The air in the dorm didn't just go quiet; it went heavy.
As the shadow at the edge of the room began to move, a strange, rhythmic synchronization took over.
The students didn't scramble. They didn't whisper.
They stilled.
One by one, they pivoted stiffly and lay back down. Blankets pulled up. Breaths leveled.
A performance.
Shura watched it, a faint, tired smile touching his lips.
He copied them—poorly.
"There's no use," he said quietly.
"You're already caught."
No one moved.
Liyo stepped fully into the amber pulse of Beacon light.
He didn't look angry.
He looked… familiar with this.
"They're practicing."
He stepped further in.
"…how to be punished properly."
He walked past the beds. Slow. Unhurried.
Then stopped.
"Enough."
A pause.
"Sit up."
Silence stretched—
Then it broke.
Blankets shifted. Heads rose. One by one, the act collapsed.
The "Blacksmith" sat up first. The "Velorin" boy followed, leaning back against the wall.
Then—
as if pulled by the same thread—
they all dropped to their knees.
Shura hesitated for half a second—
then did the same.
No one told him to.
Liyo noticed. Didn't comment.
He lowered himself to the ground with them, elbows resting on his knees.
"Let's skip dreams today," he muttered.
"No blacksmiths. No kni—"
"Who's that?" someone asked, quieter this time.
A hand lifted—pointing at Shura.
Liyo didn't even look at him.
"I'm not deaf," he said flatly.
"And I'm not stupid."
A pause.
"Sleep when you're told," he added.
"Or I'll start moving people."
That landed.
Not loud—but heavy.
Everyone nodded.
Not fear.
Understanding.
The room tightened slightly.
Then—
eyes shifted.
Toward Shura.
The silver coat.
The outsider.
The Velorin boy spoke, slower this time.
"…Are you connected to Clan Velorin?"
Shura didn't answer.
Not immediately.
A small silence formed around him.
Liyo spoke instead.
"Some run away from names like that," he said.
"Try to build their own."
Shura exhaled softly.
"I'm not royal."
His voice lowered.
"…Just… given. I think."
His hand slipped into his pocket.
Held the Vanguard badge.
Tight.
He stood.
"My name is Shura," he said.
"I don't remember where I'm from."
A few glances exchanged.
"I work at the Iron House," he added.
That broke the room.
"You what?"
"Why?"
"You can stay here—"
"I need to go," Shura cut in.
"If I don't, I miss the day."
Liyo spoke immediately.
"You can't."
A beat.
"It's near Midnight Cycle."
Silence.
Then—
Liyo shifted slightly to the side.
"…Door's there."
Before they could continue—
Shura moved.
Hand on the door.
Then—
The students frowned.
"That's rude—"
They paused.
Shura Turned back.
And bowed.
"Thank you."
Simple. Clean. Enough.
The room went quiet again.
Not forced this time.
Real.
Liyo moved.
Fast.
Caught Shura's wrist before he could leave.
"You can't go."
Not loud, not aggressive—just certain.
"I can't say you don't need the work," Liyo added.
His eyes flicked to the coat.
"…You already walked away from something."
His grip loosened—just slightly.
Hands moved to Shura's shoulders instead.
Gentler.
"You're too young for this."
Shura looked at him—tired, steady, and far too used to carrying it alone.
"I can't stop."
A pause.
Liyo exhaled faintly.
"…Can you send a letter?"
"No."
"I paid for work. Not write."
That got a small breath of laughter out of Liyo.
"…Yeah," he muttered.
"I'm not winning this."
He glanced back at the room.
"All right."
That was enough.
The students understood immediately.
They stood. Too fast. Too coordinated.
Smiles spread—
not cruel—
but collective.
Shura looked at them.
Then closed his eyes.
"…I see."
Hands caught him before he could resist.
Lifted. Moved.
"Rest," someone muttered.
Not a command. Not a joke.
Something in between.
And for once—
Shura didn't fight it.