A Monster the Records Could Not Explain
The rumors did not fade overnight.
They did not even stabilize.
They grew.
By morning, the story of the mysterious first-year who had defeated a third-year had mutated into something far more dramatic than reality.
Some said the senior had been blown backward without being touched.
Others claimed the air around the first-year had distorted like heat over fire.
One particularly imaginative version insisted the boy had crushed his opponent with killing intent alone.
None of the accounts agreed on details.
All agreed on one thing:
He was dangerous.
Behind layers of reinforced doors and soundproof wards lay the administrative wing, a place students rarely saw unless summoned.
Inside one of the larger conference rooms, several instructors sat around a circular table carved from pale stone. Documents, crystal recording devices, and mana analysis sheets were spread across its surface.
At the head sat Vice Principal Aldren, a tall man with silver-streaked hair and eyes sharp enough to dissect lies.
He tapped a file with one finger.
"Report."
A combat instructor cleared her throat.
"The incident occurred yesterday at approximately sixteen forty. Location: Auxiliary Training Ground Three. Witnesses: one first-year student, currently under observation for shock."
"Condition of the third-year?"
"Concussion. Minor cranial fracture. He regained consciousness shortly afterward."
Aldren nodded slowly.
"Name."
"…Jean Valemont."
The room fell quiet.
Even among seasoned instructors, that name carried weight.
Jean was not simply a strong student.
He was Astraea's third-year First Rank, the top of the academy's internal hierarchy. A prodigy groomed for knighthood, with combat results rivaling junior officers.
For him to be defeated by a first-year…
Without visible technique…
Without mana surge…
It made no sense.
A research instructor adjusted his glasses.
"We reviewed mana fluctuation records in the area. There was no measurable output from the first-year."
"None?" Aldren asked.
"None."
"That is impossible."
"Yes, sir."
Silence stretched.
Another instructor spoke quietly.
"Unless the technique used did not rely on mana."
Aldren's gaze sharpened.
"Physical combat alone would not incapacitate Jean that quickly."
"No," she agreed. "But what if it was something else? Pressure-based manipulation. Spatial interference. A latent ability."
Speculation layered upon speculation.
None of it brought clarity.
Because they were trying to analyze something that had never happened.
Aldren opened the thin folder before him.
Too thin.
That alone was suspicious.
"Yorio," he read aloud.
No surname.
No noble lineage.
No affiliated clan.
Origin: orphanage in the capital's lower district.
Magical aptitude: below average.
Physical assessment: below average.
Academic score: moderately high.
He frowned.
"This profile does not produce results like yesterday's."
A staff member shifted uneasily.
"There is one anomaly."
Aldren looked up.
"The practical exam," she said. "He defeated a training automaton instantly."
"How?"
"…Official report states the construct overextended and collided with a wall."
Aldren's eyes narrowed.
"So the automaton defeated itself."
"Yes, sir."
"And yesterday, Jean defeated himself as well."
"…Essentially."
A heavy silence filled the room.
The vice principal leaned back slowly.
"There are three possibilities."
No one spoke.
"One: coincidence."
Unlikely.
"Two: hidden ability that masks its presence."
Concerning.
"Three…"
He tapped the file again.
"…the student is far more dangerous than he appears."
Later that morning, two instructors stood on a balcony overlooking the first-year training field.
Students practiced basic forms below, their movements clumsy but enthusiastic.
Among them stood Yorio.
He followed the drills exactly as instructed.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Not precise enough to stand out.
Not sloppy enough to attract correction.
Perfectly average.
Combat Instructor Lysa folded her arms.
"That's him."
Her colleague frowned.
"He looks… normal."
"He does."
They watched in silence.
Yorio's movements showed no hidden strength, no unusual speed, no aggressive intent. He seemed almost overly cautious, as if prioritizing balance over power.
At one point, he stumbled slightly during a turn.
He recovered immediately.
Lysa's eyes narrowed.
"Did you see that?"
"He lost balance."
