The academy was alive with chatter, the distant hum of students filling the great halls like an ocean's tide. Yet, amidst the sea of voices, Dark walked alone.
His boots made no sound against the cold stone floors. His uniform, slightly oversized, hung awkwardly on his frame, the sleeves too long, the collar just a little too loose. He adjusted his glasses—crooked again. They always slipped down his nose.
Dark: (thinking) Maybe if I make myself smaller, they won't notice me.
But they always did.
The moment he stepped into the grand hall, the whispers started. Low at first, just quiet murmurs among the students lining the staircases, the balconies, the candlelit corridors. But they grew louder as he walked past, their words twisting into something sharp.
Student 1: (mocking) He's still here?
Student 2: (snickering) Thought he'd finally quit after last time.
Student 3: (grinning) Maybe he's too stupid to know when he's not wanted.
Dark kept his head down, his hands clutching his books too tightly. His knuckles turned white from the pressure, but he didn't loosen his grip. If he did, he knew his hands would shake.
He hated that.
He hated how weak he felt.
He hated how every time he opened his mouth, the words stuck in his throat like broken glass.
Dark: (thinking) Just get to class. Don't stop. Don't listen.
He turned the corner into the lecture hall, the enormous room bathed in golden candlelight, rows of desks stretching toward the towering stained-glass windows. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and ink, the weight of history pressing down on the students seated in perfect, disciplined lines.
Dark made his way to the farthest seat, the one near the shadows where the candlelight barely reached. He slid into place, lowering his head, hoping—praying—that for once, they'd just ignore him.
But hope was a fool's weapon.
Professor Aldrin strode into the room, his violet robes billowing behind him, his sharp eyes scanning the students with the kind of precision that made people squirm. He was a man of logic, of discipline, of absolute, unwavering control. And he had no patience for failure.
Professor Aldrin: (coolly) Dark.
Dark's stomach twisted.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to look up.
Dark: (quietly) Yes, sir...
The professor barely blinked, his expression unreadable.
Professor Aldrin: Cast the spell.
The air in the room changed.
A hush fell over the students, their gazes locking onto him like predators scenting blood. The tension curled around Dark's throat like a noose, suffocating, unyielding.
Dark: (thinking) Not again.
He reached for his quill with shaking fingers, trying to steady his breath. He traced the runes on the parchment, whispering the incantation under his breath. The ink glowed faintly, flickering like a dying ember. He could feel the magic stirring, fragile, unstable—
And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it collapsed.
A crackle of failed energy sparked across the parchment, the ink scattering in a messy, ruined pattern. A tiny wisp of smoke curled upward as the edges of the page burned.
Silence.
Then—laughter.
Student 1: (mocking) Is he serious?
Student 2: (grinning) He really can't even cast a beginner's spell.
Student 3: (whispering, amused) What's he even doing here?
Professor Aldrin sighed.
Professor Aldrin: (flatly) Dismissed.
Dark felt his chest tighten, the words like a knife between his ribs. He kept his head down as he shoved his books into his bag, his hands clumsy, his movements stiff. He could feel their eyes on him, their stares burning into the back of his skull like brands.
He pushed himself up from his seat, forcing his legs to move, forcing himself to walk out of the room.
Not too fast.
Not too slow.
Just enough to leave, but not enough to look like he was running.
Even though he was.
Dark's breath hitched as he bolted down the stone corridors of the academy, his footsteps frantic, uneven. His body trembled with every step, his hands clammy, his thoughts a tangled, suffocating mess. The hallways blurred past him, torchlights casting elongated shadows against the grand pillars. He didn't care where he was going.
He just needed to be anywhere but here.
His vision swam as he stumbled into the courtyard, collapsing onto a bench beneath the massive willow tree. His fingers dug into the fabric of his uniform, twisting it as if holding onto something tangible would ground him. But it didn't.
His lungs burned. His hands shook. His heart pounded against his ribs like a war drum.
Then—the flood broke through.
His chest tightened, and suddenly, his body convulsed with silent sobs. He hunched forward, his entire frame trembling. The sheer weight of it all crashed down on him—the failure, the ridicule, the overwhelming helplessness.
He lost track of time.
An hour passed.
Maybe more.
He didn't move.
Didn't dare to lift his head.
Then—the academy bell tolled, signaling lunch break.
Dark flinched at the sound, his breath catching in his throat. From the edges of his vision, he saw students flooding into the courtyard, their voices a distant hum of laughter, casual conversation, the normal life of nobles.
And then—he saw them.
A group of royals. Familiar ones. The worst ones.
Dark's heart clenched.
His body screamed at him to leave, to stand up and disappear before they noticed him.
