He could feel Sheppard's attention on him: measuring, amused in a way that never reached a smile.
Julian reached for the sealed case and placed his hand on it. He didn't break the seal again yet. Not in front of everyone. Not like a greedy kid tearing open a gift.
He simply claimed it. The judge nodded once, recording the handoff.
"Candidate Ashford." he said. "You will finalize the inventory and registration through the administration office."
Julian inclined his head again. "Understood."
Dorian made a sound. Half laugh, half choke, as if the reality of the case leaving him finally made the rest of it real.
He turned his head sharply, looking toward the staff members like he might bolt. He didn't.
Because even he understood, on some deep instinctual level, that running would only make it worse. The staff moved in, one on either side of him. They didn't grab him. They didn't need to.
Dorian's shoulders were stiff as boards as he was guided toward the stairs. He didn't look at the crowd. He didn't look at Julian again.
But Julian could feel the humiliation radiating off him anyway, thick and hot like a fever.
As Dorian was escorted down, a few Obelisk boys in the stands rose as well. Faces tight, eyes burning with anger and fear. Teachers and staff approached them with the same calm efficiency.
No shouting, no grappling. Just adults turning the gears of consequence.
Slifer students started whispering excitedly among themselves.
"Did you see that?"
"They're getting sent down!"
"They're gonna have to live with us!"
"Please tell me they have to wear red jackets…"
Jaden covered his mouth like he was trying not to laugh too hard out of respect, but his eyes were bright.
Bastion's expression was unreadable, but his posture had softened—relief tucked inside calculation.
Alexis leaned forward, gaze sharp, watching Sheppard and the staff more than the punished students.
Jasmine's jaw was set in something like grim satisfaction. Mindy looked half delighted, half furious, as if she couldn't decide whether to laugh or spit.
And Syrus…
Syrus was staring. Not at Dorian, or even Sheppard. At Julian. Like he couldn't quite believe the world and the system was letting something like this happen. Something that was deemed impossible amidst the corruption and the power of influential families.
Julian didn't react outwardly. He kept his hand on the case, posture composed. But inside, something that had been clenched since yesterday loosened, even if a fraction of an inch.
Not because the punishment fixed what had happened. Nothing would ever fix that. But because it mattered, deeply, that the academy had, even for a moment, drawn a line and called cruelty what it was.
Sheppard turned his attention back to the platform, and the arena quieted in his wake.
"There will be no further announcement today regarding punishments." he said.
He paused. His gaze moved, almost casually, toward the red section of the stands, towards Syrus. The pause was subtle, but it was there. Then Sheppard continued, as if it meant nothing, as if a man like him didn't allow meaning to become visible.
"And finally…" he said, voice still calm, "A dormitory assignment review has been completed for one additional student."
The crowd shifted again. Confusion rippled. Julian felt his own pulse jump, just once, sharp. He already knew, on instinct, that this wasn't for him. His promotion had been confirmed. This was something else. Sheppard spoke the name clearly.
"Syrus Truesdale."
For a heartbeat, the entire arena froze as if the air had been held in someone's fist. Syrus didn't move. His mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out.
Jaden's head snapped toward him.
"What?" he mouthed, eyes wide.
Bastion's brows rose a fraction. Alexis' gaze sharpened. Mindy blinked hard. Jasmine's lips pressed into a tight line. Sheppard's voice continued, even, formal.
"Your theoretical evaluations and academic performance have consistently met the standards for Ra Yellow dormitory. You had a 74 in your theoretical exams in admission." he said. "Previous practical assessments indicated difficulty under pressure. Yesterday's incidents and subsequent review have demonstrated measurable improvement in your performance under duress and decision-making integrity."
Julian's eyes flicked to Syrus now. The boy looked like he'd been struck. Not hurt, but stunned. As if the floor had vanished and he was still waiting to land.
Sheppard did not soften the words with comfort. He didn't say I'm sorry for what you endured. He didn't say you're brave. He didn't say this is compensation.
Because that would turn it into a reward for suffering.
Instead, he kept it framed as what it was: An earned promotion, for rising above his limitation when the rest of his skills already deemed him worthy..
"Effective immediately…" Sheppard said. "You are approved for promotion to Ra Yellow dormitory."
The arena erupted. Not just noise, but the sheer power of reaction.
Slifer students shouted in delight, half proud and half furious on Syrus' behalf. Ra students clapped and cheered politely. Even some Obelisk students looked shocked, because it wasn't just a promotion, it was a public statement.
Syrus didn't stand. He couldn't. His hands trembled in his lap. He stared forward like his eyes couldn't focus on reality fast enough.
Jaden leaned over him, grabbing his shoulders.
"Dude! Syrus!" Jaden whispered urgently, voice bright with disbelief. "You did it! You're going to Ra!"
Syrus swallowed. Hard.
"I… I didn't…" he started, and his voice cracked.
Julian watched, expression controlled, and felt something unexpectedly sharp in his chest.
Syrus had wanted to be Ra since the day he arrived. Not because he wanted power.
Because he wanted proof. Proof that he wasn't just baggage, just a shadow behind someone stronger.
Now the proof was being delivered in front of everyone, and Syrus looked like he didn't know whether to accept it or run from it.
Sheppard's gaze remained forward.
"The assignment will be processed through dorm administration." he said. "Your jacket authorization will be issued within the day."
Syrus' shoulders trembled again. Jaden was still gripping him like he could physically anchor him to the moment.
Bastion exhaled through his nose, expression unreadable, but there was something like pride in the set of his mouth.
Alexis watched Syrus with a kind of softened intensity. Recognition in her eyes, as if she finally understood, in a visceral way, what the male side of the academy demanded.
Mindy's eyes glinted. Jasmine's jaw remained tight, but her gaze had warmed.
Julian kept his face neutral.
He didn't smile or clap. Not because he wasn't happy.
Because he knew Syrus would see a smile and interpret it as pity. Or as "I planned this." Or as "It's okay now."
And Julian refused to let Syrus feel small in the moment he finally got to stand taller.
Instead, Julian did something else.
