The following week, the grand courtyard of Lavatorian Academy transformed into a battleground — not of swords or spells, but of ideals. Colorful banners hung from the tall marble pillars, each bearing the crest or symbol of a candidate. Students gathered in small groups, arguing passionately, handing out flyers, and displaying magical illusions to showcase their leaders' promises.
The Student Council Campaign had officially begun.
For the nobles, it was a chance to strengthen their influence. For the royals, a stage to display their elegance and authority.
But for the commoners, it was a rare chance to prove they belonged among the powerful.
And at the center of that hope stood Sam.
He wasn't used to attention — wherever he went, students whispered: "That's the boy who healed Duke Arvane's daughter."
"Isn't he just a commoner? How did he get so strong?"
"He's probably backed by someone powerful…"
Sam ignored the rumors. He didn't care about politics — not truly. But when he looked at the group of commoners who had placed their trust in him, he knew he couldn't just step back.
Lucy often met with him to guide him through speeches and discussions. She was gentle but precise, teaching him how to express himself in front of the students.
"Sam," she said one evening, sitting with him in the garden under the golden light of dusk, "strength alone won't win this. You need to show them your heart — what you stand for."
Sam nodded, though part of him still struggled to understand how words could hold as much weight as power. "I'll try," he said softly. "But… do you really think we can win against Alana Rainheart?"
Lucy smiled faintly. "If this were only about wealth, maybe not. But people are starting to see something in you — something even Alana can't buy."
Before Sam could respond, a shadow moved across the courtyard. A faint, mocking laugh followed.
"Talking about me again, are we?"
Alana stepped forward, her silver-blue hair gleaming under the setting sun. Her sharp eyes looked between Lucy and Sam with an expression that was both graceful and condescending.
"Ah, the hero of the commoners," she said sweetly. "How noble of you to play leader. I almost believed your little story about 'equality.'"
Sam met her gaze calmly. "At least I don't treat people like pawns."
Her smile faltered for a second, then sharpened again. "Careful, commoner. You might be the Duke's little favorite, but that doesn't make you untouchable. I'll enjoy watching you fall."
Lucy stood up, her expression turning cold. "That's enough, Alana. This is a campaign, not a battlefield."
Alana tilted her head slightly, her tone playful but her eyes venomous. "Oh, but it is, dear Lucy. You'll see soon enough who truly belongs here."
She turned away, her attendants following her like shadows, leaving behind a tension that lingered in the air.
Sam exhaled slowly. "She's dangerous."
Lucy nodded. "Yes. And she doesn't lose easily. Be careful, Sam. She'll do anything to break her rivals — especially those she can't control."
The days passed quickly. The academy filled with debates, speeches, and magical showcases designed to earn the students' favor.
Sam's group, though small at first, began to grow. More commoners joined them — students who were tired of being ignored, who wanted to believe in something more than noble pride.
They built a small stage in the courtyard, where Sam gave his first public speech.
He stood before the crowd, nervous but steady, his voice carrying through the air:
"We all came to this academy for the same reason — to learn, to grow, and to become stronger. But somewhere along the way, we were divided. Nobles above, commoners below. That's not strength. That's fear. True strength… is when we rise together."
The students murmured, some nodding, others watching in silence. Even the royal siblings, observing from the balcony, exchanged a look of quiet approval.
For a moment, the sun broke through the clouds, lighting Sam's figure in a soft glow — and for those who saw it, it almost looked like his shadow flickered with golden light.
Meanwhile, inside one of the upper towers, Alana Rainheart watched through her enchanted mirror. Her lips curled into a cold smile.
"So he can inspire people now," she whispered. "Let's see if he can still speak when everything he built starts to crumble."
She turned to her assistant. "Send word to my father. Tell him it's time we use our… influence."
The assistant bowed. "As you wish, Lady Alana."
The mirror shimmered once more, showing Sam shaking hands with commoners, unaware that his first true political battle had already begun — not on the stage, but in the shadows.
