructor."
I walked toward the track, every step calm and measured. Eyes followed me
whispers too low to catch.
The other cadets looked at me with a mix of sympathy and spite, as if fifty laps were some kind of punishment. I almost laughed.
They don't know me.
The moment my foot hit the ground, I broke into a steady run. Not too fast, not too slow just enough to look like I was working for it. Just enough to keep up the illusion that this was hard.
With each lap, I counted breaths instead of steps. My body moved effortlessly, conditioned through years of training far harsher than this academy could ever offer. The wind against my face, the rhythm of my heartbeat, it was almost soothing.
By the twentieth lap, I pretended to falter. Just slightly. A slower pace. A hand to the side, as if catching my breath.
Nox would be delighted if I told him about this. I'm playing the part of an average student perfectly.
But behind the mask, I was bored.
Fifty laps? They should've made it five hundred.
It took me twenty minutes to finish the fifty laps.
That should be enough to make me look convincingly average, not too weak, not too strong. Just another cadet trying to keep up.
"Cadet!" the instructor called out.
I turned, still holding onto that quiet pride for pulling off the act so well. But the way he was looking at me… I knew I was doomed.
He walked up and placed a firm hand on my shoulder, familiar.
A pat. Then another.
Something in that simple gesture pulled me back too suddenly, too deeply.
That steady hand, that rhythm… it was exactly how he used to
"Commander Cael," I murmured before I could stop myself.
The name slipped from my lips like a memory breaking free.
And just like that, I wasn't standing on the academy grounds anymore.
I was back there under him. In the field. In the war.
The moment the name left my lips, the air shifted.
The instructor's hand paused mid-pat, and I saw it just a flicker in his eyes.
Recognition.
"I see," he said quietly, his tone less stern now… more measured.
I stiffened.
Just for a second, I'd let the past bleed through I let my guard drop.
"I didn't say that," I replied, voice flat, face unreadable. "You must have misheard."
His gaze lingered on me, searching. I met it head-on, cold and composed once again.
He didn't press the subject.
"Get to your spot, Cadet," he said at last. "Training starts in ten."
I gave a sharp nod and walked away without another word.
Inside, I was already cursing myself.
Idiot. Why did I let it slip?
The past I've locked up, the one I fought hard to break from. Yet it clawed its way back in, uninvited.
And it didn't come like a storm.
It crept in quietly, masked in something as simple as a pat on the shoulder. Unexpectedly.
I hate this.
I've buried that part of me. I left it behind with blood on my hands and fire in my chest. I locked it in the corners of my mind where no light could reach.
But it still found me.
In the shadows. In gestures. In names.
Yet one word, his name, dragged me back like chains I thought I'd broken from.
No. This is just a distraction.
I can't afford it.
I've come too far, built myself from the ashes of too much ruin to let the past shake me now.
But for the rest of the class, I couldn't focus. My mind kept circling back to him to the ghost of a name and the growing weight of what I'm supposed to do next.
First the headmaster, now him.
Why did I even come here?
No one in this place has the faintest idea of the nightmare that is my past…
Of the truth behind the Florence household.
"That will be all for today," the instructor finally said, dismissing us.
At least he didn't ask me to stay behind. I should be grateful for that.
But I need to get this stress out of my system before it eats away at me.
"Lady Florence."
I heard someone calling my name, but I didn't register it at first. Probably just another entitled brat who thinks they have the right to my attention, someone who doesn't understand the weight behind that name.
I didn't even glance back. Whoever it was could wait.
I made my way to the dorms, my steps steady, measured the kind you take when you're holding yourself together with sheer will.
The hallways were quiet. Good. I didn't have the energy to deal with anyone else's curiosity or fake smiles. I climbed the stairs and reached my room, shutting the door behind me with a soft click.
Only then did I let the mask slip.
I leaned against the door, exhaling slowly. The walls of this room were the only ones in the entire academy that didn't look at me like I was a puzzle to solve or a story to unravel. Just silence. Blessed, suffocating silence.
