Black fire.
The moment the flame bloomed from his palm, the entire hall seemed to exhale.
A sharp, collective breath—one held unconsciously—was finally released.
There it was.
Exactly as they had seen it during the entrance exam broadcast. The same black fire, strange and silent, laced with hints of violet that shimmered along its edges like bruised starlight. It didn't roar. It didn't flicker with instability. It hovered—steady, unnerving in its stillness, as though obeying something deeper than mere mana.
But as the awe settled… doubt crept in.
You could see it in the glances traded between students, in the furrowed brows of instructors, in the way admiration quickly twisted into something more skeptical—defensive.
"…I told you, no one can be that strong—"
"—it's too consistent, can't be natural—"
"—what, you think he has an artifact? That bastard—"
"I knew it. That commoner Lucavion—he must have been cheating."
The words came sharp, bitter.
