An Accident That Became a Legend
Late afternoon painted Astraea Combat Academy in warm amber light.
Classes had ended, but the campus was far from quiet. Students moved between training grounds, dormitories, and dining halls, their conversations blending into a soft, restless hum. The air carried the faint metallic scent of sweat and mana discharge proof that for many, learning did not stop when lectures ended.
Yorio walked alone along a side path behind the auxiliary training fields.
He had discovered it earlier while searching for a quiet route back to the dormitories. Tall hedges bordered one side, while the other sloped downward toward an unused sparring ground rarely visited by first-years.
Perfect.
Few people.
Minimal interaction.
Low probability of trouble.
He adjusted the strap of his bag and continued at an unhurried pace.
Today had been exhausting in a way that had nothing to do with physical effort. Being surrounded by people all day required a constant, draining awareness monitoring expressions, posture, tone, movement trying not to stand out while simultaneously not appearing suspicious.
Social survival was harder than academic survival.
"…Almost back," he murmured.
Voices drifted from ahead.
Sharp.
Unpleasant.
Not the casual chatter of friends.
Yorio slowed instinctively.
A low male voice spoke, edged with cold amusement.
"So this is the future of Astraea? Pathetic."
Another voice younger, strained answered weakly.
"I— I said I'm sorry…"
"Sorry?" the first voice repeated. "Do you think apologies fix incompetence?"
Yorio stepped around the hedge.
An older student stood in the clearing.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Wearing the dark-blue uniform of a third-year.
His face was partially concealed by a high collar and shadow, as if deliberately obscured. Only his eyes were visible sharp, predatory, bored.
At his feet knelt a first-year boy, uniform dusty, lip split, hands trembling.
The ground nearby showed signs of impact shallow craters, scattered debris.
Not a friendly spar.
Yorio stopped.
He didn't know either of them.
Didn't want to know either of them.
This situation had nothing to do with him.
He could walk away.
Should walk away.
But the kneeling boy's shoulders shook slightly.
"…Please… I won't get in your way again…"
Something inside Yorio tightened.
He remembered smaller children at the orphanage apologizing for things that weren't their fault.
He remembered promising himself he would at least protect those weaker than him.
He sighed softly.
"…Trouble." he muttered.
Then he stepped forward.
"Please stop."
Both students looked at him.
The third-year's eyes narrowed.
"…Who are you?"
"A first-year."
"That much is obvious."
Silence.
Yorio searched for the least confrontational wording.
"He looks hurt."
"And?"
"…Continuing might cause serious injury."
The older student tilted his head slightly, studying him.
There was no fear in the boy's voice.
No aggression either.
Just a calm statement.
"Are you ordering me to stop?" the third-year asked quietly.
"No."
"Then leave."
Yorio hesitated.
Logically, compliance was the safest option.
Emotionally…
He glanced at the injured boy again.
"…I can't."
The third-year sighed, as if disappointed.
"You first-years are all the same. Idealistic. Annoying."
He stepped forward.
Mana flickered faintly around him controlled, deliberate.
"Fine," he said. "If you want to play hero… entertain me."
Yorio stiffened.
Oh no.
He had not intended for this to escalate.
"I don't want to fight."
"Too late."
The third-year moved.
Fast.
Not recklessly fast precisely fast.
Years of training compressed into a single fluid advance.
Yorio's instincts screamed danger.
He stepped backward quickly.
Too quickly.
His heel caught on a loose stone embedded in the ground.
Balance vanished.
His body tilted sideways.
He fell.
Hard.
At the exact same moment, the third-year planted his foot to change direction.
That foot landed on the same loose stone.
It shifted violently.
Momentum betrayed him.
His body lurched forward uncontrollably.
Without stable footing, even perfect technique meant nothing.
He tried to recover.
Too late.
His center of gravity collapsed.
His head struck the ground with a dull, brutal impact.
CRACK.
Dust burst upward.
Silence fell instantly.
Yorio lay on his side, stunned from the fall.
