The training hall was louder than usual.
Dozens of fresh recruits crowded the upper balcony, leaning over the rails as they watched the next phase of the selection trial. The floor below had been cleared for combat—an arena of polished stone marked by faint runes that pulsed softly with each footstep.
Only three candidates remained.
Arin stood quietly among them, dust still clinging to his shirt, while the two others stretched and rolled their shoulders. They carried the confidence of people born inside proper cities—well-fed, well-trained, fully aware of their talent.
The girl was the first to step forward.
She couldn't have been more than sixteen. Her dark hair was tied in a sharp braid, eyes focused, feet steady. Her aura hummed softly beneath her skin—a clear Echoform energy with a pale green tint.
A soft murmur spread through the hall.
"That's Mira, right?"
"She's fast—really fast."
Her opponent stepped forward next.
A tall boy with messy brown hair, scars along his arm, and the look of someone who'd seen more back alleys than classrooms. His Echoform shimmered faintly blue around his fists.
Johan stood near the stage with arms folded, expression calm but watchful. Serah, beside him, held a clipboard and raised her voice.
"Next match: Mira of Westline District vs. Elrian of Hawkspire. Same rules as before—first to yield or collapse loses. No lethal strikes. Echoform allowed. Astra allowed only for enhancement."
The two nodded.
Serah's whistle sliced the air.
Fight.
Elrian leaped forward, fist wrapped in blue Echo aura. The impact cracked the floor where Mira had been standing—she had already moved, twisting lightly, her braid snapping behind her like a whip.
She countered with a glowing green arc of Astra energy shaping into a blade around her hand.
It wasn't a real sword—just condensed aura—but sharp enough to cut stone.
Cheers exploded from the balcony.
Elrian ducked, rolled, and swung upward with a reinforced uppercut. Mira blocked it with the flat of her aura-blade, sparks of mana flaring where their energies met.
The sound echoed like clashing steel.
Elrian grinned.
Mira narrowed her eyes.
They circled.
The tension thickened.
Mira attacked first—swift, precise, slicing green streaks through the air. Each strike hummed, leaving faint glowing trails. Elrian blocked two, dodged the third, but the fourth grazed his shoulder, sparking a burst of light.
He hissed through his teeth.
"Not bad."
But his Echoform flared brighter.
He lunged with a sudden burst of speed. The air snapped behind him as he shot forward—one punch, two, three—fast enough that most recruits saw only blurs.
Mira's blade shattered under the pressure.
Gasps rippled through the hall.
But she didn't stop.
Her hands moved again—faster than before, Astra condensing, reshaping—
A new blade formed, longer, sharper, glowing like emerald lightning.
Even Johan lifted an eyebrow.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Mira dashed in with a downward strike. Elrian crossed his arms to block—
BOOM.
The impact threw him sliding back across the arena floor, boots screeching against stone. Dust flew. Silence followed.
Elrian tried to stand—but his legs trembled. Then buckled.
He dropped to one knee, panting, chest heaving.
Serah raised her hand immediately.
"Winner: Mira."
The hall erupted into applause.
Mira exhaled slowly, letting the aura-blade dissolve into sparks of green that drifted across the arena like soft fireflies.
Arin watched her carefully.
Not impressed—just focused.
The selection continued with brief evaluations and notes. Soon only one name remained on top.
Mira.
She earned her spot in the final stage.
But the hall hadn't quieted.
Everyone knew what was coming next.
The fight no one expected.
Johan finally turned toward Arin.
His gaze sharpened—not hostile, not welcoming.
Just… measuring.
"Arin," he called. "Arena. Now."
The air in the hall shifted. Recruits leaned forward. Mira, still wiping sweat from her brow, gave Arin a quick, curious glance.
Arin stepped forward slowly, feet steady, expression calm.
As he entered the arena, something subtle changed. Not aura. Not pressure.
Just the stillness around him.
Johan felt it first.
A faint chill across the spine.
A whisper of instinct saying danger—then disappearing as quickly as it appeared.
Serah noticed Johan's brief hesitation.
"You alright?" she whispered.
"Yeah…" He wiped a small streak of sweat from his temple. "Just… surprised."
Arin reached the center of the arena and stopped a few meters from Johan.
The difference between them was enormous.
Johan's presence was like a mountain.
Arin's presence was like an empty valley—quiet, but deep.
Serah cleared her throat and stepped forward.