He lifted the sealed case slightly, just enough to signal he still had it, and looked toward the red section.
Syrus met his eyes, still stunned.
Julian's mouth moved, silent at this distance. "After."
Syrus blinked, then nodded faintly.
The platform began clearing. Sheppard turned as if to leave, but his gaze flicked once toward Julian. Brief, deliberate.
It wasn't a command. It was a reminder. Come by my office.
Julian inclined his head almost imperceptibly.
Sheppard stepped away without another word, disappearing into the staff movement at the side aisle. The judge began issuing routine instructions. Staff moved to reset the platform for the next match. The arena's noise began to surge back into normal rhythms.
But Julian could feel the atmosphere had changed anyway.
The academy had watched one of its golden boys fall.
And it had watched one of its smallest red jackets rise.
Julian lifted the case by the handle and stepped down from the platform, moving toward the aisle that led to his friends.
The crowd parted for him more readily now, not with warmth, but with something like uncertainty. The same students who had whispered about him fainting now watched him as if recalculating.
Chazz's entourage stared openly. Chazz himself wore a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. He looked less amused now and more… thoughtful.
Zane Truesdale remained seated, posture unchanged. His gaze followed Julian for a brief moment, then drifted away again as if filing the outcome under 'confirmed'.
Julian reached the rail where his friends sat.
Jaden stood up immediately, arms spreading like he was about to crush Julian in a hug.
Julian raised one hand, flat, a silent don't, and Jaden froze mid-motion, then laughed awkwardly.
"Right." Jaden muttered. "Serious moment. Cool. Got it."
Bastion's eyes were intense.
"That Quarantine play…" he started, then stopped, as if he wasn't sure whether to praise the duel or talk about the boy beside him.
Alexis spoke first, voice controlled.
"Syrus... " she said softly. "Are you okay?"
Syrus stared at her like he'd forgotten people could ask that without an ulterior motive.
"I… I don't know." he admitted, voice thin.
Jasmine leaned forward slightly, gaze firm. "You did something no one expected you to do." she said. "You held. And then you moved."
"And you made those boys look stupid." Mindy added, showing a sharp smile. "Which is always fun."
Syrus flinched slightly at the attention. He looked down.
Julian stepped closer.
"Come." Julian said quietly.
Syrus stood automatically. Like a habit, like obedience, then caught himself and stiffened, as if he hated that reflex.
Julian didn't comment on it. He just turned, leading them away from the rail to a quieter strip of corridor near the arena's side entrance.
The noise softened behind them, muffled by distance and walls. Jaden kept glancing back like he expected someone to chase them. Bastion followed with measured steps, eyes scanning, still in analysis mode.
Alexis, Jasmine, and Mindy moved with them, their blue jackets drawing looks from passersby.
Julian stopped near a wall where the staff traffic was thinner. He set the case down carefully. Syrus stared at it like it was a bomb. Julian opened the latch. The seal broke with a soft snap.
Inside, neatly organized, were stacks. Sleeved, labeled, pristine. Cards that had never been played. Cards that had never been scuffed by desperation or sweat. Cards that smelled like money and privilege and the kind of advantage that didn't have to pretend it wasn't advantage.
Syrus swallowed.
Julian didn't touch the cards immediately. He looked at Syrus instead.
"You heard him." Julian said, voice calm. "Ra Yellow."
Syrus' lips parted, and for a second Julian thought the boy might cry.
Instead Syrus' shoulders shook once, and his voice came out raw.
"I didn't… I didn't do enough," he whispered. "Julian, I…"
Julian cut him off with a raised finger.
"No." Julian said, firm. "Don't."
Syrus blinked.
Julian leaned in slightly, voice lower—controlled, not gentle.
"You did the one thing that mattered." he said. "You didn't hand them my throat even when yours was on the verge of execution."
Syrus' breath hitched. Julian held the boy's gaze.
"And you did it when you had every reason to collapse." Julian added. "That's not nothing. That's… everything. I didn't hand you that promotion, Sheppard did. If you don't trust me, believe at least the teachers and the administration."
Syrus looked away, swallowing hard.
Jaden shifted, visibly itching to say something, then stayed quiet for once. Bastion watched with an expression that looked almost respectful. Alexis' gaze softened. Julian's hand moved to the case again.
He lifted out a small set of cards recently used, three in particular, and held them up. Even in this corridor light, the names carried weight.
A-Assault Core. B-Buster Drake. C-Crush Wyvern.
Syrus' eyes widened slightly. Julian gathered them back into the top of a pile and placed the cards into Syrus' hands. The shy boy stared down at them like he didn't understand why they were there.
Julian's voice remained steady.
"By the oldest of rules…" he said. "To the victor go the spoils."
Syrus' fingers tightened reflexively, almost protective. "Julian… no. Those are, those are worth…"
"I know what they're worth." Julian interrupted, and there was a faint edge to it. Not anger. Certainty.
He nodded once toward the case.
"That entire deck came to me through you." Julian said.
Syrus blinked, confused. Julian's gaze didn't waver.
"They tried to win the duel before it started." he said. "You stopped that. The duel I won on the field, fine. It was procedural, easy. But the duel they thought they'd already won?" He shook his head once. "That's yours. And that took the real effort."
Syrus' throat moved.
"But…" Syrus tried again, voice cracking. "That was you. You… you fought him. You did all of that."
Julian's eyes narrowed slightly.
"And you had already guaranteed my win before I ever stepped into the arena." he said. The words landed heavy in the corridor. Syrus flinched.
Julian's voice softened—just a fraction.
"I'm not giving you charity." he said. "I'm returning a debt."
Syrus stared, bewildered.
Julian's mouth curved faintly, the ghost of a smile that didn't quite make it to warmth.
"Levianeer." Julian said simply.
Syrus froze. He remembered. Of course he did.
A promise and an agreement, in the first week at the academy. A moment when Syrus had given Julian something rare and powerful because he believed in him, with an oath of one day to rise in the ranks even without it to take it back. Julian nodded toward the cards in Syrus' hands.
