Chapter 7 — Eyes That Linger
Kairo noticed it the moment he stepped into the eastern training hall.
The noise was the same—steel striking steel, instructors barking commands, students grunting under exertion—but something beneath it had shifted. Conversations dipped when he passed. Sparring partners hesitated, just a fraction too long, before engaging him.
Eyes followed.
Not openly.
Not accusing.
But aware.
He adjusted his posture instinctively, shoulders slightly slumped, gaze lowered. The unblessed look. The harmless look.
It didn't fool everyone.
Renn Valis stood near the weapon racks, arms crossed, watching Kairo with an intensity that hadn't been there before. His usual lazy arrogance was replaced with something sharper.
Suspicion.
Kairo felt it like a blade resting lightly against his spine.
Good, he thought calmly. Let them look. Let them wonder.
As long as they don't understand.
The sparring assignments were posted moments later.
Kairo scanned the list.
His name appeared once.
Opponent: Joran Kest
Rank: D
Joran was a second-year. Taller than Kairo. Broader. His blessing was well known—Enhanced Strength, D-Rank, leaning toward C with enough refinement.
A bad matchup.
Officially.
Joran spotted his name and laughed. "Unblessed? That's a waste of time."
The instructor's gaze snapped toward him. "You'll fight who you're assigned."
Joran shrugged and rolled his shoulders. "Fine. Don't cry when you're on the ground."
Kairo said nothing as they stepped into the ring.
The barrier flared to life around them.
The match began.
Joran charged immediately, confident, aggressive, relying on raw power. His fist came in fast—faster than a normal man could track.
Kairo shifted.
Not dodging fully.
Just enough.
The blow grazed his shoulder, the impact dull instead of bone-crushing. Steel Skin absorbed it cleanly.
Joran blinked.
Kairo countered—not with strength, but timing. A strike to the ribs, placed precisely between breaths.
Joran grunted, staggered half a step.
The crowd murmured.
Joran's face darkened. He swung harder.
Again, Kairo moved just enough.
Again, he struck.
Three exchanges.
That was all it took.
The instructor raised a hand. "Enough."
Joran stood there, breathing hard, shock plain on his face.
The result wasn't a knockout.
It was worse.
Kairo had controlled the fight.
The barrier dropped.
Silence spread through the hall.
The instructor looked at Kairo differently now. "Good restraint," he said.
Kairo bowed slightly. "Thank you, sir."
As he left the ring, he felt Renn's gaze burning into his back.
The confrontation came that evening.
Kairo was halfway back to the dormitory when Renn stepped into his path, blocking the corridor.
"You're not unblessed," Renn said flatly.
Kairo stopped.
Around them, students slowed, pretending not to listen.
"I never said I was blessed," Kairo replied calmly.
Renn leaned closer. "Don't play stupid. You moved like a trained D-Rank. You tanked hits you shouldn't survive."
Kairo met his eyes, expression neutral. "Instinct."
Renn laughed sharply. "Instinct doesn't stop bones from breaking."
The silence stretched.
Then Renn smiled again—but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Careful," he said softly. "People who hide things don't last long here."
He stepped aside.
Kairo continued on without looking back.
Inside, his thoughts were clear.
Renn is watching now.
That meant two things.
Opportunity.
And danger.
The system spoke later that night.
[NOTICE]
External scrutiny detected.
Ledger concealment operating within acceptable limits.
Kairo sat up slowly.
"So you can hide me," he murmured. "But not forever."
Two days later, the academy received another field request.
Smaller.
Cleaner.
A single target.
A C-Rank rogue mercenary operating near a trade route. Ambush specialist. Multiple caravans destroyed.
Bounty authorized.
Instructor supervision minimal.
Volunteers requested.
Kairo read the notice once.
Then again.
Then closed his eyes.
This is it.
Not a monster.
Not chaos.
A person.
A C-Rank person.
Someone who knew how to kill.
Someone who would kill him deliberately.
And if he planned it right—
His pulse quickened.
No.
Steady.
He signed up.
Support role again.
Low priority.
As expected, Renn signed up too.
That complicated things.
They departed at dawn.
The group was small—one instructor, two upper-year D-Ranks, Renn, and Kairo.
The trade route cut through a narrow ravine. Perfect terrain for ambush.
Kairo felt it immediately.
The pressure.
Not overwhelming.
Focused.
Controlled.
The mercenary was nearby.
They advanced cautiously.
Too cautiously.
The attack came anyway.
Explosives. Smoke. Blades from the shadows.
The instructor engaged first, shouting orders.
The mercenary emerged—a lean figure wrapped in dark gear, movements fluid, precise.
C-Rank.
Every motion economical.
Kairo's instincts screamed.
This was different from the burrower.
This opponent thought.
The fight fractured into chaos.
Renn clashed directly with the mercenary and was immediately driven back, blood spraying from a shallow cut.
The instructor intervened.
Steel rang.
Sparks flew.
Kairo stayed at the edge, watching.
Learning.
Timing breaths.
Counting steps.
This mercenary favored killing blows after forcing mistakes.
That meant—
He could be baited.
The thought settled, cold and heavy.
If I die here… it has to be clean.
No panic.
No hesitation.
He waited.
The mercenary broke away from the instructor for a heartbeat—eyes scanning, calculating.
They locked onto Kairo.
The weakest.
The unblessed.
The obvious kill.
Perfect.
The mercenary lunged.
Time slowed.
Kairo stepped forward instead of back.
Renn shouted his name.
The blade pierced Kairo's chest.
Pain blossomed.
White.
Absolute.
But his mind stayed clear.
Focused.
Aware.
As the world dimmed, Kairo smiled faintly.
"This one," he whispered, "will be worth it."
[DEATH CONFIRMED]
Darkness closed in.
And the ledger opened wide.