I walked over to the mirror and looked at myself not the version everyone else saw, but the one I knew. The one forged in pain and ruin. The one who survived.
"You're fine," I whispered, almost convincing myself.
"You've been through worse."
But the sting in my chest, the name, the memories, the past it was still there, clawing from the inside.
Maybe I shouldn't have come here.
Maybe I came for the wrong reasons.
But it's too late now. I'll see it through.
Even if it means facing ghosts I thought I'd already buried.
Nox called from the bedroom. "Kid, you're back early. I didn't even hear you come in,"
I walked in without a word and flopped face-down onto the bed, burying my frustration in the sheets.
"You okay?" he asked.
"No. I want to kill someone. Rip them to shreds."
There was a pause the kind only Nox knew how to give, the calm before his storm.
"What happened? You wanna tell me, or should I just go ahead and kill whoever pissed you off?"
I turned my head to face him. Of all the people in this place, Nox was the only one who truly stood by me, the only one I could still trust.
"It's fine," I muttered. "This much is nothing."
But then I hesitated, just for a moment.
"It's just… Do you remember Cael?"
"You mean that lousy commander you used to fight alongside?"
"Yeah, him."
"What about him?"
"He's here. In this academy. And he's my instructor."
Nox's expression darkened instantly. "Did he say something to you? Did something? Tell me, if he did I'll kill him."
"No… he didn't say anything. It was me. I slipped up. I don't even know how, but I blurted out his name."
Nox paused, eyes narrowing slightly, then spoke with quiet certainty. "Listen, Cecilia. So what if you did? It's just a name. It's not like he can do anything with it. He knows exactly what you're capable of and if he's smart, he'll keep his damn mouth shut."
His voice was steady, reassuring the kind of presence I needed in moments like this. I was glad he was here.
Nox tilted his head, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "If you're still pissed off? Want to blow off some steam?"
I sat up, my mood already lifting.
"Hell yeah."
The training ground we snuck into was technically off-limits this late, but when has that ever stopped us?
Nox tossed me a practice blade, grinning like a devil. "First to land five hits wins. The loser owes the winner dessert for a week."
I caught the blade, twirled it once in my hand. "You're on. But don't cry when I break your ego."
"Please. You couldn't break a twig."
"Keep talking, dead man."
The clash of steel echoed through the empty hall as I lunged first, forcing him back. He dodged, laughing like a maniac, only to trip over a loose training dummy behind him.
"Graceful as ever," I teased, stepping over him and tapping his chest with the tip of my blade. "One."
"You cheated. I was distracted."
"By your own clumsiness?"
He leapt back up, spun, and came at me with a flurry of wild, showy swings that had zero technique but way too much speed. "Two can play dirty!"
We moved like chaos embodied ducking, sliding, tossing random things in each other's path. At one point, he launched a cushion at my head, and I responded by kicking a training pole in his direction. It clattered to the ground between us, nearly tripping him again.
"Three!" I yelled, smacking his shoulder with the hilt.
"You're a menace!"
"And you're slow."
Panting, sweating, and laughing like lunatics, we finally collapsed onto the mats after the fifth hit mine, of course.
"Desserts are mine for a week," I said, smug.
"Only because you fight like a feral cat."
"And you fight like a drunk chicken."
We lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the adrenaline settle.
In this moment, laughing, breathless, bruised and half-crazy, I remembered what it felt like to be alive. No past. No pain. Just chaos, and someone to share it with.
"You've gotten better, kid," he said, brushing the sweat from his brow.
I let out a breathless laugh. "Only because you let me win."
He smirked. 'I'll keep doing this as long as it makes you smile, kid.'
I nudged him lightly with my elbow, the grin still tugging at my lips. "You know… I'm glad to have you by my side. Even if we bicker like enemies I'm still grateful. Really."
He didn't say anything at first. Just reached over and ruffled my hair like I was still ten.
"Come on," he finally said, quietly. "Let's go back."
And just like that, the moment passed simple, chaotic, strangely comforting.
To be continued.