"This is yours." he said. "Not because you suffered. Not because you deserve compensation. Because you earned it. And because I'm not going to pretend I climbed this ladder alone."
Syrus' eyes glistened. He blinked hard, fast, as if trying to keep his face from collapsing.
"And because we all know that a machine deck would one-hundred percent brick for me everytime." the entire group laughed at his statement, the joke making the bridge to lighten the weight of the ambient. Comically taking fake tears out of his eyes, he continued. "You're our resident gear-head. Make good use of it."
Jaden's smile returned, wide and bright. "Dude…" he whispered, voice thick. "That's so cool. I think it suits you."
Bastion exhaled slowly, a hint of relief finally breaking through his measured posture.
Alexis folded her arms tightly, but her expression was softer now. "He's right, you know." she said quietly to Syrus. "You earned it."
Jasmine nodded once. "Take it." she added. "And make it yours."
Mindy shared a devious smile. "Also, imagine Cauldwell's face if he hears you're playing his deck now."
Syrus made a small, broken sound that might've been a laugh. Or a sob. It didn't fully resolve into either.
He clutched the cards to his chest for a second like he was afraid they'd vanish.
Then he looked up at Julian, eyes shining with something fierce and fragile at once.
"I… I don't know if I can…" he started.
Julian stepped closer and tapped Syrus lightly on the forehead with two fingers, a gesture that was almost affectionate and almost stern.
"Stop trying to decide you're too small for the things you've already survived. Just do it." Julian said.
Syrus inhaled shakily.
Julian held his gaze.
"You're a yellow jacket now, y'know?" Julian said. "Act like it."
That was when it came out.
Not all at once. Not neatly. Syrus' chin trembled. There was a hitch in his breathing, then another, his fingers curling into Julian's jacket like he needed proof that this was real, that it was over, that someone had seen, that it had mattered. He looked down, then whispered, almost too quiet to hear. His tears once again started to pour down. "Thank you."
Julian nodded once. He didn't say "you're welcome."
Because this wasn't that. This was a line being redrawn. A small boy being told, publicly and privately, that he mattered.
Julian didn't say anything at first. He just stepped in and drew Syrus against his side, one arm firm around his shoulders, anchoring him there as the tension finally gave way.
Words tumbled out half-formed, fragments of relief and disbelief tangled together with everything he hadn't been able to say before. About the fear. About the waiting. About how heavy it had all been.
Julian held him through it without interrupting, his grip tightening just enough to say you're not going anywhere. When Syrus finally broke, pressing his face into Julian's shoulder, it wasn't humiliation that showed on him anymore. It was release.
A second presence closed in.
"Hey." Jaden said softly, already stepping into the space without asking, wrapping an arm around Syrus from the other side like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You did awesome, man."
For a moment, Syrus was caught between them. Julian steady and unyielding, Jaden warm and familiar, and then the rest followed. Bastion hesitated only a heartbeat before joining, one hand settling awkwardly but sincerely at Syrus's back. Alexis came next, firm and unapologetic, embracing them all with open arms and finally Jasmine and Mindy close behind, joining their hands and encircling the entire group one last time without ceremony or permission.
For just a few seconds, the noise of the arena faded. There was no crowd. No dorm colors. No hierarchy.
Just a group of people holding one of their own, sealing something that had been tested and hadn't broken.
And in the middle of it, Syrus breathed out. Long, shaky, real… Finally held, finally seen, finally allowed to believe that he belonged.
When everything was said and done, Julian closed the case again, leaving the rest of the contents inside for now. The case still belonged to him by administration, but the heart of the message, the ABC core, was already transferred where it needed to be.
Jaden finally exhaled fully. "Okay." he said, trying to inject humor and failing. "So… uh… does this mean you're gonna be in Obelisk now?"
Julian's gaze flicked to him.
"The promotion was confirmed, yes." Julian said.
Jaden grinned, relieved. "Yes! Dude, you're gonna be a top dog now. That's awesome."
Bastion adjusted his glasses, expression thoughtful. "It changes your access." he murmured. "Resources. Library privileges. Possibly different instructors."
Alexis gave Julian a measured look. "And it changes how they'll watch you." she said quietly.
Julian didn't deny it.
"I know." he said.
His eyes drifted down the corridor, toward the staff movement. Toward the side doors. Toward the path that would eventually lead to Sheppard's office.
Somewhere beyond those walls, the rest of the academy was already turning what had happened into story.
They'd say Julian had pulled off a miracle.
They'd say he had some secret sponsor.
They'd say he was cheating.
They'd say Syrus was weak.
They'd say Syrus was lucky.
They'd say anything, really, as long as it allowed them to keep believing the system was what they wanted it to be.
Julian felt the weight of the case in his hand even with it closed.
He looked at Syrus again.
The boy was still shaking a little bit, but he was standing. He was holding the cards like they were real. Like he was real.
Julian's chest tightened. He remembered last night, on the dorm steps. The whisper.
'I need to tell you something.'
He remembered the truth Syrus had spoken in the dark, the confession that had never been for pride, only for loyalty. And for one desperate, brave choice made in the moment he was weakest.
Julian kept his face composed.
He couldn't afford to let his thoughts spill, not yet.
Not while there were still eyes. Not while there were still consequences moving in slow lines behind the scenes.
A shadow shifted at the edge of Julian's awareness. Familiar, heavy. Nightmare-Eyes.
Not visible to the others. Not acknowledged. But there, like a second presence stepping closer now that the duel was finished.
Julian didn't turn to look. But he could feel it, the way you felt a storm gathering behind your shoulder. Information. Movement. Confirmation.
And beyond that, another presence.
Older. Official. A man who had just swung a blade without letting it look like a blade.
Sheppard.
Julian's fingers tightened briefly around the case handle. He took a slow breath and let it out carefully.
Then he looked at his friends, his voice returning to practical calm.
"Jaden." he said. "Stay with him."
Jaden nodded immediately, unusually serious. "Like you need to say."
Julian's gaze moved to Bastion. "Make sure he eats something."
Bastion nodded once. "Of course."