Lavatorian Academy was alive with chatter and whispers. The campaign had only just begun, yet the atmosphere was already thick with tension — banners fluttering in the wind, voices echoing across the courtyard, and unseen eyes watching every move.
At the top of the East Tower, far above the busy crowd, Alana Rainheart stood by her balcony, a crystal goblet in her hand. Her silver-blue hair shimmered faintly under the moonlight, and her eyes — sharp, calculating, cold — were fixed on the courtyard below, where Sam spoke with a group of students.
"How fascinating," she murmured softly. "A commoner gaining this much attention."
Her attendant, a slim man dressed in black and gold, bowed slightly. "Should I arrange for someone to keep an eye on him, Lady Alana?"
Alana smirked. "Already done. But mere eyes aren't enough. We'll show the academy what happens when someone steps out of their place."
She turned away, the folds of her elegant gown whispering against the marble floor.
"Begin with the usual — rumors, forged evidence, small disruptions. I want his supporters doubting him before the end of the week."
"As you command."
The first strike came quietly.
During one of Sam's practice sessions, the arena floor beneath him suddenly shifted — an illusion spell that distorted depth and balance. Before he could react, a burst of energy shot from the side, narrowly missing his shoulder.
The instructor halted the test immediately, suspecting sabotage, but no one could trace the spell's origin.
Whispers spread through the academy.
"Did you hear? Someone attacked the Duke's guest."
"Or maybe he faked it himself to gain sympathy."
"He's not one of us — why trust him?"
Even the commoners who once admired him began to hesitate.
Lucy noticed the change first. One evening, she found Sam alone in the training grounds, staring at his hands, his pendant glowing faintly in the dim light.
"Sam," she called softly. "You shouldn't train alone this late."
He looked up, the usual calmness in his eyes replaced by quiet frustration. "It's fine. I just… need to stay focused."
Lucy stepped closer. "You're being targeted, aren't you?"
Sam didn't answer immediately. "Maybe. But whoever's behind this… they're careful. Too careful."
Lucy frowned. "Then you have to be careful too. Promise me."
Sam gave a small smile. "I will." But his mind whispered something else entirely — "I can't promise that."
The second strike came sharper.
Two days later, a sealed letter arrived at the Headmaster's office.
Inside was a document claiming that Sam had cheated in his magical evaluation — using forbidden techniques to forge the golden flame. The seal bore the insignia of one of the elite noble families — the Rainhearts.
When word reached the students, the atmosphere in the academy shifted again.
"I knew it," one whispered. "No commoner could summon that kind of magic."
"He must've stolen it somehow."
The accusations reached even Professor Irius, who was torn between his duty and his faith in Sam's integrity. He called Sam privately, asking for his side of the story.
Sam only said one thing — his voice calm but heavy.
"If proving myself means starting over, then I'll do it."
Meanwhile, in her private study, Alana listened to the rumors unfold, each report making her smile grow colder.
Her assistant entered, bowing deeply. "Everything is going according to plan, Lady Alana. The commoners are losing faith in him."
"Good," she said. "But that's not enough. I want to break his spirit. The contest is in two months — and by then, I want him forgotten."
The assistant hesitated. "There is one problem… Princess Lyra seems to be keeping an eye on him. If she interferes—"
"Then I'll remind her that even royals have weaknesses," Alana said, her tone like ice. "And I know exactly which one to use."
That night, the moonlight filtered through the academy's windows, casting long shadows across the floor.
In his dorm, Sam sat silently, staring at his pendant. It pulsed faintly, as though responding to the turmoil inside him.
Then, softly — a whisper echoed.
"They fear you… because they sense what you truly are."
Sam's eyes darkened for a brief moment, the shadow flickering across the walls before fading again. He clenched his fist.
"No," he muttered. "Not now. I'll prove them wrong. Not with darkness — but with light."
Unseen outside his window, a faint blue shimmer rippled in the air — Alana's
surveillance spell, watching his every move.
She smirked faintly as her magic relayed his voice to her crystal mirror.
"Prove them wrong, if you can… Sam."
The image in the mirror flickered — then faded into darkness.
To be continued…