"Arin," she said firmly. "Your test is simple."
Her eyes locked onto his.
"If you can land even one punch on Johan… just one… you pass."
The recruits murmured.
Mira's jaw tensed.
Elrian looked shocked from the sidelines.
Even Johan raised a brow.
Arin blinked once.
No fear.
No excitement.
Just readiness.
Serah continued:
"Fail to land a hit… and you're rejected immediately."
The hall went silent.
Arin inhaled slowly.
Johan exhaled, loosening his stance.
Two figures stood facing each other—one a seasoned warrior feared across Valenreach, the other a boy with no records, no past, and no visible aura.
But somehow…
Everyone felt the same strange question:
Can this quiet boy really land a hit on the strongest man alive?
Serah looked between them, then dropped her hand.
"Begin."
The arena fell into absolute silence.
Johan didn't move.
Arin didn't move.
Both stood still at the center of the ring, staring at each other like two animals waiting for the other to blink first.
The recruits held their breath.
Serah's grip tightened on her clipboard.
Mira leaned forward, eyes unblinking.
Then—
Arin moved.
Not gradually. Not with warning.
A fraction of a second, and he was already in front of Johan, fist cutting through the air like a flash of steel.
Johan tilted his head—barely—letting the punch slice past his cheek.
Gasps burst from the stands.
"What—!?"
"He vanished—!"
"How did he move that fast!?"
Mira's eyes widened.
"He's fast… really fast. But…" she whispered, "he still can't beat Sir Johan. No one can."
Johan's expression hardly changed, though a flicker of surprise passed through his eyes.
(He's faster than I expected.)
Arin didn't stop.
He chained the first punch into a jab, then turned the jab into a sharp elbow aimed straight for Johan's ribs. The transitions were wild, instinctive, unpredictable—like a beast striking from every angle at once.
But Johan avoided them all with calm steps, turning his body just enough that Arin's blows cut through empty air.
Arin clicked his tongue.
"If I'm the only one fighting, then this won't be fun."
Johan gave a flat look.
"I don't want to kill you, kid."
Arin smirked.
"Is that so? Then… let's see."
Arin's Aura Explodes — Echoform, Phase Two
Light burst around Arin's body like a sudden flame.
A sharp, wild wave of energy tore across the arena—raw, fierce, untamed. His silhouette glowed, the air vibrating from the sudden surge.
"Wait—wait—IS THAT—!?"
"That aura… it's real… it's actually Phase Two—!?"
"In someone his age!?"
"That's impossible—!"
The entire hall erupted.
Even Serah dropped her pen.
Mira stared with her mouth open.
"Phase Two…? At that age… that's… that's not normal…"
Johan's eyes narrowed.
He hadn't expected this.
Not from a boy with dirt-stained clothes and empty records.
Arin dashed forward.
This time his movement wasn't just fast.
It was violent.
His punch came like a spear thrown by a monster. Johan twisted his waist at the last instant—Arin's fist sliced past his shoulder, ripping a gust of wind behind it.
Arin spun, heel cutting upward for a kick at Johan's jaw.
Johan blocked with his forearm, boots digging into the stone floor.
He let out a short breath.
(If I just dodge… he might actually land one.)
Arin's aura burned brighter—
—but something was off.
Johan noticed it instantly.
His eyes sharpened.
(…This is wrong.)
(His Echoform is Phase Two, but his Astra… it dropped drastically.)
(Why?)
(Is he holding back?)
(Or… has he not mastered Phase Two at all?)
Arin didn't give anyone time to think.
He clenched his fist, aura spinning wildly around it—
—and slammed his knuckles into the ground.
BOOOOOOM—!!
The stone floor exploded outward.
A shockwave tore across the arena. Dust and wind blasted upward in a violent storm. The recruits staggered back. Half the hall covered their faces instinctively.
Cracks spread like spiderwebs beneath Arin's feet.
Blood dripped from his knuckles.
Mira whispered, terrified,
"His strength… no technique… no martial form… he's fighting like—like—"
"Like a wild animal."
A soldier finished, voice shaking.
Johan inhaled slowly, eyes finally serious.
(He's not using martial arts… not Echo techniques… not Astra forms…)
(This kid is fighting on pure instinct—raw, natural, terrifying instinct.)
The ground trembled.
The dust settled.
Arin lifted his bloodied fist again.
The hall waited.