Julian looked at Alexis, Jasmine, and Mindy. "Thank you."
Alexis' eyes narrowed slightly, understanding. "Where are you going?"
Julian didn't answer directly.
He didn't say Sheppard's office. He didn't say the rest of the story. He just muttered quietly: "To finish a conversation."
Syrus' eyes widened slightly, as if fear flared that Julian was about to disappear into the snake pit again.
Julian's gaze softened, just a fraction, only for Syrus.
"I'll be back." Julian said.
Syrus swallowed, then nodded.
Julian turned.
He stepped away from the corridor's small pocket of safety and back toward the flow of staff and academy movement. The arena noise behind them had already started rising again as the next match was prepared, as if the institution itself was determined to keep going no matter what had been broken.
Julian walked with steady pace, case in hand, posture composed.
Inside, the heat was still there. Fury, grief, something sharp and metallic. But it was no longer a wildfire.
Ahead, the corridor bent toward in the direction of the administrative wing.
And somewhere in that direction, the Chancellor waited. Neutral in public, human in private, and carrying the weight of an academy that could only change in increments.
Julian's gaze lifted.
He let the next breath settle in his chest.
And as the hallway narrowed and the noise of the arena faded behind him, the story prepared to fold back on itself. Into memory, into the quiet office where the official mask could slip half an inch, and where the true shape of the consequences could finally be seen.
"Mr. Ashford, excellent." Sheppard said when he saw him, tone even. Public. Administrative. "Walk with me."
The corridor ahead felt too narrow for how much adrenaline still lived under his skin. But he nodded once, clean, controlled, and matched Sheppard's pace. They left together.
Not escorted. Not pulled. Just two figures moving away from the platform as staff began dismantling the duel's scaffolding: judges resetting Duel Disks, attendants collecting paperwork, teachers redirecting students like water being guided back into a channel. Behind them, the arena remained loud, because the academy always stayed loud. Even justice, here, had to share space with spectacle.
As they walked, Julian kept his posture neutral and his gaze forward. He didn't look back to check if anyone was watching. He didn't need to. He could feel it the way he could feel the heat of the lights on his neck: the eyes, the theories, the sudden recalculations.
How did he know? Where did he get that card? Did he really just…
And somewhere in that noise, the quieter, more poisonous thread:
They promoted him. They promoted the problem.
He embarrassed an Obelisk in front of everyone.
Does he not have any idea of who the Cauldwell's family are?
Sheppard's presence cut through that thread without severing it. He contained it. He didn't pretend it wasn't there.
They reached the administrative wing, the part of the campus that always felt a half-degree colder, as if the air itself had been trained to behave. The corridors were wider here, the walls decorated with framed photographs and sponsor plaques instead of student posters and tournament flyers. The academy liked to remind you that it was a business as much as it was a school.
Julian caught one name on a plaque in passing and didn't let his eyes linger. He didn't need to read the whole list to understand what it meant: donors, families, corporate partners. Leviathans that didn't wear uniforms.
Sheppard spoke without turning his head.
"You were careful up there." he said quietly, as if commenting on a form. "When you gave credit."
Julian's jaw tightened, almost imperceptible.
"I meant it, though." he answered, equally low. "He deserves it."
Sheppard's gaze remained forward, his expression neutral enough that a passing student would read nothing in it.
"Good." he said. "Because what he did… matters. And because there will be people who try to turn it into either a sob story or a scandal. Neither will help him."
Julian exhaled through his nose. He wanted to say ten things at once. None of them belonged in a hallway with plaque names on the walls.
They reached the doors.
Heavy wood. Polished metal handles. The kind of entrance designed to look impressive on camera and intimidating in person. Julian had seen these doors before, four other times: the first one weeks ago, when he'd walked in with a cane and too many invisible spirits clinging to the hallway outside. The office hadn't changed since then, and somehow that consistency made it feel more real than the arena ever did.
Sheppard pushed the door open without hurry.
Inside, the carpet was thick enough to muffle doubt. The main desk sat like a boundary line between "student" and "institution." Behind it, banners of the three dormitories hung in a neat, staged hierarchy: Obelisk blue in the center, Ra yellow and Slifer red flanking it like obedient satellites. On one wall, framed and severe, Seto Kaiba watched the room with arms crossed and eyes sharp even in print.
Julian's attention flicked to the photo for a fraction of a second, an involuntary acknowledgment of another kind of power.
Sheppard noticed, of course. He noticed everything that mattered.
"Close the door." he said.
Julian did. The dull sound of it sealing shut felt like a boundary being drawn.
For a heartbeat, Sheppard remained standing, hands behind his back. Then he released a breath, not a sigh, not exhaustion, but something like a man allowing himself to weigh the day honestly for the first time.
"All right." he said. The word was simple. The effect was not.
The mask slipped half an inch.
Julian didn't relax exactly, but the tension in his shoulders shifted. In the arena, every glance had been a signal. Here, it could be a thought.
Sheppard gestured to the chair across from the desk.
"Sit, please."
Julian did, the chair accepting him with quiet luxury. He kept his spine straight anyway. Old habits. Survival habits.
Sheppard moved behind the desk but didn't sit immediately. Instead, he reached to the side, toward a cabinet that Julian remembered only vaguely from his earlier visit, and unlocked it with a key that never left Sheppard's person.
When he opened it, the smell of new fabric met the air.
He withdrew something folded with deliberate care.
Obelisk blue.
Not a pin. Not a certificate. Not a symbolic handshake. The jacket itself: thick, tailored, heavy enough to feel like status in your hands. The kind of garment that didn't just mark you as promoted; it marked you as owned by the myth.
Sheppard set it on the desk between them.
Julian stared at it for half a second longer than he meant to.
He'd spent weeks thinking of that color as a battleground. As a snake pit. As an architecture designed to crush bright-eyed students into either compliant elites or broken dropouts.
Now it sat in front of him like a prize.
Or a warning.
"Officially…" Sheppard said, and his tone returned to something practiced for a moment. "Your performance in the bracket and your duel today confirm your promotion. Your record will be updated by the end of the hour. Housing transfer will be processed tonight. Hope your measurements are still the same."
