Jelo slowed his pace as he moved deeper into the academy grounds.
The atmosphere here was different.
Quieter.
Not empty—but focused.
Students here weren't showing off. They weren't gathering crowds. They trained alone or in silence, refining their abilities with intention. No one glanced up when he passed. No one stopped what they were doing to watch. There was a rhythm to this part of the grounds—measured, deliberate, private. The kind of discipline that didn't need an audience to exist.
Jelo preferred it.
Less noise.
More substance.
He rolled his shoulder slightly as he walked, feeling the aftereffects of his previous fights. Not pain exactly. More like a low hum settled into the muscle—residual tension that hadn't fully released yet. His fire reserves were holding at a comfortable level. His guard had taken hits but hadn't buckled. His footwork was still clean, still responsive.
His body wasn't fresh—but it wasn't worn out either.
Still good enough.
