The night air is cool.
Peaceful.
Which makes it particularly unfortunate that I am walking away from the women's dormitory at an hour typically reserved for sleeping or regrettable decisions.
I adjust my collar.
In hindsight, exiting through the front door may have been optimistic.
"Stop right there!"
Ah.
Predictable.
A lantern flares to life.
Academy guard.
Full uniform.
Deeply disappointed expression.
I turn.
Academy guard. Full uniform. Mana baton. Expression suggesting he regrets his career choices.
"…Why," he asks slowly, "are you walking away from the women's dormitory?"
"Poor time management," I reply.
He squints at me.
"…You're Ren. First-year."
"Yes."
"There was… an incident tonight."
"I'm aware."
He studies me a moment longer.
"Headmaster. Now."
"That seems inevitable."
The guard escorts me to the headmaster's office with the air of someone delivering a poorly wrapped problem.
Headmaster Alric Davenhall looks up from behind his desk.
His hair has gone iron-gray at the temples, though the rest remains dark and neatly combed back. Fine lines cut across his forehead — not from age alone, but from prolonged irritation. His eyes are deep brown, steady and observant, the kind that don't miss much.
He isn't particularly tall, nor especially broad.
But he sits like someone who doesn't need to prove either.
His academy coat is simple — black with silver lining — worn but immaculate.
He looks less like a politician.
And more like a man who has been cleaning up other people's disasters for decades.
"Ren."
"Yes, Headmaster."
"You have been enrolled for one week."
"That is correct."
"And tonight, four upper-year noble students were seen dragging you across academy grounds while you were restrained."
I blink.
"…Seen?"
"Yes."
"By whom?"
"Three second-year students. A groundskeeper. A kitchen attendant. Possibly additional witnesses."
I process that.
"…Across the main courtyard?"
"Yes."
"In full view."
"Yes."
I nod slowly.
"That is impressively inefficient."
The headmaster does not react.
"You were bound."
"Yes."
"And transported."
"Yes."
"In the open."
"Yes."
A longer pause.
"So to clarify," I say evenly, "four noble heirs dragged me across academy grounds at night, while I was restrained, and multiple witnesses observed this."
"Yes."
"And this is being categorized as…?"
"A prank."
I blink again.
"A prank."
"Yes."
"Headmaster."
"Yes."
"If four seventeen-year-old nobles drag a bound fifteen-year-old through the courtyard at night, I feel the term 'prank' may invite speculation."
His expression hardens slightly.
"What kind of speculation?"
I tilt my head thoughtfully.
"Well. The imagination is flexible."
Silence.
"Ren."
"Yes?"
"Clarify."
"Given the circumstances," I continue calmly, "one might assume something indecent occurred."
The room goes very still.
The headmaster's gaze sharpens instantly.
"Ren."
"I am merely observing how rumors tend to develop."
"You will stop."
"I have not accused anyone."
"You are implying."
"Only hypothetically."
"Stop."
The word lands clean and controlled.
I straighten slightly.
"Yes, Headmaster."
He exhales slowly.
"This will be written off as a misguided upper-year prank."
"Of course."
"You will not suggest otherwise."
"I was not planning a public announcement."
"You will not make insinuations."
"I rarely schedule them in advance."
His eyes narrow.
"Ren."
"Yes?"
"Drop the sarcasm."
Silence.
"…Yes, Headmaster."
He studies me carefully for a long moment.
"You are B-Rank in the guild."
"Yes."
"You shattered academy entrance exam records."
"Yes."
"You defeated a Lesser Dragon alone."
"Yes."
"And tonight, four noble heirs attempted to bind you and were seen transporting you."
"Yes."
"You understand how fragile this situation is."
"I am beginning to."
"If noble families believe their daughters' reputations are being threatened—"
"I have no desire to threaten reputations," I reply more evenly now.
"Good."
A pause.
"You are destabilizing this academy."
"I answered questions and protected civilians."
"And that," he says quietly, "is precisely the problem."
Silence settles again.
"This remains a prank," he says. "No charges. No scandal. No noble involvement."
"Yes, Headmaster."
"You will return to your dormitory."
"Yes."
"And you will not be dragged anywhere else this week."
"I will do my best to avoid it."
He studies me one final time.
"Sleep."
"I will attempt it."
The academy corridors are quieter now.
Mercifully.
The guard escorts me halfway before deciding I am unlikely to abduct myself.
I walk the rest of the way alone.
Lanterns flicker softly.
Stone halls echo faintly.
I reach my dormitory door.
Pause.
Consider the evening.
Kidnapped.
Dragged.
Publicly observed.
Declared a prank.
Politically neutralized.
I sigh.
"This week escalated quickly."
Inside my room, my alchemy materials sit exactly where I left them.
Neatly arranged.
Innocent.
I stare at them for a long moment.
"…Tomorrow," I decide.
I collapse onto the bed fully clothed.
Sleep arrives immediately.
The academy is louder than usual.
Whispers.
Stares.