Julian's fingers flexed once on the armrest.
"And unofficially?" he asked, because he couldn't help himself.
A faint, almost imperceptible, curve touched the corner of Sheppard's mouth. Not a smile. More like the ghost of one, quickly disciplined.
"Unofficially…" Sheppard said. "You were reckless."
Julian's eyes narrowed.
Sheppard held up a hand before Julian could protest.
"Not in the duel." His gaze sharpened. "In the way you keep insisting on turning your life into a lesson for the academy."
Julian's breath caught, then released in something like a laugh he didn't quite allow himself.
"I asked you before if you really intended to go that far for a powerful deck, if you considered yourself able to fly closer to the sun without losing your wings." Sheppard added, dry as chalk. It wasn't an accusation. It was a recognition, one with history behind it.
Julian's gaze flicked to the jacket, then back up.
"I went that far because my friend was bleeding in public…" he said, voice controlled but clipped. "Because the system let it happen. Because it escalated. And because if I could stop it and walk away with cards worth more than some people's tuition? I'm not going to pretend I'm above taking the opportunity."
Sheppard's eyes stayed on him, unblinking.
"Honest." he said at last. "Crass. But honest."
Julian's hand hovered near the jacket but didn't touch it yet.
"You told me in the arena to come here." Julian said. "So this isn't just about the promotion."
"No." Sheppard replied. He sat down now, the chair behind the desk creaking faintly under his weight. "It's about what I can say to you in private, and what I cannot say in public. It's about what you think is simple, and what is not."
Julian didn't interrupt.
Sheppard's fingers laced together on the desk. His voice lowered—still calm, but no longer performative.
"You wanted them punished." he said.
Julian's expression tightened.
"I wanted it to stop." he answered. Then, he thought again and completed after a beat: "Yes, I wanted them punished."
"And you wanted it done without the academy turning it into a scandal that gets buried under money." Sheppard continued, clinical, precise. "You wanted it done without handing those boys a martyr narrative. You wanted it done without giving their families leverage to claim procedural unfairness and reverse it all."
Julian's eyes sharpened.
Sheppard tapped one finger lightly against the desk.
"That last part…" he said. "Is the one students never understand until they are old enough to have their own lawyers."
Julian didn't look away.
"So explain." he said. Not aggressive. Not pleading. Simply resolute.
Sheppard held his gaze for a long moment.
Then he nodded once, like a judge agreeing to hear testimony.
"All right. Here is the part you don't see from the dueling platform."
He shifted his hands, and the words that followed felt less like a conversation and more like a report, except for the fatigue behind it, the human edge that made it clear the report came from a man who had written too many of them and watched too little actually change.
"You cannot put cameras in bathrooms." Sheppard began. "Not here. Not anywhere that wants to call itself a school instead of a prison. Even in a place like Duel Academy, there are lines that cannot be crossed without destroying the institution faster than any scandal ever could."
Julian's jaw tightened, guilt flickering across his face, because he'd imagined a thousand solutions and half of them involved "just watch them."
Sheppard continued, matter-of-fact.
"Which means that the incidents you described to me yesterday: the corners, the humiliation, the wet uniform, the threats by the fountain… They do not have the clean visual evidence people fantasize about. What they have are edges. Corridors. Time stamps. Patterns. Witnesses who are too afraid of their power and influence to speak. Victims who don't want attention. Perpetrators who know exactly how far they can go without leaving a mark the institution can point to."
Julian's hands curled once, then steadied.
"And how did you even start fixing that?" Julian asked, quietly.
Sheppard's gaze drifted, not to the Kaiba photo, but to the banners behind him, symbols of a system that pretended its colors were moral categories instead of economic ones.
"I started…" he said. "When I heard Mr. Cauldwell speak to you."
Julian's eyes narrowed.
"In the plaza," Sheppard clarified. "When he was careless enough to assume I was merely… a figurehead. He admitted intent. He admitted coercion. He admitted that what was happening to Mr. Truesdale was not an accident, not a rivalry, not 'boys being boys,' but a deliberate tactic to extract information."
Julian's throat tightened.
"He admitted it to you." Julian repeated, and there was something like disbelief in his tone. "Just like that?"
Sheppard's expression hardened by a fraction.
"He admitted it to you. I was just there, listening. People like him are raised to believe that institutions exist to absorb their messes. They learn early that rules are negotiable when your family knows the right names. They don't fear consequences. They fear embarrassment." Sheppard presented plainly.
Julian's eyes flicked to the Kaiba photo again, understanding the implication without needing it spelled out.
Sheppard continued, voice steady.
"Once I had that admission, I had cause. Not enough to act publicly, yet. But enough to open an official inquiry."
Julian leaned forward slightly.
"And the proof?" he asked.
Sheppard's fingers tapped together once, a small habit that suggested how many nights he'd spent building cases that had to survive people who were paid to tear them apart.
"The proof came in layers." he said.
He lifted one finger.
"First: technical traces. Duel Academy is not a medieval castle, Mr. Ashford. The campus has infrastructure. Hall monitors. Staff rotations. Door logs in restricted areas. Time stamps on issued DuelPads when students ping administrative networks. Not perfect, not omniscient, but enough to create a map."
Julian's eyes narrowed in focus. Sheppard lifted a second finger.
"Second: pattern correlation. You don't need a camera in the bathroom to notice that the same three Obelisk boys are present in the corridor outside it at the same time, repeatedly, and that Mr. Truesdale exits five minutes later with a damp collar and shaking hands. You don't need a confession to notice that he begins altering his routes, clinging to friends, avoiding certain stairwells, while the same students keep appearing where he tries to disappear."
Julian's stomach tightened. He thought of Syrus, too eager to follow Jaden, too quick to move, too determined to pretend it was normal.
Sheppard's voice didn't soften.
"Third…" he said. "Witnesses."
Julian's gaze sharpened. Sheppard's mouth tightened.
"Witnesses are the hardest part." he said. "Not because they don't exist. Because they are afraid. And because the fear is rational, and expected."