The fight wasn't over.
The dust hadn't even settled when Johan finally moved.
One sharp step—
A twist of his hips—
And his leg whipped through the air like a blade.
WHIP—!!
A spinning back kick tore toward Arin's face.
Arin threw his arm up out of reflex.
CRACK—!!
The impact rang through the hall like thunder.
Arin was launched backward—
sliding, skidding, leaving a long trail carved into the cracked arena floor.
He dug his heels in, barely stopping himself before he hit the wall.
Before Arin could inhale again—
Johan vanished.
"What—where!?"
"I can't follow him!"
"Was that movement art!?"
Then—
A whisper behind Arin's ear.
"Too slow, kid."
THUD—!!
A fist crashed into Arin's cheek.
The sound was sharp, wet—blood sprayed into the air.
Arin's vision spun.
His head snapped aside.
The world blurred for a second.
Johan clicked his tongue lightly.
"Oops."
Arin wiped the blood with the back of his hand.
He grinned.
"This is fun."
Before Johan could react—
Arin twisted his waist and delivered a brutal, point-blank kick at Johan's stomach.
Johan's eyes widened.
(Blind spot—!)
He barely dodged—
The kick passed within centimeters, slicing the air.
The sound alone made the soldiers flinch.
"What kind of raw power is that!?"
"He's not even using technique—!"
"Is he trying to break through Johan with brute force!?"
Johan slid back two steps, dust rising under his boots.
He exhaled.
"Not bad."
But the moment he lifted his eyes—
Arin was gone.
"Where—!?"
A whisper behind him.
"My turn."
BAM—!!
A punch slammed into Johan's back.
His body tilted forward from the impact, shock flickering across his face.
"Did he… just copy my move!?"
Mira gasped, hand covering her mouth.
"He did. He actually did. He mimicked Johan's vanish-step."
Johan spun instantly, elbow guard up—
But Arin was already there, fist swinging with wild precision.
Johan brought both hands forward to block—
CRACK—!!
Arin's punch collided with Johan's palm, sending a shockwave exploding outward.
The floor split under their feet.
Wind spiraled around them.
Everyone leaned forward, eyes wide, breath caught in their throats.
Arin's knuckles bled.
Johan's arm trembled slightly.
For the first time today—
Johan whispered under his breath:
"…He landed one."
The echo of the clash still hung in the air when—
"STOP!"
Serah stepped forward, hand raised.
"The fight is over! Arin, you've passed! That's enough!"
Before she could get close—
Johan blocked her with one arm.
"Don't," he said quietly.
Serah froze. Even she could feel something was wrong.
Johan approached Arin carefully.
Arin stood in the center of the arena, head lowered, blood dripping steadily onto the cracked floor.
"Hey… you alright?" Johan asked softly.
"I think I hit harder than I meant to. Sorry, kid—"
Arin lifted his head.
Johan's words died.
Blood covered his face.
His nose was ruined.
His breath shaky—
But his eyes…
His eyes were burning with raw excitement.
Not fear.
Not pain.
But thrill.
Johan's body refused to move closer.
His instincts screamed danger.
Arin's shoulders trembled with a kind of wild energy.
Then—
Arin slowly raised his fist.
A pulse of crushing force burst out of him.
BOOOOM—!
The air warped.
The arena shook.
Soldiers staggered.
Mira dropped to her knees.
Serah gasped, unable to inhale.
"What is this pressure!?"
"I can't breathe—!"
"Is this… Astra?"
No—
It was darker.
Heavier.
Something unbalanced.
Johan whispered:
"…I've never felt anything like this."
Arin's aura twisted violently.
His pupils darkened.
For one terrifying moment—
Johan thought he would attack.
(This is bad.)
(If he hits in this state, someone dies.)
Johan moved, ready to knock him unconscious—
But Arin moved faster.
Straight toward himself.
With a roar of effort—
Arin slammed his own fist into his face.
CRACK—!!
Blood burst again.
His head snapped to the side.
The pressure shattered instantly—like a collapsing wave.
The arena fell silent.
Arin staggered, breathing ragged, then collapsed onto one knee.
He wiped his face with a cloth, panting, trembling—
But now calm.
Completely calm.
The medical team rushed in, panicked.
"Arin! Stay
still!"
"You're bleeding too much—!"
"His nose—his cheek—how is he standing!?"
Someone gasped.
"Wha— he's… healing?"
