Ethan paced along the surface of the rooftop in an effort to clear his head. He tried to see if he could pinpoint the exact reason for the recent changes within him, but he was unable to come up with anything concrete.
In fact, when he really tried to push it, the familiar headache started to make a return. Still fearful of that pain, Ethan decided to shelve these thoughts for now.
Instead, he walked to the edge of the roof, one which faced the entrance of the school and opposite to the one he was about to jump off of.
His eyes scanned the school grounds below.
The sun was about to fully set, casting long, distorted shadows across the campus. Near the main entrance, a massive, ancient oak tree sprawled its branches over the pavement.
Beneath the tree sat a machine that should not have been allowed inside campus grounds.
It was a sleek, four-seater sports car—a high-performance beast with a mana-engine that likely cost more than what the average person earned in a few years.
Leaning against the hood of the car, looking utterly at ease, was a familiar figure.
Braden.
He wasn't alone. A small group of boys surrounded him, their slightly bent postures and sycophantic mannerisms conveying their subservience. They were like satellites orbiting a sun, desperate for a bit of warmth.
Braden, by contrast, looked every bit the king of this small, pathetic kingdom.
He had a sharp, angular face that might have been handsome if not for the permanent sneer etched into his features. His uniform was customized, tailored to fit his frame perfectly, and he wore it with a casual arrogance that seemed to be ingrained within him.
Strict school regulations explicitly forbade students from parking personal vehicles inside the campus gates. For almost anyone else in the student body, breaking such a rule would come with heavy consequences.
But for Braden? Nobody even batted an eye. He was evidently exempt from this rule.
The reason was simple: His background.
His family was one of the pillars of this Tier 9 City. They were not just rich, but also influential. They owned a conglomerate of businesses that kept a large number of people employed. And most important of all, their family was filled with many powerful magicians.
Ethan's eyes narrowed as he analyzed the gap between Braden and himself.
It wasn't that Ethan was poor. In fact, his own family was quite wealthy by average standards. But there were levels to this game.
If Ethan's family were millionaires, Braden's were billionaires.
Furthermore, Ethan's parents were ghosts. Due to the nature of their work, they were practically never at home, or within the city for that matter. They had little to no political capital within the city.
Braden's family, on the other hand, was by far the biggest donor for this school.
They funded the new combat arena. They updated the library with new Spell Books. In a very real sense, they owned the administration of the school. Hiring and firing of personnel, construction and demolition of facilities—nothing happened without their tacit approval.
Reporting Braden to the higher ups would be roughly as effective as filing a case against a corrupt country's leader at the local police station.
However, the disparity in their backgrounds was only one part of the problem. Indeed, the difference in their personal strengths was also part of the crisis.
Both Ethan and Braden were 1st Circle Magicians.
This was pretty standard for an 11th grader at a Magic High School in a Tier 9 city. But even within the same Circle, large differences in strength often manifested between Magicians.
Both Ethan and Braden were in Class 11-5. Despite having a reputation for slacking off when it came to his training, Braden sat comfortably at the top of their class in terms of strength.
Powerful families, like the Sterling family which Braden belonged to often arranged marriages in a way which increased the chances of their offspring being born with higher magical talent. Despite his lacking effort, Braden wasn't lacking in raw talent due to the result of such careful breeding.
As for Ethan?
He was at the very bottom of the barrel in his grade. His mana control was sloppy, his casting time was abysmal, and he struggled to learn new spells.
In fact, his current situation in that regard was critical. The 11th Grade Final Practical Examination was scheduled to take place in just over a week.
Given his current trajectory, Ethan was almost guaranteed to fail this exam, making his future path as a magician infinitely harder.
The shame of that impending failure, combined with the relentless torment from Braden, had been a major factor in pushing the old Ethan toward the railing of this rooftop.
While he was lost in his thoughts, Ethan felt a prickle of unease crawl across his skin. Looking down from his vantage point, amidst the gathering shadows near the school entrance, Braden's head seemed to tilt slightly.
Was he looking up?
Ethan held his breath. From this distance, it was impossible to see Braden's eyes, but it felt as though the bully was scanning the windows of the classroom building, his gaze inching dangerously close to the rooftop railing.
While it was unlikely for Braden to clearly spot him against the light of the setting sun, to the current Ethan, leaving anything to chance felt like a strategic error.
While it was true that he no longer felt the same anxiety and fear when facing Braden as before, that did not mean he was ready for a direct confrontation just yet.
For now, it was better to play it safe.
Ethan didn't turn around. Instead, he took slow, measured steps backward, fading away from the edge like a shadow retracting at noon. He kept his eyes on the figure below until the concrete parapet finally cut off his line of sight.
Only when he was fully obscured from view did he turn and push open the heavy metal door leading to the stairwell.
The stairwell was cool and quiet, a sharp contrast to the chaotic wind that had whipped around him moments ago. But while the air was still, the storm inside his mind had not yet settled.
Thoughts swirled violently, colliding with one another. Why had his personality shifted so abruptly? How was he going to deal with Braden's escalating torment without exposing himself? And then there was the matter of the Final Practical Examination...
He rubbed his temples, his back leaning against the door that led outside. There were too many problems and zero easy solutions. Without him realizing it, a deep frown etched itself onto Ethan's face.
But during all of this, while Ethan was busy trying to rationalize his changes as something internal, he was blind to what had truly happened.
Deep within the subconscious architecture of the boy's mind, something was settling in.
'It' was no longer the desperate cluster of blue lights fleeing out of a dead sewer snake. 'It' was no longer a frantic spirit searching for a shell to escape total erasure.
'It' had found a home once again.
However, it was too weak right now. The level of its existence – too low. In its severely weakened state, the entity could no longer draw a line between where the human named Ethan ended and where the 'It' began. It had forgotten its origin, its true nature.
It believed it was Ethan.
For now, Ethan and the entity were one and the same. But how long would this delusion last? How long until the sleeper awoke and remembered what it truly was?
Yet, even in this dormant, amnesiac state, the entity whispered to the flesh it inhabited. It wasn't a voice, nor was it a thought. It was a primal urge bleeding into Ethan's psyche.
As he stared down the spiraling darkness of the stairs, a sudden, burning sensation ignited in his chest. It was an emotion the old, broken Ethan had never possessed.
Hunger.
Not for food, and not for validation. It was an insatiable, ravenous lust for power.
His mind worked to rationalize this feeling. The logic clicked into place almost instantly. Why worry about bullies? Why fear exams? Why fret over social standing? All those problems were merely symptoms of a single disease - Weakness.
If he had power, the equations would rearrange themselves.
Power was the universal key. It was the sledgehammer that would shatter every wall closing in on him. The Ethan of the present accepted this feeling wholeheartedly, as if it were a fundamental law of the world.
He didn't know how he would get it, nor did he know what tomorrow would bring. The future remained a gray, cloudy fog. But for the first time in a long while, he grasped at a vague sense of direction.
His legs felt heavy, trembling slightly from physical and mental torment he had experienced over the last ten minutes—aftereffects of that agonizing pain.
Mentally exhausted and feeling like he could lose his footing at any moment, Ethan began his slow descent into the shadows of the classroom building.