Running through the building was a young man in his combat uniform: a black top, belt, black trousers with huge pockets at the knees and sides, with rubber at the end that made it tighten, and a white canvas jacket complimenting his silver neck chain that swayed with every step he took.
"Damn... How did I wake up this late?!" he thought in shock, his mind racing as fast as his legs carried him down the seemingly endless corridor.
It really was strange how he woke up this late. And no matter how much he thought about it, this definitely had something to do with the transformation his body was undergoing. The changes weren't just physical—they were seeping into every aspect of 'him'! It was changing him in ways he really hoped wouldn't come to destroy what he was entirely. His appearance had already taken a 180-degree flip and now he looked like someone else entirely. Gone were his blue eyes. Gone was his slightly tanned skin from training back when he first became a student of the academy, naively thinking training his ass off on a daily basis would yield something worthwhile. And then there was the undeniable increase in height—nearly six inches overnight! How was he even supposed to explain this to people who knew him?
The hallways seemed different now too, lower somehow, as if the world itself had shrunk around his new frame. Every mirror he passed showed a stranger's reflection, and the disorientation was enough to make his stomach churn.
Well, he owed no one in the academy an explanation, so anyone in here taking notice of these changes was none of his concern. Well… except the professors. At least the ones who were involved in the investigation regarding what really happened to the lab. So that was a really big problem if they began attributing these changes to the incident at the lab, and at this point he had a feeling that Professor Einer, the professor in charge of alchemy—at least for the second year students—was also a part of the investigation.
Professor Einer. Just thinking the name made his jaw clench involuntarily. If anyone would notice the changes, it would be him.
In fact, it was stupid to even think he wasn't part of the investigation in the first place, considering who that man was, and how obsessed he was with the 'unexplainable.' The professor lived and breathed mysteries. He would definitely be trying to understand what exactly led to the vaporization of the labs.
"!" Suddenly he recalled something and in that instant, his blood turned to ice water in his veins.
He ceased running, his sneakers squeaking against the polished floor as momentum carried him forward a few more steps.
"Wasn't I supposed to get some scans done at the lab yesterday?" he asked no one but himself. The realization hit him like a physical blow—he might have just fucked himself over completely. He had blatantly disregarded the instruction of the professor, and that, THAT was a very big issue considering how reliant he was on the scores he got from written exams. What if the man intentionally fails him?
The academy's grading system was ruthless, unforgiving. One wrong move, one perceived slight could destroy months of careful academic maneuvering.
'CRAP!' He held his head, his teeth grinding as he looked around the empty hallway. This was a really problematic situation. In fact, the professor must have at this point termed his action a show of DISRESPECT, and would most likely not approach him for it anymore. Instead, he would get him back for it where it hurt the most—his grades.
'I have to do something…. Do I apologize? Tsk, no, the bastards in this academy are too petty… and that bastard always had it out for me.' He walked slowly, biting his nails as he thought carefully about his next course of action. The taste of anxiety was metallic on his tongue, mixing with the lingering effects of whatever was happening to his body.
He would be an absolute idiot to not have realized that the professor in charge of ether resonance never liked him from day one. The man's distaste was palpable, radiating from him like heat from a furnace whenever their eyes met in class. He had even once reported to the principal his suspicions of his scores being intentionally reduced, though that complaint had been dismissed with the kind of bureaucratic indifference that the academy specialized in.
He wasn't an idiot. Never was.
His mind had always been his greatest weapon in this place where strength ruled everything else. Intelligence was his shield against the brutality of academy life, his way of surviving when his fists couldn't protect him.
So, he knew when someone targeted him. The signs were always there—the lingering looks, the harder questions during oral exams, the way his papers seemed to take longer to grade than everyone else's. But the question was, why? Why did the professor seem to have a problem with him? It was for this very reason his scores for last semester were completely off the mark. It was as though he didn't write one of the exams, and that greatly brought him down, all the way to thirty-third in the class ranking.