"No swelling…"
"No fractures…"
"No scar…"
It made no sense.
The boy who looked shattered a moment ago—
Looked almost completely fine now.
Everyone watched in stunned silence.
Johan… Serah… the soldiers… even the other candidates…
All realized the same thing:
Arin was fighting something inside him.
And he was the only one strong enough to stop it.
The entire arena was frozen in silence.
The medical team hesitated, unsure whether to approach the boy who had just crushed the ground, bled everywhere, then healed like nothing happened.
Johan stared at him, chest tight.
Serah's hand hovered over her blade—instinct, not fear.
The other candidates whispered:
"W-What was that…?"
"Did he almost… transform?"
"How did he stop himself—?"
Arin slowly pushed himself to his feet.
His body swayed for a moment.
His forehead dripped one last line of blood.
He wiped it away with the back of his hand.
Then he muttered under his breath—
Quiet, but Johan heard him.
"...Shit. That was close."
He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, breathing sharply.
"I nearly lost myself again…"
A flicker of something crossed his face.
Fear.
Shame.
And determination — the kind only someone who has seen his own darkness can understand.
"Next time…" Arin whispered, tightening his fist,
"…I need to be more careful."
Johan took half a step forward, voice low.
"Kid… what was that just now?"
Arin didn't answer.
He only lowered his hand, expression tired but controlled.
Then he bowed slightly — not deep, not dramatic — just enough to show respect.
"I'm… sorry for the destruction."
His voice was steady now.
Calm.
Almost too calm for someone who had nearly snapped in front of an entire arena.
Serah exhaled for the first time in minutes.
Johan shook his head with a disbelieving smile — part relief, part awe.
"That wasn't your fault," Johan said quietly. "And don't apologize for strength you don't fully understand yet."
Arin didn't respond.
He simply turned away…and walked toward the exit.
Every step echoed across the broken arena floor.
Every soldier, every candidate, every instructor watched him pass.
Some in fear.
Some in respect.
Some in confusion.
But all of them realized the same thing:
This boy wasn't ordinary.
And whatever was inside him…
It scared even the strongest man alive.
As Arin left the arena—
Johan muttered under his breath:
"Kid… what are you?"
The corridor outside the arena felt colder than usual.
Arin stepped through it slowly, each footstep heavier than the last. The cheers, the gasps, the whispers he'd heard during training were all gone now. Replaced by silence.
A sharp, suffocating silence.
He wiped the dried blood from his cheek.
His fingers wouldn't stop trembling.
That was close… too close…
The image replayed in his mind—the moment he looked up and saw Johan, the strongest man alive, freeze in place.
Not because Arin landed a blow.
But because Johan sensed something inside him.
Something dark.
Something wrong.
Arin clenched his teeth.
"What if they throw me out…?" he whispered under his breath.
He had survived the forest.
He had escaped the base.
He had walked days with nothing but raw instinct and a half-starved heart.
But this fear—
This was different.
He reached the stairwell. A group of soldiers coming up the steps saw him, recognized his face, and immediately stepped aside. Not respectfully.
Nervously.
As he passed, he heard one whisper:
"Is that the kid who shook the whole arena…?"
"He looked possessed—did you see his eyes…?"
Arin's chest tightened.
He lowered his head and walked faster.
They're scared…
Of me.
He didn't blame them. He was scared of himself too.
What if next time…
he couldn't stop the darkness?
What if he lost control fully?
What if he hurt someone again…?
He swallowed hard.
"What if they decide I'm too dangerous?" he thought.
"What if they remove me?
Or lock me up?
Or worse… kill me?"
He wasn't afraid of death.
He was afraid of being alone again.
He stepped outside the training building. Evening wind brushed against his hair, cool and gentle — but it didn't calm him.
His steps were slow now, dragging as he crossed the courtyard.
Two cadets nearby stared at him, whispering.
One flinched when Arin accidentally met his eyes.
Arin looked away quickly, guilt stabbing through him.
"Great…" he muttered. "Now everyone thinks I'm a monster."
He reached the street. Lamps flickered on, casting long shadows across the ground. Arin followed them automatically, heading toward the small inn Ronan had helped him find.
His hand pressed unconsciously to his chest.
"Kalkin…" he whispered quietly. "Why? Why now?"
No answer, of course.
Only a faint echo of laughter somewhere in memory.