But he was too late.
The moment his gaze flickered up, they were already moving toward him.
The leader of the group—tall, smug, radiating arrogance—was already grinning.
Student 4: Hahahaha, look at this sucker.
Student 3: Sucks to be you, doesn't it?
Dark clenched his jaw, his fingers digging into the bench. He wanted to ignore them, to pretend they weren't there. But they weren't the type to let things slide.
A hand suddenly yanked his hair back.
Dark gasped as he was dragged off the bench, his knees scraping against the cold stone pavement.
The leader of the group stood over him, sneering in disgust.
Student 1: Pathetic lost child.
Dark's breath hitched.
Dark: (stammering) P-p-please... stop...
The students burst into laughter.
Student 1: Oh? And what exactly are you going to do about it, huh? Who's going to save you?
Dark: (barely a whisper) Please...
Student 3: HAHAHAHAHA! HE'S BEGGING?!
Then—the kick.
Student 1's boot slammed into his face.
A sickening crack.
His glasses shattered instantly, shards flying as he crumpled to the ground.
Silence.
But something was wrong.
Something shifted.
A deep, oppressive air settled over the courtyard, thick and unnatural.
Dark didn't move at first.
Then—he chuckled.
Low. Amused. Wrong.
Dark lifted his head.
And when he did—he was smiling.
Not the timid, broken expression they were used to.
No.
This smile was something else entirely.
A slow, creeping grin, sharp and bloodthirsty, stretching across his face like a predator who had finally decided to stop playing with its prey.
His entire presence had changed.
His aura, once frail and insignificant, was now suffocating.
Dark: (voice different, deeper, eerily calm) Who... are you?
The students froze.
Something was wrong.
This wasn't the same weakling they had been tormenting moments ago.
The leader blinked, confused.
Student 1: What? Are you high? We're the roya—
They never finished.
Because the next thing they knew—
Their head was falling.
A clean, silent cut.
No motion. No struggle.
Just a moment where reality blurred—and then, they were gone.
The body hit the ground.
A dull thud.
Dark exhaled slowly, brushing nonexistent dust off his sleeve.
Dark: Shut up.
His voice carried weight now. Authority. Something inhuman.
The remaining students stood paralyzed, their faces drained of color.
They didn't scream.
They couldn't.
It was as if their very instincts refused to let them make a sound in the presence of something so fundamentally wrong.
Dark tilted his head, his grin still there—sharp, unhinged, amused.
Then, he turned to them.
Dark: Two seconds. Move.
They ran.
Not as nobles.
Not as royalty.
As prey.
Their footsteps thundered as they sprinted toward the academy halls, screaming for the teachers, for anyone who could explain what had just happened.
Dark sighed, crouching down and picking up the broken frame of his glasses.
He turned them over in his hands, inspecting them.
Then, he smirked.
Dark: (muttering) So this eyewear... was what's been blocking me? How pathetic.
For the first time, he felt awake.
But the moment was short-lived.
Because suddenly—
A shift in the air.
Teachers. Powerful ones.
Closing in.
Dark clicked his tongue.
Dark: Tch. Damn it. I ruined it. Shouldn't have killed him.
He lifted his hand—
And pointed upwards.
The world snapped back.
Time rewound.
Everything reversed.
The moment before the kick.
The moment before the shift.
Then—a voice.
From inside his head.
Cold. Precise. Absolute.
???: (calmly) Left.
Dark reacted instantly.
He saw the boot coming toward his face—
And moved.
A single step to the left.
The attack missed.
Student 1: (startled) Ehh? You can dodge now?
Dark lifted his head, his breath steady.
The hunger was gone. The madness was hidden again.
Dark: (softly) Please... leave me alone.
Then—another presence.
A new one.
Footsteps.
Measured. Controlled. Powerful.
The students turned—
And froze.
Not a teacher.
Not a staff member.
A student.
But not just any student.
The Vice President of the Academy.
Ace.
A presence so commanding that the students tensed instantly.
Ace's gaze was sharp. Unamused. Unconcerned.
Ace: (flatly) Move along.
The students obeyed.
No protests. No excuses.
They retreated.
Dark blinked, his body still trembling from the adrenaline.
Ace turned to him, his expression unreadable.
Then, without a word, he reached out—
And patted Dark's head.
A simple gesture.
But for some reason—
Dark felt like he was going to break all over again.
Ace: (calmly) You alright, Dark?
Dark hesitated.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
Dark: Y-yeah...
Ace studied him for a moment.
Then—
A smirk.
Ace: (softly) Good.
Ace: You just don't remember who you really are yet.
