The rain hadn't stopped.
It had softened, becoming a whisper against the academy's rooftops—a quiet rhythm that matched the pulse of Lee Shin's thoughts.
Class D resumed as if nothing had changed.
The duel with Min Ji-Hoon was already fading into rumor—some called it a fluke, others a trick. But Shin didn't care. Attention was dangerous, and whispers were harmless compared to the shadows that once hunted him.
He arrived early, as always. The classroom was empty save for the faint hum of mana conduits embedded in the walls. He sat by the window, eyes half-closed, listening to the rain. It sounded almost like breathing.
Almost like his old battlefield nights—when silence followed bloodshed.
When the others filed in, laughter returned. Ji-Hoon walked stiffly, his ribs still sore, but his pride louder than ever.
"Don't think you're special," Ji-Hoon muttered when their eyes met. "You got lucky once. Next time, you'll crawl."
Shin didn't reply. He didn't need to. His calm silence infuriated Ji-Hoon more than any retort.
Instructor Rho entered, robes damp from the rain. "Settle down. We're continuing with mana resonance theory. Those who fail today's test will clean mana ducts for a week."
Groans filled the air. But Shin's mind was elsewhere.
As Rho lectured, he felt the faint warmth of the ring under his sleeve again. Its rhythm—steady, alive—beat against his wrist like a second heart.
Every time he focused on it, his senses sharpened. He could hear the soft hiss of mana through the academy's circuits, feel the life-force inside every stone. It was intoxicating… and dangerous.
Rho's voice faded into the background.
In its place came another, faint and hollow, whispering from within the ring itself:
"Awaken… Ryu Min-Seok…"
His breath caught. The name again.
He pressed his hand to his chest, forcing his mana to still. No one else noticed—the others were too busy copying diagrams from the board.
When class ended, Shin didn't leave immediately. He waited until the room emptied, then stood before the mana conduit glowing faintly in the corner. The same hum he'd heard in battle once long ago echoed faintly inside his mind. He raised his hand toward the conduit—then stopped.
A hand grabbed his wrist.
"Don't."
It was Instructor Rho. His eyes were sharp. "You're trying to resonate with the conduit, aren't you?"
Shin met his gaze silently. "...Just testing something."
Rho frowned. "At your current rank, forcing resonance could destroy your mana veins. Don't test things you don't understand."
If only he knew.
That night, Shin returned to his dorm, body heavy, mind alive. The rain had turned to mist again, creeping along the stone paths. His dorm room was small—bare walls, one desk, one bed. But quiet. Safe.
He sat cross-legged, closing his eyes.
His mana flowed weakly, barely a flicker. But when he focused on the ring, it flared—strong, ancient, hungry.
His vision shifted.
He was standing in darkness.
And before him… an illusion—a faint outline of a woman in silver armor, her face hidden by mist.
"The cycle continues," the voice murmured.
"The ring binds fate, and fate remembers its debt."
The vision shattered. Shin gasped, clutching his chest, sweat beading his brow.
The ring gleamed faintly—three runes now visible along its surface, glowing like embers.
Someone knocked on his door.
He froze.
"Hey, Lee Shin!"
It was Jae-Min, one of the quieter students from Class D.
"You coming to dinner or what? The cafeteria's running out of stew again."
Shin took a breath, letting the illusion fade. "...Yeah. Coming."
He slipped on his coat and followed, the sound of rain still whispering against the windows.
Behind him, on his desk, the ring pulsed once—softly, rhythmically, alive.
In the reflection of the window, a faint shadow moved—like someone watching.
The Shadow Hand.
They hadn't forgotten him.
But neither had he.
Let them come.
He glanced at the storm outside and smirked faintly.
"Let's see who breaks first."
The rain answered with another rumble of thunder.