Arthur was beaming, bowing repeatedly to the guards while hissing at Caleb under his breath. "Don't just stand there! Catch up to that teacher! Follow them to the office so you don't get lost!"
Caleb felt a cold bead of sweat roll down his spine. He had zero desire to entangle himself with Silas or Julian. In his mind, protagonists were like lightning rods—staying too close during a storm was a fast track to becoming "cannon fodder." He didn't have a single spirit ring yet; he wasn't ready to pay the price of their heavy karma.
He kept his head down, clutching his bulky bundles of clothes and dried meat, and tried to slip past. But Silas's voice was like a cold hook, catching him before he could disappear into the courtyard.
"Boy. Come here. Let me see your certification."
Caleb stopped. There was no point in running—Silas had the authority of the academy behind him. He stepped forward and handed over the parchment, offering the name of the man who wrote it as a shield. "This was issued by Grandmaster Su Yuntao of Spirit Hall."
Caleb's mind raced. Silas only has half a rank of spirit power due to his own spirit's 'failed' mutation. If he sees my Rank 3 Blue Silver Grass, will he try to dissect me?
Silas took the paper. His eyes tracked across the words: Oakheart Village... Caleb... Mutated Blue Silver Grass... Rank 3. His expression tightened, his jaw setting into a hard line.
Silas had spent years studying 647 Blue Silver Grass possessors. Only sixteen had possessed any spirit power at all, and not one had exceeded Rank 1. He had built his entire "Ten Core Competencies" theory on the idea that Blue Silver Grass was too weak to mutate or sustain high power. It was this very logic that led him to conclude Julian must have Twin Spirits.
Now, Caleb's existence felt like a stinging slap to his face.
Su Yuntao... Silas thought bitterly. Everyone calls themselves 'Grandmaster' these days. To see a Rank 3 and immediately label it a 'mutation'... the standards of Spirit Hall are rotting. He looked at Caleb, his gaze cooling into a mixture of academic dismissal and thinly veiled pity. To Silas, Caleb was just a statistical anomaly—a lucky peasant with a bit of juice but a dead-end spirit. Without a powerful bloodline, he believed Caleb would never break through Rank 30. He had already found his "perfect" student in Julian; he had no room for a secondary, lesser experiment.
"It seems you have had a stroke of poor luck," Silas said, handing the paper back with an air of cold finality. "You have talent, but no guidance. Go. The Academic Affairs office is straight ahead. It's a long walk, but even you should be able to find it."
Caleb didn't wait for a second invitation. He snatched the paper, hoisted his bags, and disappeared into the campus at a brisk pace.
Julian watched him go, a flicker of curiosity in his dark eyes. "Teacher, he has 'Mutated' Blue Silver Grass. Is mutation really that common?"
Silas looked at Julian, his heart warming at the sight of his true disciple. A rare, stiff smile touched his lips. "Spirits are a legacy of blood, Julian. When a father and mother's spirits compete, the stronger usually wins. If they are equal, they clash and mutate. It can be a blessing or a curse."
He glanced in the direction Caleb had vanished, his voice firming with conviction. "But Blue Silver Grass is too frail to clash with anything. It cannot influence, and it cannot be influenced. That boy is merely a fluke of nature. He can cultivate, yes, but with your talent and my guidance, his ultimate achievements won't even be worthy of your shadow."
Julian nodded, the last trace of interest in Caleb fading. For the first time in two lives, someone truly recognized his worth. He felt a surge of loyalty to the stiff man beside him.
"Phew..."
Caleb let out a long, shaky breath once he was out of earshot. He didn't care about Silas's pity; in fact, he relished it. Pity meant he was being ignored, and being ignored meant he could grow in the shadows.
He followed the signs until he found the Academic Affairs Office. The teacher inside, a middle-aged man with a sharp nose, looked up from his ledger. His warm smile vanished the moment his eyes landed on Caleb's patched, dusty clothes.
Caleb presented his Spirit Hall certification and the "Work-Study" letter signed by the village heads. "Good afternoon, Teacher. I'm the new work-study student from Oakheart Village. Here to register."
The teacher scanned the documents. His eyebrows shot up at the "Rank 3" entry, but he said nothing, his pen scratching across the registration book.
"You're in Year One," the teacher said flatly. "Work-study students are assigned to Seven Dorm. Head there now to drop your things. You'll be responsible for cleaning a section of the campus; a supervisor will find you later to assign your shift. Tomorrow is the opening ceremony. Don't be late."
"Understood. Thank you, Teacher," Caleb said politely.
He stepped back out into the sun, his grip tightening on his bags. Seven Dorm. The place where the "boss" of the students reigned. He knew exactly who he was going to meet there, and he wondered if his Tenacity passive was ready for its first real test.