The ancient library stretched endlessly beneath vaulted ceilings, its towering shelves lined with books bound in gold, crimson, and deep violet. The musty scent of aged parchment filled the air, but Simon barely noticed as he walked between the rows, his steps unsteady.
He hadn't spoken a word since the courtyard incident.
No. Not intruders, Simon thought, correcting himself. That word doesn't fit.
They had walked into the conflict like they belonged there—like they had every right to be there. Meanwhile, everyone else had moved like mere spectators in their own academy.
Dark Comet.
The name echoed in his mind. That's what the armed figure had said when he'd identified himself. Simon repeated it over and over, desperately hoping it would trigger some memory—anything at all. But nothing came.
Not from the game he'd once played. Not from his previous life on Earth. Not from this world he now inhabited.
His hands were still trembling.
He passed two nobles huddled over spell charts and a third-year student half-asleep atop alchemy scrolls. None paid him any attention, which was exactly what he needed right now.
Spotting the one person who might help ground him, Simon made his way toward the eastern archway where Hunter sat cross-legged in perfect meditation posture. Books and magical diagrams were arranged in neat rows around him, while a faintly glowing water crystal hovered above his palm, rotating slowly as he concentrated.
"Hey," Simon said quietly, not wanting to startle him.
Hunter's eyes opened, immediately focusing on Simon's face. "It seems like you finally escaped Alexander and his goons."
"Yea, I guess."
Simon collapsed into the chair across from his friend, exhaustion weighing down his limbs.
Hunter studied him for a long moment before sitting back. "What happened out there?"
"There was a fight," Simon began, then paused. How could he even begin to explain? "Liam, Alexander and his gang. Sylvara was there too, trying to keep the peace."
"Let me guess—Alexander started it?" Hunter's tone carried the weary familiarity of someone who'd seen this pattern before.
Simon didn't answer directly. The truth was more complicated than that.
"You look seriously messed up, though. What really happened?" Hunter pressed, his concern evident.
Simon hesitated. Even now, he wasn't sure how to process what he'd witnessed, let alone explain it to someone else.
"There were three of them," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "They appeared out of nowhere—like they materialized from shadows. Full dark plated armor, but no insignia or identifying marks. One of them carried a... weapon."
Hunter raised an eyebrow. "What kind of weapon? Staff? Enchanted blade?"
Simon opened his mouth
"A gun."
Hunter blinked in confusion. "A what?"
Shit. The word had slipped out too easily—a remnant from his old world that had no place here.
"I mean—it looked like a weird wand, kind of," Simon quickly corrected. "Compact, metallic, covered in runic etchings. But it wasn't a staff or sword. He pointed it at Alexander and... everything just stopped. The entire courtyard went dead silent."
Hunter frowned, clearly unfamiliar with the term. "That doesn't sound like any spellcasting tool I've encountered. Some kind of new channeling relic, maybe?"
"No." Simon shook his head firmly.
Hunter fell silent for a moment, processing this information.
"You said they wore dark plated armor?"
"Yeah."
"Did they identify themselves? Give a name or show any crest?"
"They did. The one with that weapon—he said they were from the Dark Comet."
Hunter's eyes narrowed slightly.
"I've heard that name before," Hunter said after a moment of consideration. "My father mentioned them once, though he was careful about it. They're not public military, but they definitely exist. Some kind of specialized unit that answers directly to the Crown. Not knights, not court mages. Just... operatives."
"So they're actually real?" Simon felt a mixture of relief and dread.
Hunter nodded gravely. "Real enough that people don't talk about them openly. From what I understand, they're only deployed for high-priority threats. Wars, assassination plots, magical catastrophes—that level of severity."
Simon leaned back in his chair, processing this revelation. His heart was still pounding from the encounter.
"But that raises an important question," Hunter continued, his voice dropping lower. "Why would the Dark Comet be at the academy?"
"I don't know," Simon replied, which was technically true.
