Rafe didn't plan to leave his room that morning.
The Academy planned otherwise.
A sharp chime echoed through the corridor, followed by a neutral, emotionless voice.
"Unassigned candidate Rafe. Report to Auxiliary Hall Three."
Rafe exhaled slowly.
So much for staying unnoticed.
When he stepped outside, the air felt different. Students lined the walkways in small groups, conversations halting as he passed. Some stared openly. Others pretended not to look.
Whispers followed him anyway.
"That's the Unassigned—"
"He's the one the gate hesitated on."
"Is he dangerous?"
Rafe kept walking.
Not faster.Not slower.
Neutral.
Auxiliary Hall Three was a wide, circular chamber with elevated seating. About thirty students were already there—mostly Combat and Tactical categories. A few Support students lingered near the edges.
Eiden Valcrest stood near the center.
Of course he did.
He noticed Rafe immediately and smiled like a predator spotting movement in tall grass.
Instructor Dhal emerged from a side door. Tall, broad-shouldered, with scars running openly along his arms, he radiated blunt authority.
"Listen up," Dhal said. "This session is about pressure response."
His gaze landed on Rafe.
"And today, we test the variable."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the hall.
Rafe stopped three steps inside the circle.
Dhal gestured.
"Stand there."
Rafe complied.
Dhal didn't explain further. He simply raised his hand.
The air thickened.
Mana pressure flooded the chamber—raw, unrefined, overwhelming. Some students staggered back immediately. Others gritted their teeth and endured.
Rafe felt it crash against him like a wave.
Instinct screamed.
Compress.
He slipped into the Unassigned state.
The pressure dulled instantly.
Rafe's outline seemed to blur—not visually, but conceptually. The mana washed around him instead of through him.
Gasps echoed.
"What—?"
"He disappeared—no, he's still there—"
Dhal's eyes sharpened.
"Well," the instructor rumbled. "That's new."
He increased the pressure.
Rafe's vision narrowed.
Pain flared behind his eyes—sharper than before.
He held the state.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
The ache became a spike.
His thoughts slowed dangerously, like wading through thick mud.
Dhal smiled faintly.
"Good. You resist by shrinking."
He raised his other hand.
The pressure doubled.
Rafe's knees buckled.
A thin line of blood slipped from his nose.
Mara's voice echoed faintly in his head.
Don't be stupid.
He dropped the state.
The pressure slammed into him fully.
Rafe gasped and dropped to one knee, coughing hard.
The room snapped back to normal.
Students stared.
Some impressed.Some afraid.Some satisfied.
Dhal lowered his hands.
"You see?" the instructor said. "Compression isn't immunity. It's avoidance."
Rafe wiped the blood from his lip and stood slowly.
"And avoidance fails," Dhal continued, "when the pressure becomes unavoidable."
Eiden stepped forward, eyes bright.
"So if we just overwhelm him, he breaks?"
Dhal didn't answer immediately.
He looked at Rafe instead.
"You tell me."
Rafe met his gaze.
"…Eventually."
Dhal laughed once.
"Honest. I like that."
He turned to the class.
"Lesson over. Remember this: power isn't just what you can do. It's what you can endure."
Students began filing out, voices buzzing with excitement.
Eiden lingered.
As Rafe turned to leave, Eiden blocked his path.
"You're hiding," Eiden said quietly. "That won't save you forever."
Rafe looked at the blood on his fingers.
"Neither will showing off."
Eiden's smile thinned.
"We'll see."
Rafe stepped past him.
His head throbbed violently now. Each step sent a dull pulse through his skull.
He didn't look back.
But he felt it.
Eyes watching.Instructors calculating.The Academy learning.
And deep inside, the Unassigned state pressed faintly against his awareness—no longer just a tool.
A temptation.
A shortcut.
One that demanded more of him every time.