Dark's breath hitched at Ace's words, his mind scrambling for some kind of explanation. Something about the way Ace said it—it wasn't just reassurance. It was certainty. Like he knew something Dark didn't.
Dark adjusted his crooked glasses, his fingers trembling slightly as he looked up at Ace.
Dark: (hesitant) What... what do you mean?
Ace exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms as he tilted his head slightly. He studied Dark, as if debating how much to say.
Ace: (calmly) I mean exactly what I said. You don't remember. You think you're just some weakling, don't you? Some nobody who got thrown into this academy to be crushed under everyone else?
Dark's hands clenched.
Dark: (quietly) That's what I am, isn't it?
Ace didn't blink.
Ace: No.
The sheer weight in that one word made Dark stiffen. Ace didn't sound like he was guessing. He sounded like he knew.
Dark: (shaky) Then... then who am I?
Ace stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough that only Dark could hear.
Ace: (calmly) You are Dark Amatori. A descendant of the most powerful lineage in existence. Your family is royalty. Not just any royalty. The Amatori line is beyond even the highest noble houses in this empire. But you?
Ace's golden eyes gleamed as he leaned in slightly.
Ace: (softly) You were abandoned here.
Dark felt something twist deep inside him.
Abandoned.
He had always assumed he was just an orphan, a throwaway noble at best, sent to this academy to fill a seat. But this? This was different.
Dark: (hoarse whisper) They... left me here?
Ace nodded.
Ace: When you were still a baby. You don't remember it, obviously. But the academy was ordered to take care of you, to train you. And yet—
Ace gestured vaguely at the academy courtyard, filled with nobles who spent their time making Dark's life hell.
Ace: —somewhere along the way, you became nothing more than a punching bag for the lesser houses. A lost heir with no power. No knowledge of what you are.
Dark's vision swayed. His whole life—every humiliation, every beating, every failure—it wasn't just misfortune. It wasn't just bad luck.
It was designed.
Dark: (shaky) Why...?
Ace's smirk faded slightly, a rare flicker of something serious crossing his face.
Ace: Because your power scared them.
Dark felt his throat tighten.
Dark: (quietly) What... power?
Ace took a step back, looking at him carefully, as if trying to gauge something.
Ace: You still don't feel it, do you? That restraint. That invisible weight pressing down on you.
Dark blinked.
Dark: (thinking) Restraint?
He had always thought his weakness was just who he was. He had always felt slow, dull, powerless—like his body didn't respond the way it should, like his thoughts were always sluggish, like something was holding him back.
But now, with his glasses shattered, with the way his presence had shifted moments ago, he wasn't so sure anymore.
Ace watched him for a moment longer before sighing.
Ace: You'll figure it out eventually. But I'll tell you this—when you do, don't waste your time trying to get back what you lost. Focus on becoming something more.
Ace turned, walking away.
Dark's voice caught in his throat, but he forced himself to speak.
Dark: Wait.
Ace stopped, glancing over his shoulder.
Dark: (softly) You knew all this, but you never told me before. Why now?
Ace's smirk returned, but this time, it was different.
Ace: Because for the first time... you're finally waking up.
And with that, he was gone.
Dark stood there, his heartbeat loud in his ears.
He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the broken pieces of his glasses.
Dark: (thinking) I was abandoned here.
He had always thought he was just a nobody. A weakling. A failure.
But that was a lie.
And the truth?
It scared him more than anything.
Because if he really was part of the Amatori bloodline...
Then why had his own family thrown him away?
The First Night Without Chains
Dark barely made it back to his dorm.
His body felt wrong. Not in a sick way. Not even in a tired way. But in a foreign way.
Like something inside him was shifting.
He sat at his desk, staring at the dim candlelight flickering against the stone walls.
His mind kept replaying everything. The fight. The shift in his voice. Ace's words.
Dark: (thinking) What did he mean by restraint?
Dark reached up, touching his temple.
Something felt different.
It wasn't just the lack of his glasses. It was deeper than that.
His head felt clearer. His thoughts sharper.
Like something that had been weighing him down his entire life had finally cracked.
Dark: (thinking) That smile... that voice...
He knew it wasn't him.
Not the him that had existed until now.
But somehow, it was him.
Like a part of himself that had been caged away.
And when his glasses broke—
Dark: (quietly) Something else took over.
He looked at the broken pieces resting on his desk.
For years, he had thought of them as nothing more than glasses.
But now?
Dark: (softly) Were they something more?
He didn't know.
But what he did know—
Dark's fingers curled into fists.
Dark: (coldly) I need answers.
And for the first time in his life—
He was willing...to..."Do something about it.."
End of Arc 5 Chapter 1.