But he didn't mention how Liam had recognized them instantly. Or the expression that had crossed Alexander's face the moment that weapon was raised. He wasn't ready to voice his suspicions yet.
The thought lingered anyway: Alexander knew exactly what that weapon was, even if no one else did.
Hunter studied Simon's troubled expression for a moment, then leaned back with a slight smirk. "Look, whatever this is about, it's not our problem," he said, his tone deliberately lighter. "I mean, knowing Alexander and his goons, they probably deserved whatever scare they got."
"Come on, you've seen them in action. Alexander thinks he's the protagonist of some epic saga, Elian's basically his yes-man sidekick, and Alvin just goes along with whatever they're doing." Hunter gestured vaguely. "Honestly, I'm surprised it took this long for actual professionals to show up and tell them to sit down."
If only it were that simple, Simon thought. The way those operatives had moved, the way everyone had frozen... it hadn't felt like a simple disciplinary intervention.
"Besides," Hunter continued, "we don't even know what they are here for. Could have been investigating something else entirely—maybe checking on academy security or whatever—and just happened to walk into the world's most awkward fight."
Hunter seemed to catch his skeptical expression. "Look, the academy administration will handle whatever this is about. They're not going to tell us students what's really going on anyway—you know how these things work. They'll probably just say it was a 'routine security assessment' or some bureaucratic nonsense."
And that's exactly what I'm worried about, Simon thought. The idea that they'd be kept in the dark while something potentially dangerous was happening made his stomach churn.
"Hey, you're still shaking," Hunter observed, then reached into his satchel with a more serious tone. "Here," he said, tossing a red-orange crystal across the table. "Try channeling again. Might help clear your head—and honestly, after dealing with Alexander's protagonist complex, we could all use some stress relief. You're fire-affinity, right?"
Simon caught it instinctively. "Yeah."
"You already know the fundamentals. Just breathe deeply, draw the mana from your core to your palm, and focus on forming the ring."
Simon closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. He reached inward, pulling the familiar heat from his chest, and tried to shape it according to his academy training.
A circle of runes began to shimmer in his mind's eye—
Then snapped apart like a broken chain.
He tried again, this time with more focus and control.
The glow didn't even begin to form.
Hunter leaned forward, studying Simon's face. "Still not stabilizing?"
"No. Nothing."
"Let me guess—it always fizzles out before the ring completes?"
"Every single time."
Hunter sat back, arms crossed in thought. "Your control isn't the issue. I can sense that your channeling technique is clean. So what's interfering with your core?"
Simon hesitated, the words feeling heavy in his throat.
"I think... it's me."
Hunter blinked in surprise.
Simon stared down at the dull crystal in his hand, its surface reflecting nothing but his own failure.
He hadn't allowed himself to think about her in weeks—not since that night when he'd clicked on the fox icon and everything had changed.
His sister.
The hospital room with its sterile white walls and constant beeping of machines.
The way she'd laughed while playing that stupid game, even as the cancer ate away at her strength.
He had tried to bury those memories; to pretend he was just here to survive in this new world. That this magical academy was all that mattered now.
But the grief had never truly left. It just dulled to a constant ache, burning beneath the surface like coals that refused to die completely.
"Trauma affects mana flow," Hunter said suddenly, his voice gentle but clinical. "At least that's what Professor Veltor explained last month. It's especially pronounced for elemental types like fire magic. Emotion feeds the output directly. If those emotions are locked up or conflicted—"
"The magic collapses," Simon finished, understanding flooding through him.
Hunter nodded solemnly.
Simon looked down at his palm again, finally comprehending the true scope of his problem.
It's not just the curse affecting my magic. It's the fact that I'm still fundamentally broken inside.
Neither of them spoke for several minutes, the weight of this revelation settling between them.
Eventually, Hunter gestured toward the crystal. "Try again tomorrow, when your head's clearer. Sometimes these things just need time."
Simon nodded slowly, though he wasn't sure time alone would be enough.
He didn't know what was worse—the fact that he couldn't cast magic, or finally understanding the real reason why.