"…Ow," he whispered.
After a moment, he pushed himself up slowly, wincing.
Across from him, the third-year lay motionless.
Face down.
Unmoving.
Yorio blinked.
"…Are you okay?"
No response.
He crawled closer cautiously.
"…Hello?"
Still nothing.
Panic began to creep in.
Did he die?
That would be catastrophic.
He leaned closer, trying to see the student's face.
Behind him, the bullied first-year stared in shock, eyes wide.
From his perspective, the sequence had looked completely different.
The third-year had charged with overwhelming speed.
The quiet first-year hadn't even braced.
Yet somehow
The senior had collapsed instantly the moment he reached him.
No strike.
No visible attack.
Just… defeat.
"…You… you beat him," the kneeling boy whispered.
Yorio turned.
"I didn't—"
He stopped.
How could he explain that they both slipped?
That sounded ridiculous.
More importantly…
He himself hadn't fully processed what had happened.
He looked back at the unconscious senior.
"…He fell."
The boy shook his head frantically.
"No! I saw it! You did something!"
"I didn't."
"You didn't even move!"
"…I moved. I fell."
But the explanation sounded weaker the more he said it.
The first-year scrambled to his feet, staring at Yorio as if witnessing something unbelievable.
"T-Thank you for saving me!"
"I didn't—"
Before Yorio could finish, the boy grabbed his bag and ran.
Not away from danger.
Away to spread news.
Several minutes later, the fallen senior groaned.
He pushed himself upright slowly, one hand pressed to his head.
"…What…?"
Memory returned in fragments.
Charge.
Contact.
Impact.
Then nothing.
He looked around.
The bullied student was gone.
Only the quiet first-year remained, standing awkwardly nearby.
"…What did you do?" he demanded.
Yorio blinked.
"Nothing."
"That's impossible."
"I fell."
The senior's eyes hardened.
"You expect me to believe I lost balance on my own?"
"…Yes."
Silence.
Pride would not allow acceptance of such an explanation.
Especially not for Jean Valemont — Astraea's undisputed third-year first rank.
If word spread that he had simply tripped…
Unacceptable.
Therefore, another explanation was necessary.
"…Invisible strike," Jean muttered. "Some kind of impact technique."
Yorio had no idea what he was talking about.
"I'm glad you're conscious," Yorio said quietly. "Please be careful walking."
Then he turned and left.
Jean watched him go, unease replacing anger.
He hadn't sensed mana.
Hadn't seen movement.
Hadn't felt a blow.
Yet he had been incapacitated instantly.
"…What kind of monster is that kid?" he murmured.
By evening, the story had spread across the academy.
Not accurately.
Not consistently.
But thoroughly.
A mysterious first-year had defeated a third-year in a single exchange.
No one saw the attack.
The senior collapsed instantly.
Witnesses reported overwhelming pressure.
Some claimed the air had distorted.
Others swore they heard a cracking sound like space itself breaking.
Jean's identity as first rank only amplified the impact once revealed.
Shock turned into awe.
Awe turned into fear.
And the quiet boy at the center of it all remained completely unaware.
….
In the Dormitory
Yorio sat on his bed, reading a borrowed textbook.
The room was small but clean.
Functional.
Safe.
He exhaled softly.
"…Today was exhausting."
He had no idea that outside his door, students whispered in hushed voices.
"That's his room."
"Seriously?"
"Don't knock!"
"What if he gets mad?"
"I heard he took down the third-year first rank without even touching him."
"No way…"
"Shh! He might hear!"
Inside, Yorio turned a page.
Completely oblivious.
"…Maybe tomorrow will be quieter." he said hopefully.
It would not be.
Because from that day onward, Astraea Combat Academy had already decided what he was:
A hidden prodigy.
An unknown monster.
The first-year who defeated the strongest third-year effortlessly.
And without ever intending to…
Yorio had just become the unofficial First Rank of the First Years.
Not through ambition.
Not through strength.
But through a single, unfortunate loose stone.
To be continue