The first evening at Aethelgard Academy did not bring the respite Alaric had expected. While the lower-tier dormitories were undoubtedly buzzing with the frantic energy of new friendships and shared excitement, the Apex Wing was a silent tomb of white marble and reinforced glass.
Alaric's private quarters were palatial, designed with the aesthetic of a high-end research lab. Large, floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the capital, the lights of the city twinkling like fallen stars. It was the kind of room meant to inspire greatness, yet as Alaric sat at his mahogany desk, he found himself focused on the singular, flickering blue light of his interface.
[Notice: Team 'Vanguard of Ruin' has been formed.]
[Synchronization: 12%]
The name bothered him. In the Oros Empire, the naming of a squad was typically handled by the students themselves during the second month of study, or assigned by a professor based on a notable achievement. For the System to pre-emptively designate a name—and one so laden with ominous weight—suggested a flaw in the underlying logic of the Academy's mana-network. Or, more likely, a bug in the evaluation stone's predictive algorithm.
He pulled a thick, leather-bound textbook from his hovering trunk: A Comprehensive History of Gate-Mana Frequencies. He didn't open it to study; he opened it to the blank pages at the back, where he had begun a series of complex diagrams.
Observation, Alaric wrote, the quill scratching rhythmically. Subject Caspian (Vanguard) possesses a combat reflex that suggests years of veteran experience, yet he is eighteen. Subject Seraphina (Healer) exhibits signs of severe post-traumatic stress triggered by my specific vocal frequency. Logical conclusion: They are victims of a shared, localized mass-hallucination or a memory-alteration spell. Priority: Identify the caster.
He didn't think of them as "returners." To a mind built on physics and tangible mana-theory, time travel was a theoretical impossibility—a ghost story told to frighten apprentices. It was far more likely that a rival political faction had used a high-level mental interference Gate to "prime" these specific prodigies against him.
A soft chime echoed through the room. It was the mandatory "Social Integration Hour" notification. Every student in the Apex Tier was required to attend a nightly tactical review in the Common Room. It was a rule designed to force coordination. For Alaric, it was an opportunity.
The Common Room was a vast space filled with plush velvet chairs and low-burning hearths that smelled of cedarwood. When Alaric arrived, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The ten other students who weren't in his squad fell silent, their eyes following him with a mixture of awe and trepidation.
Caspian was already there, sitting in the darkest corner of the room, sharpening a small hunting knife with a rhythmic, grating sound. Seraphina sat near the fireplace, staring into the flames as if she hoped they would swallow her. Leo was the only one who looked up, offering a small, nervous wave.
Alaric didn't head for the center of the room. He went to the small kitchenette in the corner, prepared four cups of herbal tea with practiced, elegant movements, and brought them over to his squad's table. He placed a cup in front of Caspian first.
"It's a blend from the Southern Isles," Alaric said, his voice a warm, inviting baritone. "Excellent for soothing muscle tremors after a high-intensity drill."
Caspian didn't look up from his knife. "I don't drink anything I didn't pour myself, Thorne."
"A wise policy for the frontier," Alaric replied, unfazed. He took a sip from his own cup to demonstrate its safety before offering the second to Seraphina. "And for you, Lady Seraphina. It has a touch of honey. I noticed your mana-exhaustion was peaking toward the end of the simulation."
Seraphina's hand twitched toward the cup, but she stopped, her eyes flicking to Alaric's face. To her, he wasn't a classmate offering tea. He was the man who had burned the Lunar Cathedral while holding that exact same expression of polite concern. The trauma was so visceral she could almost smell the smoke in the room.
"I... I'm not thirsty," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling fire.
Alaric set the cup down gently. "Of course. It's there if you change your mind."
He sat down, crossing one leg over the other, perfectly at ease in the face of their rejection. "Professor Silas mentioned that our first formal lecture tomorrow is on Gate-Spatial Distortion. Given our performance today, I suspect we'll be the primary focus of the discussion. Caspian, your entry speed was remarkable, but we need to work on the pivot point with Leo's shield. If the Gargoyle had been a Rank-B, that overextension would have been fatal."
"I've survived worse than a Rank-B," Caspian snapped, finally looking up. His eyes were cold, hard, and filled with a hatred that felt decades old. "You talk as if you've actually bled in a Gate, Thorne. You just stand in the back and move the air around. You don't know what it's like when the walls close in."
"You're right," Alaric said, leaning forward, his violet eyes reflecting the firelight. "I haven't bled as much as you clearly have. That's exactly why I want to learn from you. If you show me the reality of the front, I can better adapt my support to keep you from having to bleed again. Isn't that the point of a squad?"
It was a masterful response—humble, logical, and deeply charismatic. To any observer, Alaric was being the ultimate teammate. To Caspian, it was the ultimate insult.
He's doing it again, Caspian thought, his grip tightening on his knife. He's pretending to be the student so he can master our weaknesses. He wants to 'learn' from me so he can figure out exactly how to kill me when the time comes.
"Stay out of my head, Alaric," Caspian hissed, standing up. The knife vanished into his belt in a blur of movement. "And stay out of my way."
He stormed out of the Common Room, the heavy doors thudding shut behind him. Seraphina stood a moment later, offering a frantic, jerky bow before scurrying toward the girls' dormitories.
Alaric was left alone with Leo, who was staring into his tea as if it held the secrets of the universe.
"Is it me, Leo?" Alaric asked, his voice genuinely curious. "I've spent the last six hours reviewing my family's history, my own public records, and even the Academy's enrollment files. I can't find a single interaction I've had with either of them. Yet they look at me as if I'm an assassin holding a knife to their throats."
Leo looked up, his face filled with a sympathetic, albeit terrified, frown. "I don't think it's you, Lord Thorne. I mean... you're an SS-Rank. People like me, we're just... we're afraid of things that can break the world. Maybe they're just more sensitive to it than I am."
"Perhaps," Alaric mused, though he didn't believe it for a second. Fear of power was one thing; the specific, targeted loathing he saw in Caspian's eyes was another entirely.
He stood up, his telekinesis lifting the abandoned tea cups and carrying them back to the kitchenette in a silent, orderly line. He noticed that the "Synchronization" meter on his interface had dropped by 1% after Caspian's departure.
They don't just dislike me, Alaric realized as he walked back to his room. They are actively resisting the very idea of me. It's as if their minds are calibrated to reject any positive interaction I initiate.
The thought should have been discouraging, but for Alaric, it was a spark of pure intellectual fire. He spent the rest of the night in his quarters, not sleeping, but cross-referencing Seraphina's prayer patterns with known anti-possession rites.
If they were being manipulated by an outside force to hate him, he would find it. If they were suffering from a psychological trauma, he would heal it. And if they wanted to treat him like a villain, he would simply have to be so undeniably, persistently heroic that their own senses would eventually betray their delusions.
The next morning, the bell for the first formal lecture rang through the spires. Alaric emerged from his room, perfectly groomed, his silver hair catching the morning sun. He found his squad waiting in the hall, the atmosphere as cold as a mountain peak.
"Good morning," Alaric said, his smile as bright and steady as ever. "I've taken the liberty of marking the key chapters in our spatial theory texts for today. I thought it might save us some time during the lab portion."
Caspian ignored the offered book. Seraphina flinched.
Alaric simply tucked the books under his arm and began to lead the way to the lecture hall. He wasn't bothered. He was a man of the long game, and the first arc of his academy life had only just begun. He would be the perfect student, the perfect leader, and the perfect friend—no matter how much they hated him for it.