Julian's jaw clenched.
"The Obelisk dorm's internal culture is political." Sheppard continued, clinical as a surgeon. "It does not merely punish weakness. It punishes disloyalty. A Slifer student reporting an Obelisk student risks retaliation in ways that are not always obvious. They fear social isolation, targeted humiliation, sabotage in future evaluations. They fear the institution siding against them. They fear being labeled 'difficult.'"
Julian's eyes narrowed, the anger returning, but colder, now, sharpened by structure.
"So how did you get them to talk…" Julian asked. "Without making them targets?"
Sheppard's gaze held his.
"I didn't ask them to 'report'." he said. "I asked them to 'confirm'."
Julian blinked once.
Sheppard leaned back slightly.
"When something becomes public enough, it stops being a secret and becomes a rumor. Rumors spread faster than discipline. Teachers hear them. Staff hear them. Students hear them. In a school like this, rumor is not evidence, but rumor is a lead."
Julian's expression tightened.
"So you used the day's events." Julian murmured.
Sheppard's eyes narrowed a fraction in something that might have been approval, if he were permitted to show it.
"Yes." he said. "I used the duel schedule."
Julian's gaze sharpened further. Sheppard continued, voice calm.
"In the arena, earlier today, you noticed instructors quietly pulling students from the stands. That was not random. That was the beginning of the witness net. Students who were present at the fountain. Students from Ra and Slifer. Not Obelisk. Not the perpetrators. The bystanders who watched the moment where the harassment escalated into threat."
Julian's fingers curled once. Sheppard didn't look away.
"I had them brought in one by one," he said. "Not interrogated in a group where they could look at each other and decide silence was safer. Not accused. Not pressured. Simply asked to recount what they saw and heard. Then compared those accounts for consistency."
Julian's breath was slow and controlled.
"And when they didn't want to answer?" Julian asked.
Sheppard's expression tightened.
"I reminded them that they were not responsible for what happened, but that silence, here, is currency. And that the academy cannot protect students from a problem it cannot name."
Julian swallowed.
Sheppard's voice lowered, just slightly.
"And I promised…" he added. "That their identities would not be released."
Julian's eyes narrowed.
"Promises like that are dangerous. They might have other ways to know." Julian said, carefully.
Sheppard's gaze held his.
"They are." he agreed. "Which is why I do not make them lightly. I made it because I could back it with process."
He steepled his fingers.
"Reports filed through faculty channels…" he said. "Statements recorded without names attached in the version accessible to dorm leadership. Names kept only in the administrative record, restricted. Not foolproof, nothing is foolproof, but enough to reduce the risk from 'certain' to 'improbable'."
Julian let out a slow breath.
"And the audio…" Julian said, because he already knew the answer existed somewhere in the shape of Syrus's courage.
Sheppard's gaze sharpened.
"You have good instincts." he said. "Yes. Mr. Truesdale recorded audio."
Julian's chest tightened.
Sheppard raised a hand, stopping the surge of emotion before it could flood the room.
"Not in the bathroom." he said. "Not in a place that would compromise him further. But in the moments where the threats were verbal. Where they were confident. Where they assumed no one would challenge them because the victim was 'small' and the academy would prefer to keep its image intact."
Julian stared at him.
"That audio…" Sheppard continued. "Is not a single smoking gun. Voices can be denied. Context can be argued. But combined with witness accounts and pattern logs, it becomes a blade you cannot wave away."
Julian's hands tightened on the chair arms.
"So you built a file." Julian said.
"Yes." Sheppard answered. "A file that could survive outside this office."
Julian's eyes narrowed.
"That's the part you mean…" he murmured. "The part about the world outside the academy."
Sheppard's gaze drifted, just for a moment, to the sponsor plaques Julian had seen in the hallway, names that didn't need to shout to be heard.
"Inside Duel Academy." Sheppard said quietly, "I am the Chancellor."
His eyes returned to Julian.
"Outside…" he continued, "I am an administrator who answers to boards, donors, corporate partners, and families with enough money to turn 'discipline' into 'litigation.'"
Julian's jaw tightened.
"Do you know what happens…" Sheppard asked, voice still calm. "If I expel a well-connected Obelisk student without an evidentiary chain that holds up under scrutiny?"
Julian didn't answer.
Sheppard did it for him.
"They don't just appeal." he said. "They attack. They demand inquiry into the academy. They demand access to records. They demand names. They turn it into a public battle where the victim becomes collateral and the institution becomes defensive. And if the institution becomes defensive, it starts protecting itself instead of protecting the students."
Julian's gaze stayed fixed.
Sheppard's voice lowered.
"Which means the boys who did this walk away with a narrative: We were targeted. We were punished for being Obelisk. The Chancellor is biased." he said.
Julian's mouth tightened.
"And that narrative becomes a weapon those families use to pressure future decisions. It becomes leverage. It becomes a precedent that makes it harder to act the next time someone is hurt." Sheppard continued.
Julian swallowed. He hated how much sense it made. He hated even more that it made him understand why good men sometimes looked complicit from a distance.
Sheppard watched him take it in.
"This is why…" he said. "I told you yesterday that you chose your words carefully."
Julian's gaze sharpened.
"You mean the way I framed it." Julian said. "Not as a threat. Not as 'I'll ruin you.' But as…"
"As a formal request." Sheppard finished. "For an investigation. For due process. For the institution to do what it claims it exists to do."
Julian's eyes narrowed.
"And you needed it framed that way so you could act, even if it was not clear what exactly I was asking for." Julian said quietly.
Sheppard didn't deny it.
"I needed it framed that way, yes." he agreed. "Because I cannot be seen acting out of personal anger. Not even when I am personally angry."
Julian's lips pressed together.
"Which you were." Julian said, testing the boundary.
Sheppard's gaze held his. A beat passed. Then, with a faint exhale, like a man allowing himself a small honesty because the door was closed, Sheppard said:
"Officially, as Chancellor, I cannot comment on my feelings."
Julian waited.
Sheppard's eyes flicked, just once, to the Kaiba photograph, then back.