"Or he corrected it intentionally."
"…You're overanalyzing."
Am I? she thought.
Because now every small motion seemed suspicious.
Normal behavior could be interpreted as concealment.
Mediocrity could be interpreted as restraint.
The problem with unknown variables was that they distorted every observation.
From the training field, Yorio felt only one thing:
Relief that he wasn't being singled out.
The exercises were simple.
Repetitive.
Predictable.
Safe.
He kept his movements small to avoid drawing attention.
(Don't fall again,) he reminded himself.
(Falling causes problems.)
He had no idea two instructors were analyzing his every step as if watching a dangerous animal.
When the session ended, students dispersed in groups.
Yorio lingered just long enough not to seem eager to leave, then quietly walked toward the water station.
Several nearby students immediately made space for him.
He assumed it was coincidence.
🕯️ The Interview That Wasn't
"Yorio."
He turned.
An instructor approached not hostile, not friendly.
Neutral.
"Come with me."
Yorio's stomach tightened.
Had he done something wrong?
He followed without question.
They entered a small office lined with bookshelves. The instructor gestured to a chair.
"Sit."
He did.
She remained standing, studying him carefully.
"You were present at yesterday's incident."
"Yes."
"You intervened in a conflict between students."
"Yes."
"What technique did you use?"
"…Technique?"
"To incapacitate Jean Valemont."
"I didn't."
Silence.
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
"Explain."
Yorio searched for the most accurate wording.
"He slipped."
She waited.
"That is your explanation?"
"Yes."
"…And you did nothing?"
"I also slipped."
A pause.
"…You expect me to believe you defeated a third-year first rank by accident."
"I didn't defeat him."
"He was unconscious."
"He hit the ground."
She stared at him for several long seconds.
No deception indicators.
No smugness.
No defensiveness.
Just simple statements delivered in a calm, unchanging tone.
Either he was telling the truth…
…or he was an exceptional liar.
"Why did you intervene at all?" she asked.
"He was hurting someone."
"So you chose to risk confrontation."
"…I didn't think it would escalate."
She studied him again.
His posture was straight but not rigid.
Hands relaxed.
Breathing steady.
No visible tension.
Not the behavior of someone who had just bested one of the academy's strongest students.
Finally she said, "You may go."
Yorio stood, bowed slightly, and left.
As the door closed, she exhaled slowly.
"…I can't read him."
By afternoon, news of the faculty questioning him had leaked.
It only strengthened the rumors.
"If teachers are investigating, it means he's dangerous."
"Or important."
"Or both."
"Maybe he's a secret weapon."
"Maybe he's being monitored."
Students began lowering their voices whenever he passed.
Some avoided eye contact entirely.
Others watched him from a distance, curiosity warring with unease.
Yorio noticed the change.
He did not understand it.
"…Did I break a rule?" he wondered quietly.
That evening, Vice Principal Aldren stood alone at his office window overlooking the academy grounds.
Students moved below like drifting lights.
Some shone brightly.
Others flickered.
All predictable.
Except one.
He glanced at the file on his desk.
Yorio.
No history of violence.
No signs of ambition.
No abnormal mana signature.
Yet somehow capable of incapacitating Astraea's top third-year.
"…What are you?" Aldren murmured.
Not with hostility.
With genuine uncertainty.
Because monsters were easier to handle than mysteries.
Behind him, the file lay open to a single, almost insignificant detail:
Psychological Evaluation: Reserved, non-aggressive, socially withdrawn.
Nothing about it suggested danger.
And yet…
His instincts refused to dismiss the boy.
Outside, dusk settled over Astraea Combat Academy.
Somewhere among the dormitories, Yorio sat at his desk, reading quietly, believing the day had ended without incident.
He did not know he was under observation.
Did not know teachers debated his nature.
Did not know students feared him.
He only knew one thing:
"…I hope tomorrow is normal."
But normal had already abandoned him.
Because once an institution like Astraea began watching someone…
…it rarely stopped.
To be continue