The sun had barely touched the horizon, yet the social hierarchy of Babel Academy had already been carved in stone. Or rather, in accommodations.
While the Nobles were ushered toward the "Celestial Spires"—gleaming white towers with private balconies, mana-infused baths, and servants—we, the Commoners, were herded like cattle toward the "Undercroft."
The Undercroft wasn't a dormitory. It was a dungeon with beds. Located beneath the main academy grounds, it was a sprawling labyrinth of damp stone corridors, lit by flickering, low-quality mana crystals that buzzed like dying flies. The air smelled of mildew, unwashed bodies, and the distinct, metallic tang of despair.
"Move it! Pick a bunk and shut up!" a senior student barked, shoving a terrified first-year into a room.
I walked through the chaos, my grey robe trailing on the wet stone floor. My assigned room was C-104. I knew this room number. In the original novel, this was the site of the "First Night Tragedy." A bloodbath that ended with one student dead and another expelled. It was a minor footnote in the book, meant to show the brutality of the academy.
But for me, it was a recruitment center. Or at least, I hoped it would be.
I stopped in front of the heavy iron door of C-104. I could hear shouting from inside. Violent, hysterical shouting. I leaned against the cold wall, taking a deep breath. My mana was still recovering from the stunt I pulled with Kaelen at the ceremony. My head throbbed with a dull ache.
[Status]
Mana: 42% (Low)
Mental State: Alert
Objective: Survival.
"Hey, corpse-face."
A hand slammed against the wall next to my head, blocking my path. I looked up. Three older students. Second-years. They wore the armbands of the "Discipline Committee," but everyone knew they were just sanctioned bullies. The leader had a jagged scar running down his chin and teeth that looked like they had been rearranged by a rock.
"This is a toll road," Scar-face sneered, leaning in close. His breath smelled of stale ale. "New recruits pay a tax. Five mana stones. Or we break your fingers."
I looked at his hand. Then at his eyes. I didn't have mana stones. I didn't even have a copper coin. "I'm broke," I said, my voice flat.
"Broke?" Scar-face laughed, looking at his goons. "Hear that? He's broke. Well, that robe looks new. Strip."
He reached for my collar. I didn't panic. Panic is for people who don't know the script. I focused on the flickering mana lamp above us. 'Just a little tweak,' I thought.
[Skill: Mirage - Shadow Play]
I didn't conjure a demon. I didn't create a fake teacher. I didn't have the mana for that. Instead, I manipulated the shadows cast by the lamp. As Scar-face reached out, the shadow of his own hand stretched and warped. It elongated, turning into a clawed, monstrous shape that seemed to grab his own throat.
Scar-face froze. From his peripheral vision, it looked like something black and oily was choking him. "W-what the—?" He slapped at his own neck, stumbling back. "Something bit me!"
"There's nothing there, boss," one of his lackeys said, confused.
"I felt it! It was cold!" Scar-face yelled, his eyes darting around the dim hallway. He looked at me. I was just standing there, looking bored. To him, I was just a victim. The shadow was the threat. "This hallway is cursed," he muttered, rubbing his neck. "Let's go. This kid isn't worth the bad juju."
They scrambled away, looking over their shoulders. I let out a breath I had been holding. A drop of blood trickled from my left nostril. 'Pathetic,' I chided myself, wiping the blood away. 'A simple shadow trick drains me this much? My current body is trash.'
I turned back to door C-104. The shouting inside had escalated to screaming. I pushed the heavy iron door open.
The room was suffocating. Eight bunks were crammed into a space meant for four. Luggage was scattered everywhere. Six boys were pressed against the walls, their faces pale with terror.
In the center of the room, a tragedy was unfolding. A massive figure—over two meters tall—had a boy lifted off the ground by his throat. Zane. The future "Mad Dog" of the battlefield. Right now, he was a volcano erupting. His muscles were corded like steel cables, veins pulsing dangerously on his neck. His eyes were bloodshot, wild, and unfocused.