"Unofficially…" he said, and something almost dryly amused touched his voice. "As the head of the Cyber-Style Dojo? I was furious. Those boys were beyond reckless."
Julian's mouth twitched, the closest thing to a smile he'd allowed himself in hours.
Sheppard's tone turned sharper for a moment.
"They were reckless," he repeated, "because they forgot where their actions were visible. That this cruel jokes could have been turned into something much, much worse. We already had two cases of attempted suicide in our campus' history. Fortunately, we were able to save them both and gather them help."
Julian's chest tightened at that.
"And Cauldwell?" Julian asked, the name tasting like iron.
Sheppard's expression returned to neutral professionalism.
"Mr. Cauldwell's case was the simplest." he said. "Not because what he did was smaller, but because it was larger. Leadership, coordination, coercion. And yes: admission. You cannot imagine how rarely I get an admission in a place like this."
Julian's eyes narrowed.
"And the others…" Julian said. "The ones who followed him."
Sheppard's fingers tapped lightly together again.
"The others were harder, yes." he admitted. "Because followers are trained to be careful. They do not speak. They do not lead. They create ambiguity. And ambiguity is where consequences go to die."
Julian's gaze stayed fixed.
"So what changed." Julian asked.
Sheppard's voice remained calm.
"Volume." he said. "Enough separate witness accounts that it stopped being 'he said, they said' and became 'twelve people independently describing the same behavior.' Enough pattern data that it stopped being coincidence. Enough audio that it stopped being rumor. And one more factor."
Julian's eyes glanced at the administrator as Sheppard's gaze sharpened.
"You." he said.
Julian blinked once, dumbfounded.
Sheppard lifted a hand slightly, acknowledging the misunderstanding before it formed.
"Not your status." he said. "Not your ambition. Your restraint."
Julian's brow furrowed.
Sheppard continued.
"If you had exploded publicly…" he said, "If you had demanded blood in the arena, if you had turned it into even more of a spectacle, bringing the academy administration into the situation, then even with evidence, this becomes a political war. It becomes Obelisk versus the Chancellor. It becomes 'the academy is unstable.'"
Julian listened.
"But you didn't." Sheppard said. "You demanded action privately, even if you staged your little speech back there. You contained your rage long enough for the institution to move."
Julian's throat tightened.
"And you delayed it until after the duel." Julian said, because this was the part that mattered, the part that had been a tightrope.
Sheppard nodded once.
"Yes." he said. "For two reasons."
He lifted one finger.
"First: your wager," he said. "If I acted too soon, the duel collapses. The terms collapse. The transfer collapses. And then everything becomes contested. You do not get the outcome you fought for, and the academy gains another procedural mess. I agreed to let you have that chance on the briefcase, and you went for it."
Julian's eyes narrowed.
Sheppard lifted a second finger.
"Second: containment." he said. "If I moved publicly before the duel, those involved scatter. They coordinate stories. They pressure witnesses. They turn their dorm into a fortress. Quiet collection becomes nearly impossible."
Julian exhaled slowly.
"So you waited…" Julian said. "Until the duel was over, the crowd was present, and the system could act cleanly."
Sheppard's gaze stayed steady.
"Correct." he said. "And because once the duel ended, I could act with the maximum visibility necessary to deter retaliation and the minimum drama necessary to prevent backlash."
Julian sat back slightly, absorbing it.
Sheppard's expression softened, just a fraction. Not sympathy. Something closer to human fatigue.
"This…" he said quietly. "Is the part students don't see. They believe a Chancellor walks into a room and declares justice and it happens. They believe authority is a sword you swing. In reality, authority is often a rope bridge built one plank at a time while people throw stones at you from both sides."
Julian's gaze remained sharp.
"And you're still on the bridge." he said.
Sheppard's mouth tightened.
"Yes, my boy." he answered. "Every day."
A beat of silence settled, heavy but not hostile. Then Julian's eyes flicked down again, to the jacket on the desk.
"Sheppard." Julian said, and the use of the man's name without the title was a risk he took intentionally. "Do you understand what this looks like?"
Sheppard didn't blink.
"It looks like I promoted you personally instead of doing it through the proper procedures." he said.
Julian's jaw tightened.
"It looks like the academy rewards people who play dirty." Julian said. "It looks like it rewards politics."
Sheppard's gaze held his.
"And does it?" he asked.
Julian's mouth opened, then closed.
Sheppard leaned forward a fraction.
"I promoted you here, yes." he said, voice steady, "Because you earned it in the arena and in the exams. Because you demonstrated control under pressure. Because you showed you can operate inside the system without becoming what the system often produces."
Julian's eyes narrowed.
"And because it helps your image." Julian said, blunt.
Sheppard didn't flinch.
"Precisely." he said. "It helps the academy's image to have a student like you succeed. It helps the academy's image to show that upward movement is possible. We don't have a successful example like yourself since Zane."
Julian's jaw tightened.
"That's what they said about Mai Valentine." Julian murmured, the old conversation echoing. "And Ishizu Ishtar. I talked with Alexis and the girls the other day when we were discussing the different challenges for men and women here. Exceptions you can point at."
Sheppard's gaze sharpened.
"Those exceptions still mattered. They still opened doors for others. And they still scared the people who rely on the world staying closed. If your friends have a sliver of a chance now, it's because those two turned a locked door into one where they could see something on the other side. And they will open the door even more for the generation after them. True change does not come at once, and never by the strike of a gavel. It grows, further and further, until the exception becomes large enough to become part of the rule."
Julian's eyes held his.
"So you're using me to kickstart that." Julian said.
Sheppard's voice didn't change.
"I am." he answered. "Just as you used the duel to protect your friend and win your resources. That is not corruption, Mr. Ashford. That is strategy. If good people refuse to use strategy, only bad people will."
Julian let that land. It felt like swallowing something bitter that you needed anyway.
Sheppard's gaze lowered, briefly, to the jacket.
"You will wear it, as your new station deems fit." he said.
It wasn't a suggestion.
Julian's hand finally reached forward. His fingers touched the fabric. Heavy, real.
