Morning at the academy arrived without ceremony.
No bells. No announcements.
Just movement.
Atelion observed it from the balcony of his chamber as the grounds below slowly filled with students some already sparring, others revising notes, a few simply standing still as mana or aura circulated around them.
The academy was alive in a way cities never were. Here, growth was not a concept. It was a daily expectation.
He turned away from the balcony and reached for the thin leather coat resting on the chair beside his desk.
Representative.
The title still felt… premature.
Not because he doubted his ability, but because of what it implied. Visibility. Expectation. Pressure to lead when leadership itself was a kind of exposure.
In the original novel, representatives were symbols loud, shining, easily targeted.
He had no intention of becoming that.
The first-year representative chamber was not a throne room.
That alone surprised him.
It was a circular hall with a long table at its center, stone walls etched with faded runes old ones, no longer active, but still heavy with history. Twelve seats. Only eight occupied.
They fell silent as Atelion entered.
Not respectful silence.
Evaluating silence.
Atelion took the seat at the head of the table without comment.
"You're late," one of them said a tall boy with cropped red hair and a heavy build. His aura flickered openly, a deliberate show.
"I'm on time," Atelion replied calmly. "You arrived early."
A pause.
The boy frowned but said nothing more.
Atelion let his gaze move across the room. Faces. Postures. Tension points.
Three nobles. Two commoners. One girl sitting slightly apart, arms folded, expression unreadable.
Another boy leaned back too casually, eyes half-lidded but alert.
"Before we begin," Atelion said, voice even, "understand something."
All eyes turned to him.
"I'm not here to command you," he continued. "Nor to represent your pride.
I'll relay academy decisions, coordinate responses when required, and ensure no one here is made an example of unnecessarily."
He paused.
"If that's a problem, say it now."
Silence.
Then the girl at the edge of the table spoke. "You don't sound like a noble."
Atelion met her gaze. "That's because I'm not trying to sound like one."
She studied him for a long moment, then nodded once. "Fine."
One line held.
The meeting ended without incident.
That alone worried him.
Training Hall Three was reserved for advanced first-year sessions.
It was also where trouble gathered.
Atelion entered to find the space already occupied six students forming a loose semicircle. At their center stood a familiar figure.
The red-haired boy from earlier.
"You're blocking the hall," Atelion said.
The boy smirked. "We reserved it."
Atelion glanced at the wall inscription. "You didn't."
A flicker of irritation crossed the boy's face. "You think passing a special exam makes you untouchable?"
"No," Atelion replied. "I think starting pointless conflicts wastes time."
Aura flared.
Not Atelion's.
The boy stepped forward, aura burning bright at four starsunstable, aggressive.
"Then let's make this quick."
Atelion sighed inwardly.
This, too, was inevitable.
He moved.
Not forward.
Sideways.
The punch passed where his head had been a heartbeat earlier. Atelion pivoted, foot hooking behind the boy's ankle while his palm struck the sternum not with aura, but precision.
The boy hit the ground hard.
Gasps echoed around the hall.
Atelion stepped back immediately.
"I didn't use aura," he said calmly. "You fell on your own momentum."
The boy stared up at him, stunned more by the humiliation than the pain.
"Stand," Atelion added. "Or leave."
The boy clenched his fists… then slammed the floor and rose, storming past him without another word.
The others hesitated.
Then dispersed.
Atelion exhaled slowly.
That would spread.
"You handled that poorly."
The voice came from above.
Atelion looked up to see Kael Varrow standing on the upper walkway, arms resting on the railing.
"I didn't injure him," Atelion said. "I didn't escalate."
Kael tilted his head. "You embarrassed him."
"Was that avoidable?"
"Yes," Kael replied. "By losing."
Atelion met his gaze. "I don't lose on purpose."
A long silence followed.
Then Kael smiled faintly. "Good answer. Dangerous one."
He vanished from the walkway a moment later.
Atelion remained still.
The academy was not testing his strength.
It was testing his restraint.
Later that afternoon, Atelion found Lorien in the auxiliary library.
Stacks of books surrounded the boy like a barricade. Scrolls floated midair, turning pages on their own.
"You're inefficient," Atelion said.
Lorien scowled without looking up. "I didn't ask."
"You're cycling mana while reading," Atelion continued. "You'll exhaust yourself."
Lorien froze. "You noticed?"
"Yes."
"…Show me."
Atelion hesitated only a second before sitting across from him.
He did not explain star-circles. Did not explain coexistence.
He simply demonstrated a modified breathing rhythm subtle, incomplete, safe.
Lorien's eyes widened as he tried it.
"This this stabilizes output without slowing casting."
"At low levels," Atelion said. "Don't force it."
Lorien looked up sharply. "You're holding back."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Atelion closed the book in front of him. "Because knowledge spreads faster than power. And I don't want the wrong people learning the wrong things."
Lorien stared at him for a long moment.
Then nodded. "Understood."
Another line held.
That night, Atelion dreamed.
Not of the academy.
Not of the dungeon.
But of a throne drenched in shadow.
A girl with crimson hair sat upon it, gold eyes hollow, crown cracked.
"You're late," she said.
Atelion tried to move.
Couldn't.
Chains magic, not metal wrapped around the throne, disappearing into darkness beyond sight.
A woman's laughter echoed.
Then fire.
Atelion woke sharply, breath controlled, heart steady.
Dreams meant nothing.
Except when they did.
Far beneath the academy, deeper than even the sealed archives A sigil flared.
"The representative is interfering," a robed man said.
The woman beside him smiled. "Good."
"And the princess?" another asked.
"Still pliable," she replied. "But time narrows."
Her gaze turned upward, toward stone and earth and destiny.
"Let the boy grow a little more."
Atelion stood by the window as dawn approached.
He had drawn attention.
He had altered paths.
And for the first time since arriving in this world, he felt it clearly:
The academy was no longer neutral ground.
And neither was he.