Arin shut his eyes hard, shaking the thought away.
I can't lose control again…
If I do…
Everything ends.
The inn's lantern light appeared at the top of the hill. Warm. Safe. Ordinary.
Arin stopped in front of the door.
Took a deep breath.
"…Please," he muttered to himself, "let tomorrow be normal. Just one normal day."
He pushed the door open.
Inside, the smell of food drifted out.
People chatted, laughed.
A bard played softly in the corner.
Normal.
Arin stepped in quietly, head down, trying not to draw attention.
But inside…
the fear clung to him.
A shadow he couldn't shake.
Arin entered his small inn room quietly.
The door clicked shut behind him, and with it, the outside noise faded into a soft hush.
No voices.
No whispers.
No eyes watching him.
Just stillness.
He stood there for a moment, staring at the wooden floor, hands still trembling faintly. His heartbeat felt uneven — too fast at times, too slow the next.
Slowly, he walked toward the small table and sat down.
The room was simple:
a bed, a desk, a single lantern flickering with gentle orange light.
Arin placed both hands on the table and let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
He hated this feeling.
Not fear.
Not exhaustion.
But guilt.
The memory of Johan stepping back — not out of strategy but instinct — refused to leave his mind.
"I scared him…" Arin whispered, voice barely audible. "I scared everyone…"
He rested his forehead on his arm.
For the first time in days, he felt his chest ache.
Not from wounds.
Not from training.
From something deeper.
"What if I fail tomorrow…?"
"What if they stop the test because of me…?"
"What if I lose control again…?"
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Kalkin… stay quiet. Just stay quiet…
No answer.
Thankfully.
Arin exhaled shakily and stood, walking to the basin.
He washed his face — cold water sliding down bruised skin. The reflection in the small metal mirror made him pause.
His eyes looked tired.
Older.
Not like a teenager.
He touched his cheek lightly.
"…You're not a monster," he whispered to himself. "You're trying."
It didn't help much.
But it was something.
He changed into clean clothes and lay on the bed. The blanket was rough, but warm. He stared at the wooden ceiling as the lantern's flame swayed gently.
Sleep didn't come quickly.
But eventually, exhaustion pulled him under.
The Next Morning
Arin woke to sunlight filtering through the thin curtains.
For a moment, he didn't remember where he was.
Then yesterday came rushing back — the fight, the pressure, Johan stepping aside.
He sat up slowly.
"…Right. The theoretical test."
He rubbed his eyes and forced himself to stand. His body ached, but it was manageable. He got dressed, tied his boots, and stepped out of the room.
Downstairs, the innkeeper nodded at him politely.
Arin nodded back, though his mind was already elsewhere.
Don't mess up today.
No power.
No stress.
Just a normal test.
Outside, the morning air was cool. The street was quiet except for merchants setting up stalls. Arin walked toward the military training building, keeping his head low.
When he reached the front gate, a guard recognized him — eyes widening slightly.
Arin froze.
But the guard only nodded stiffly.
"…Good luck today," he muttered.
Arin blinked.
"Thank you," he said quietly, surprised.
He stepped through the gate.
Inside, the training hall was already prepared. Desks arranged in rows, chalkboard at the front, and Serah standing near the board with a clipboard.
She looked up as Arin entered.
For a moment, her expression softened — almost unnoticed.
But Arin caught it.
"You made it," she said.
Arin nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
Serah stepped closer, studying him.
"You look better than yesterday."
"…I'm fine now," Arin lied politely.
She didn't press. "Good. Today won't involve fighting. Just your mind."
A faint smile. "I hope that doesn't scare you more than combat."
Arin managed a small breath of a laugh.
Before he could say more, Johan entered the room from the side door, carrying a stack of papers. His eyes landed on Arin.
Something unspoken passed between them.
Not fear.
Not hostility.
Respect.
And a question neither of them said aloud.
What are you really?
Johan gave a small nod. "Sit. Test begins in five minutes."
Arin took his seat.
He inhaled slowly.
This time… no power.
Just me.
The theoretical test was about to begin.
After placing his bag beside the desk, Arin sat down quietly.
The room still carried yesterday's tension — whispers, subtle glances, everyone remembering how the arena shook.
But before he could sink back into his thoughts…
A soft voice came from behind.
"Arin…?"
Arin turned.
Mira stood there — the same candidate from yesterday, her dark hair tied neatly back, her expression calm but her eyes warm. Her uniform was slightly wrinkled, like she had run to get here.