The boy in his grip—a merchant's son with expensive clothes—was turning purple, clawing uselessly at Zane's wrist.
"Stop... making... NOISE!" Zane roared. The sound was visceral. It wasn't just anger; it was pain. Zane slammed the boy against a bunk bed. CRACK. The wood splintered. "Breathing! Scratching! Heartbeats! Make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!"
The other roommates were paralyzed. They were watching a murder. In the novel, this is where the merchant boy casts a fire spell in panic, causing an explosion. I looked at the merchant boy's hand. Sparks were already flying from his fingertips. He was terrified, charging a spell he couldn't control.
I stepped forward. Not to save the boy, but to stop the explosion that would kill me. "Hey!" I shouted.
Zane's head snapped toward me. He looked like a cornered beast. He dropped the merchant boy—who collapsed, gasping for air—and turned his full aggression on me. "YOU!" Zane bellowed. "LOUD! TOO LOUD!"
He swung. It was a backhand meant to swat a fly. But coming from him, it was a siege weapon. I didn't block. I couldn't block. I dropped to my knees, sliding under the swing. The wind of his fist ruffled my hair. I felt the sheer kinetic force rattle my teeth.
I was now inside his guard. Too close. Zane looked down, raising both fists to smash me into the stone floor. I reached up and grabbed the sides of his head. My thumbs pressed against his temples.
[Skill: Mirage - Auditory Void]
"Sleep," I whispered.
Zane froze. The silence washed over him. The relief on his face was absolute. The monster was tamed. For ten seconds, I let him taste paradise. Then, I checked my status.
[Mana: 45%]
I had plenty left. I could have kept this up for an hour. But if I gave him an hour of peace now, he would take it for granted. He would think I was a vending machine he could kick whenever he wanted. To control a beast, you don't feed it a full meal. You keep it hungry.
'Cut it,' I commanded my own core.
I intentionally severed the mana flow. Instantly, the barrier shattered. The noise rushed back into Zane's ears—the buzzing lights, the dripping water, the heavy breathing.
Zane roared, grabbing his head as if he had been shot. "NO! BRING IT BACK!"
He lunged at me, grabbing the front of my robe. He lifted me off the ground effortlessly, slamming me against the stone wall. "What did you do?!" he screamed, his face inches from mine. "Why did it stop?!"
I let my body go limp. I forced my hands to tremble. I even bit the inside of my cheek to summon a fresh trace of blood to my lip. "I... I can't..." I wheezed, acting as if I were on the brink of death. "My mana... it's gone."
Zane shook me violently. "DO IT AGAIN!"
"I'm empty..." I gasped, my eyes half-closing. "If I push... I'll die. Then you'll... never hear it again."
That stopped him. The fear of losing the silence forever was stronger than his rage. Zane froze. He looked at my "exhausted" face, then at his own trembling hands. He realized that if he broke me, he broke the only cure in the world.
He growled—a sound of pure frustration—and threw me onto my bunk. "Useless trash," he spat. But he didn't attack again. He couldn't afford to.
He turned to the other terrified boys in the room. "Get out," he snarled.
They scrambled out the door, leaving us alone.
Zane sat on his bunk near the door, clutching his head, rocking back and forth. The noise was back, and he was suffering. I lay on my mattress, turning my back to him.
"You..." Zane's voice cut through the dark. "You better recover by tomorrow."
"Let me sleep," I whispered weakly.
I waited until Zane's breathing settled into a rhythmic, pained pattern. In the darkness, facing the wall, my "exhausted" expression vanished. A cold, sharp smirk replaced it.
I opened my status window silently.
[Mana: 44%]
I wasn't empty. I was halfway full. I could have silenced the room all night. But now, Zane believed my capacity was tiny. He believed every second of silence was a precious, rare gem that he had to earn. He wasn't my partner yet. He was my addict. And I was the only one holding the supply.
'Supply and demand, big guy,' I thought, closing my eyes peacefully. 'If you want another fix, you're going to have to bleed for me tomorrow.'