A flicker of emotion crossed his face. Not triumph. Not relief.
Responsibility.
Sheppard watched him.
"There is one more thing." Sheppard said, tone returning to administrative precision.
Julian looked up. Sheppard's gaze was steady.
"Mr. Truesdale's promotion to Ra…" he said. "You saw it announced. You saw the reaction. You saw what it will do to the dorm dynamics."
Julian nodded once.
"I believe you also find it to be deserved." Sheppard continued.
Julian's throat tightened.
"I do." he said. "He…"
"He demonstrated what was missing," Sheppard finished, and the way he said it made it clear this wasn't charity. "His records have indicated for some time that his theoretical performance and discipline were sufficient. What held him back was poor capacity of execution under pressure, especially in a practical sense. And promotions to Ra Yellow are far more simple and free than any thought of messing with an Obelisk spot."
Julian's eyes narrowed. Sheppard's voice remained calm.
"Your friend was pressured, and he still made a choice. He still acted. He still held enough control to not become a tool in someone else's hand." he said.
Julian's jaw clenched.
"That doesn't erase what happened to him. His pain." Julian said.
"No, it doesn't." Sheppard agreed, and for a heartbeat his eyes hardened. "But it means his future will not be defined solely by what others did to him. And scars are not only a reminder of our suffering, but also of our growth. It saddens me that he had to go through that, but he's certainly a better duelist and a better man for it."
Julian's fingers tightened on the jacket once as he took his current yellow vest and substituted it for the other. Sheppard's gaze held his.
"And for the record." Sheppard added quietly. "They would have been punished even if you didn't formally asked for it. You just expedited the process and made my life easier."
Julian's eyes sharpened.
"Good." Julian said, voice low.
Sheppard's mouth tightened as if he understood the word wasn't approval. It was relief that the world had not asked Julian to become judge and executioner.
Sheppard stood.
The movement ended the intimacy of the moment, returning the room to its architecture: Chancellor behind desk, student across from him, Kaiba's photo watching like a reminder that power was always observing.
Sheppard walked around the desk slowly, stopping at the side rather than looming over Julian.
"You have a new dorm now." he said. "New eyes on you. New expectations. A new kind of pressure."
Julian rose as well, jacket still folded in his hands.
"I'm aware, sir." he said.
Sheppard's expression softened a fraction, enough to show the man behind the office.
"And you have allies." he said, quietly. "Even if they cannot always stand where you want them to stand."
Julian met his eyes.
"That's the part I'm still learning, yes." Julian said.
Sheppard nodded once.
"Then learn it," he said. "Because there are games here that are larger than duels. And the academy's snake pit is only a training ground for the world outside it."
Julian's eyes flicked, involuntarily, toward the plaques in the hallway beyond the door.
Sheppard saw it.
"Yes..." he said, answering the thought Julian didn't speak. "Larger. Like a sun compared to a flashlight."
A beat of silence. Then Sheppard's tone shifted, almost casual, almost the way a man would speak if he needed to offer something honest without putting it in writing.
"I will tell you one last thing." he said.
Julian waited.
Sheppard's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Do not mistake today's outcome…" he said, "for the academy suddenly becoming good."
Julian's mouth tightened. Sheppard continued, voice low.
"Today…" he said, "You had the right pieces, and they happened to be positioned precisely on the board. A careless confession. A brave boy who recorded what he could. Witnesses who were willing to speak when asked the right way. And a duelist who knew how to demand action without turning it into theater."
Julian's fingers tightened around the jacket.
"And tomorrow?" Julian asked.
Sheppard's gaze sharpened. "Tomorrow, the board shifts again. The interests remain. The money remains. The politics remain. The only difference is that now you are seated closer to them."
Julian held his gaze.
Sheppard's mouth tightened. Then, for the briefest moment, the relief of an older man slipped through.
"But…" he added, quiet enough that the banners might as well have been listening. "You gave this place a reason to remember that it still has a conscience. You are entering a different tier now…. You will have access others do not. You will be expected to navigate pressures that are not always visible."
Julian looked at the jacket over his shoulders.
"I know." Julian answered quietly.
Sheppard studied him for a moment longer.
"Do you? Really?" he asked.
Julian met his gaze steadily.
"I know I won't always win." he said. "I know I won't always be allowed to be right. And I know that sometimes the best I can do is make things… less wrong."
Sheppard exhaled, slow and thoughtful.
"That…" he said, smiling in a true fashion for what was probably the first time in the entire conversation. "Might be the most accurate description of administration I've heard in years."
Julian didn't answer immediately.
He looked down at the blue jacket in his body. Then back at the man who had handed it to him.
"I'll try not to make you regret it, sir." Julian said.
Sheppard's eyes narrowed, and there… there it was again, that almost-smile that never quite became one.
"See that you don't, Mr. Ashford." he said. And the words were half warning, half faith.
Julian turned toward the door.
As he reached for the handle, Sheppard's voice followed him. One last line, quiet, human, and edged with the dry severity of a man who had watched too many young duelists burn themselves out trying to be heroes in a system that preferred them obedient.
"And Mr. Ashford…" Sheppard added.
Julian paused, hand on the metal.
"Yes, Chancellor?"
Sheppard's gaze was steady.
"Next time someone tries to drown your friend in a fountain." he said, calm as ice. "Do not wait for the institution to notice. Bring it to me immediately."
Julian's throat tightened.
"Yes, sir." he said. And for once, the title didn't feel like a distance.
He opened the door.
Cooler air from the corridor met him like a return to structure. To rules. To consequence.
Julian stepped out wearing the Obelisk jacket. New weight on his shoulders, new color on his back, and a renewed quiet understanding that none of it had come free. That order never did.
Behind him, the office door closed softly.
Inside, beneath Kaiba's photograph and the banners of the dorms, Chancellor Sheppard remained where he always stood: not at the center of power, but beneath it. Neutral in public. Human in private. Crossing the same narrow bridge plank by plank, knowing that stability was not something you achieved once, but something you paid for every single day.
And tonight, the bill had come due.