It was Ansel's final period of the day—combat theory. Unlike academics and history, the combat course didn't have its own dedicated building. Instead, theory classes took place inside the main building's classroom wing, while practical classes were held in the training arenas.
The sun was slowly creeping toward the horizon, bathing the classroom in a muted yellow light. Ansel was sitting next to Eyra in the middle of the room, their professor droning on in the background.
It was apparent that exhaustion weighed heavily on the students' minds—even Ansel's. Though he hadn't engaged in any physical activities during the day, just the simple act of having to pay attention gnawed away at his brain.
"Pfft," Eyra groaned, cradling her head in her palms. "...This class is such a bore."
Ansel's eyes narrowed, staring intently at the hunched back of his professor. "It's alright..." he trailed off. "Professor Wright's handwriting is very neat."
"Handwriting?" Eyra scoffed. "You don't have to pretend to like all your classes, Ansel."
"I wasn't pretending anything!" Ansel leaned back against his chair. "I do admit that I was expecting combat theory to at least be a little more interesting, but... we're learning valuable information here, so we might as well listen."
"I don't think anybody has enough brain capacity to listen." Eyra gestured at the rest of the classroom, where students sat slumped against their desks—some on the precipice of falling asleep. "It's difficult to imagine that it's only our first day. Because at this rate, we're going to be empty husks by the end of term..."
"I'm sure our focus will improve naturally." Ansel tapped his notebook with his pen. "...And we have practical combat tomorrow. It's sure to raise student morale." He spoke with a flat tone, finding it difficult to hide his displeasure.
Though other students may have been looking forward to showing off their abilities to their peers, Ansel was dreading the moment to come. How would his classmates react after finding out that he was admitted into the academy without being able to activate his ability? 'It would be humiliating...' He gulped. 'But I have to get through it. If I want to prove myself, I can't afford to hesitate or be embarrassed.'
Letting out a long breath, Ansel tilted his head toward Eyra. "About what you said to me yesterday—thank you for the advice. It helped me make up my mind."
"Oh?" Eyra's sleep-fueled daze was momentarily broken. "...Where's this coming from?" She smirked, nostrils flaring. She was expecting Ansel to quip a joke, but fell silent upon meeting his sincere gaze. Eyra's lips parted and closed, unable to find a reply. "Hmph. Whatever." Her words ended up sounding colder than she had expected.
"Really—it did help." Ansel smiled, unshaken by Eyra's tone.
The corner of Eyra's mouth twitched upward as she stretched, her back arching. Her fingers interlocked high above her head, and a sharp series of cracks rang out from her hands. "Nooo, worrries!" She yawned, slumping back down onto her desk.
"You know," Eyra raised an eyebrow, "you do seem pretty different. Yesterday you were so meek and shy. Now... well, you're still shy, but a little less meek. Did my advice really help that much?"
"Yeah. Before I arrived on campus, somebody gave me a similar message. But it turned out being ignorant was easier said than done." Ansel chuckled. "...But by talking with you yesterday, I realized that there are levels to ignorance."
"Levels?"
"I was on the shallowest layer. I was pretending to be ignorant, but everyone's words still got to me. I was afraid of judgment, and being shunned. You helped me realize that. Now that I'm aware of my own flaws, I can work on fixing them!"
"Holy shit... my advice really did all that?" Eyra grinned. "I might be some sort of genius! Hey," she lightly smacked Ansel's shoulder, "...you think I should open up my own counseling service or something? Hehe."
"Quiet, middle row." Professor Wright's aged voice cut Ansel off before he had time to respond. Soon, the sound of scratching chalk echoed across a silent classroom.
* * *
The school day had finally ended, and Ansel decided to return to his dorm. As he walked down the hallways of the main building's dorm wing, he noticed a familiar figure approaching from the other end—Dominic.
Dominic's gaze was directed at the floor, and his hands were shoved deep inside the pockets of his slacks. His face—once again—wore a blank expression. The fabric of his vest was stained with sweat, tinting the gray into a shade bordering on black.
"Dominic." Ansel stopped in his tracks. His brows furrowed with worry as he observed Dominic's disheveled state. "...Are you alright? I-it's just that you don't look too good right now."
"I'm fine." Dominic's tone was chilly. His pupils snapped up from the floor, locking onto Ansel with ambiguous intent. "Ansel."
"What is it?" Ansel held Dominic's gaze, fighting the urge to look away.
"Let's have a spar." Dominic's tone and posture didn't change.
"I'll need some time to prepare." Ansel hardened his gaze, taking another step toward Dominic.
"Alright, that's fine with me." Dominic sighed. "I'll give you two weeks. Then we'll meet up at Training Ground Alpha, alright?"
"That's fine with me... but first, there's something I need to know, Dominic. Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"...You didn't have to go so hard on Samson. You could've... killed him with just a few more hits. But from the start, you wanted to spar with me. You said you had to show me my place." Ansel took another step forward. "...So the first time I met you—the conversation we had—was that just you putting on a nice face?"
"What?" Dominic gritted his teeth. "...You don't know anything about me, so don't go making assumptions." Turning around, Dominic scoffed as he approached the door to his dorm. "It's kind of ironic. I overheard your conversation with Cerua..."
Ansel's throat suddenly felt dry.
"You said you wanted to prove yourself, huh? That means you don't want to be judged by people who barely know you, right? So then, Ansel... what right do you have to judge me, when you don't even know the first thing about me?"
Ba-dump, ba-dump. Ansel's mind went blank, unable to think of a response. He realized then, 'Dominic is right. I've been acting hypocritical this whole time...' The sound of his beating heart rang in his eardrums, drowning out his thoughts.
"Ansel." Dominic opened the door to his dorm. "I will defeat you."
BANG!
The door slammed shut.
Ansel stood alone in the hallway, staring blankly at the empty space where Dominic once stood. Shame crept up his spine again as he recalled Cerua's words: 'You can't be friends with everyone...'
Ansel reached for his own door, going still as his palm tightly grasped the ivory doorknob. '...Why not? Why can't I be friends with everyone?' His grip tightened, and Ansel felt the bones in his hand tremble from the pressure. 'Dominic... I'll make it up to you—by defeating you, and becoming your friend.'
As Ansel disappeared into his room, a lone boy stood in the adjacent hallway, hiding around the corner. His hands were tightly clamped over his mouth, sealing off even the sound of his breath. His eyes shot up with glee. 'Hehe! A big scoop...'