She gave him a small, almost shy wave.
"…Hey."
Arin blinked, surprised. "Hi."
She walked closer and leaned lightly on the desk beside his.
"You okay? Yesterday looked… rough," she said carefully.
Arin looked away. "I'm fine. Just… a lot to handle."
Mira smiled gently. "You still passed. That says something, doesn't it?"
Arin hesitated.
Then, unexpectedly—
He felt something loosen in his chest.
A simple, human conversation.
No fear.
No whispers.
No pressure.
He nodded slowly. "Yeah. I guess."
Mira tilted her head. "You're strong, Arin. Anyone could see that. But you don't act like it."
"Is that bad?" he asked quietly.
"No," she said softly. "It's good."
Her honesty hit him harder than any punch.
Just listening to her made him feel… lighter.
Not completely — but enough.
She tapped his desk lightly. "Don't overthink today. It's just a theory exam. Not like they'll ask us to fight a dragon on paper."
Arin cracked a very small smile. "That would be easier."
Mira laughed softly. "You're strange. But in a good way."
For the first time since the fight, Arin didn't feel like people were avoiding him.
He felt… normal.
And that was something he didn't realize he missed so much.The Theoretical Exam Begins
Serah clapped her hands.
"All candidates, take your seats. Exam begins now."
Papers were handed out.
Arin exhaled slowly, flipping the sheet.
His eyes widened.
Formations.
Combat ethics.
Energy theory.
Basic strategy.
First response protocols.
Terrain advantage logic.
These were things he had read years ago.
Back in the old underground facility.
Back when Dr. Hale — "The Doctor" — used to give him books thicker than bricks and told him:
"If your body fails, let your mind win."
Arin picked up his pen.
He didn't struggle.
He didn't hesitate.
His hand moved faster than he expected, each answer flowing naturally from memory — clean, precise, exact.
Question after question, he finished the pages steadily.
When the exam ended and papers were collected, Arin sat back, quiet.
Johan stepped into the room holding the corrected results.
He scanned the paper.
His brow lifted slightly.
"…Interesting."
Serah peeked. "What is it?"
"Someone scored a 98."
The room buzzed.
Mira whispered, "Who…?"
Johan looked up at Arin.
Arin blinked.
"…Me?"
Johan smirked slightly. "Yes, you. You missed only one question. The rest were perfect."
Serah crossed her arms. "That is the highest written score we've had this year."
Arin scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "This is… uh, stuff I studied before."
Mira smiled. "What kind of place teaches military theory to kids your age?"
Arin almost answered.
Then stopped.
He looked down.
"…It was the first place I lived. A… researcher taught me."
Serah watched him closely — but didn't push.
Johan folded the papers. "Well, whatever that place was, it gave you one hell of a mind."
Arin exhaled slowly.
A small warmth filled him.
Not pride.
Not arrogance.
Relief.
For once… something about him wasn't frightening.
Serah Explains What Comes Next
When the others left, Serah called Arin aside.
Her face softened — more teacher than commander now.
"Arin," she began, "based on your combat score, mental resilience, and theoretical marks… you will be assigned to the top academy."
Arin blinked. "Academy?"
"Yes." She handed him a small stamped slip. "Three days from now, you report to Astrahelm Imperial Academy."
The name alone carried weight.
Astrahelm.
The most feared and respected institution in Valenreach.
A place where generals, commanders, elite magic knights, and strategists were born.
"Only the best enter," Serah continued. "And only the strongest graduate. Once you complete the program… the entire military or any profession across the continent becomes open to you."
Arin stared at the paper silently.
Astrahelm Imperial Academy.
Him?
There?
Serah stepped closer, her voice softer.
"You've been running from something, Arin. I don't know what. But this academy… might be the first place that teaches you where to run toward."
Arin looked away, unsure how to respond.
Mira approached from behind, smiling wide. "Hey! You got accepted too? Looks like we'll be classmates."
Arin blinked, surprised.
"Really?"
She nodded proudly. "Top three candidates get in. And yes, I'm one of them."
Arin felt something warm in his chest again.
Maybe… he wasn't alone.
For the first time in weeks, he let himself smile properly.
"…I'm glad."
Mira smiled back, eyes bright.
Serah watched them both.
And for the first time, she didn't see a monster.
She saw a kid with a future.