He never depended on combat exams for points—those were for the naturally gifted, the ones born with silver spoons and golden genetics. Those were real point bringers for students who could afford to be mediocre in academics. So he could only make sure to max out all the written exams to make up for his shortcomings in practical application. That's why he knew very well something wasn't right when he stared at his results that day, the paper trembling in his hands as the numbers refused to make sense.
After detailed analysis, he realized where the problem was. Ether resonance. That one subject had tanked his entire academic standing.
"HEY! SON OF A BITCH!" The loud scream cut through his thoughts like a knife through silk.
He looked up to see a young man with blond hair and green eyes staring right at him, and in that instant, he frowned.
"Lungris," he muttered under his breath.
Lungris was once… well, a friend. When he first got into the academy, he had made four friends. One of which was Lungris. It was what the young man did to him that made him realize the bitter truth about being powerless in this academy.
The weak had no friends here. Trust no one. Those weren't just words—they were survival mantras, written in his own blood and betrayal.
"I was sent out of combat class… to find your shitting ass, and here you are thinking about your worthless existence?!" Lungris began running forward, his face a portrait of anger and disgust. It was clear he found the context of being sent to fetch him extremely disgusting, and was going to pull out his frustration on him. His eyes held that familiar glint—the look of someone who enjoyed causing pain to those weaker than themselves.
The academy had turned Lungris into this. Or maybe it had simply revealed what he always was underneath the friendly facade.
Well, Kaeden wasn't really surprised by this violent display. After all, after that day Lungris betrayed him, the bastard became one of his worst nightmares. The golden-haired boy had found his true calling as a predator, and Kaeden had become his favorite prey.
In an instant, Lungris appeared before him, a hand swinging for a punch, ether enhanced. The air around his fist shimmered with barely contained energy, promising a world of pain.
'Crap!' Kaeden panicked. Being used to pain didn't mean he liked it. His body tensed, preparing for the familiar symphony of agony that always followed these encounters.
'Wait—'
Something was different. Time seemed to slow, or maybe his perception had sharpened. He could see the trajectory of the punch, could read the micro-expressions on Lungris's face, could predict the angle of impact with startling clarity.
He sidestepped.
Whoosh!
The punch sailed past his face, missing by mere inches. The displaced air ruffled his hair, but the fist that should have connected with his jaw found only empty space.
'Huh?' He frowned, watching as confusion flickered across Lungris's features. It was as though Lungris had… slowed down. Or maybe he had sped up?
"How?!" Lungris's eyes widened as he realized he missed his mark, and then he spun around with practiced violence. His elbow reached for Kaeden's jaw in a move that should have been impossible to avoid, but somehow… he stepped back.
The movement felt natural, instinctive, as if his body knew what to do before his mind could process the threat.
'How am I doing th—?' He wanted to question this newfound ability, but then he remembered. The pieces clicked together like a puzzle solving itself.
The experiment. The night everything went wrong. The rats in their cages, writhing and changing as their DNA was exposed to the samples. They had shown visible changes after he exposed their genetic material to whatever eldritch substance he had been working with. Does this mean the DNA of whatever he was experimenting on had affected his genetic makeup?
The thought should have terrified him, but instead, he felt a strange thrill of possibility.
He looked at Lungris, really looked at him, and spotted a weak spot in his posture. The bully's stance was sloppy, overconfident, leaving his left leg weakly positioned and vulnerable. Without thinking, he kicked.
"…Fuck!" A cry of pain.
But it wasn't Lungris.
It was Kaeden's.
His own leg erupted in agony, the impact sending shockwaves of pain up his shin. It felt like he had kicked a steel beam instead of flesh and bone.
Well, it seems he was still weak. Enhanced perception apparently didn't come with enhanced durability. The irony wasn't lost on him—he could see the attacks coming now, but he still couldn't do anything meaningful about them.
Some things, it seemed, never changed.