Muted laughter.
As I walk through the courtyard, two second-years glance at me and quickly look away.
One mutters:
"That's him."
Another whispers:
"The one from last night."
I continue walking.
This is manageable.
Then—
A third-year smirks openly.
"Careful," he calls out casually. "Don't wander near the noble wing."
A small group snickers.
Ah.
We've reached the comedy phase.
As I enter the main hall, someone from the back calls:
"Ren! Need a rope?"
Laughter spreads.
I pause.
Turn slightly.
"Only if it's higher quality."
That earns a louder reaction.
This is acceptable.
Mockery is harmless.
It fades.
Usually.
By lunch, the tone shifts.
Less joking.
More whispering.
I catch fragments.
"Commoner thinks he's special."
"He must've asked for it."
"They wouldn't just grab him."
"He's been provoking them."
That's… creative.
Then I hear the word:
"Obsessed."
Followed by:
"Trying to get attention from nobles."
That one is new.
I take my seat quietly.
Across the hall, I spot Seraphine speaking sharply to Cassia.
Vivienne looks irritated.
Elara looks… conflicted.
And then she stands.
That is unfortunate timing.
She walks across the hall.
Publicly.
Directly toward me.
The room quiets instantly.
Every noble head turns.
Every commoner pretends not to look.
She stops in front of my table.
Her posture is formal.
Controlled.
"Ren."
"Yes."
"I owe you an apology."
The silence deepens.
"For last night," she continues evenly. "It was inappropriate."
Across the hall, Cassia's expression darkens.
Vivienne closes her eyes briefly.
Seraphine watches carefully.
I tilt my head slightly.
"Accepted."
That simple.
Elara blinks.
"…That's it?"
"I did not sustain permanent rope damage."
A faint, helpless smile touches her face before she controls it.
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
She hesitates, then adds quietly:
"It shouldn't have happened."
"That is statistically correct."
A few students nearby whisper sharply.
Someone across the hall mutters:
"See?"
Another voice:
"Told you."
Elara steps back.
"Have a good day, Ren."
"I will attempt it."
She returns to her table.
The hall noise resumes — but different now.
Sharper.
Heavier.
Within minutes, the rumors evolve.
"She apologized."
"Why would she apologize?"
"He's manipulating her."
"He must've done something."
"He's targeting nobles."
"He's trying to climb."
And then the first real slander:
"He probably staged it."
That one spreads fast.
"Of course. No way four nobles just grabbed him."
"He's been provoking them since he got here."
"He's trying to disgrace noble houses."
"He thinks he's better than us."
The narrative flips quickly.
From victim.
To instigator.
From target.
To threat.
I chew thoughtfully.
"…That escalated."
Across the hall, Seraphine is no longer speaking.
She's watching.
Not amused.
Not angry.
Evaluating the shift.
Elara's apology has changed the board.
And I appear to be the piece in the center.
I sigh quietly.
"Day two," I mutter to myself. "Excellent."
The apology spreads faster than reason.
By the end of the lunch period, the narrative has shifted again.
"He forced her to apologize."
"He's manipulating noble daughters."
"He staged the entire kidnapping."
"He wants attention."
That one stings slightly.
Not emotionally.
Logistically.
I am halfway through a mana-structuring lecture when the classroom door opens.
Not politely.
Three upper-year noble students step inside.
Adrian Valemont enters first.
Taller than me by a few inches, broad-shouldered, posture straight without being stiff. Auburn hair swept neatly back, amber eyes sharp and direct. His uniform is tailored — not academy standard. Reinforced stitching at the seams. Subtle heat-thread lining visible at the collar.
He looks like someone who has never needed to ask for space.
He expects it.
Marius Arclight follows.
Tall and lean, ash-blond hair tied neatly at the base of his neck. Pale blue eyes — calculating, distant. His gloves are mana-threaded, fingertips faintly etched with micro-runes. Even the way he stands is deliberate.
He doesn't look angry.
He looks analytical.
Cassian Thornmere steps in last.
Shorter than Adrian but built thicker through the shoulders. Dark hair cut close on the sides, longer on top. Violet eyes bright with impatience. The Thornmere crest flickers faintly along his forearm as lightning gathers instinctively.
He looks like he'd rather solve this with force.
Which is unfortunate.
Because that's usually how he tries.
The professor clears his throat.
"This is a first-year lecture—"
Adrian doesn't look at him.
"You're Ren."
"Yes."
"Step outside."
The room goes silent.
I sigh softly.
"Is this about the rope, or are we expanding the topic?"
A ripple of nervous laughter spreads.
Cassian's lightning flares brighter.
"You think this is funny?"
"No," I say calmly. "I think this is repetitive."
Adrian's voice lowers.
"You embarrassed noble houses."
"I was unconscious."
Marius steps forward.
"You humiliated Seraphine."
"I was bound."
Cassian snaps.
"You manipulated Lady Windmere into apologizing."
"I accepted an apology."
"You should have refused."
That's… new.
I stand slowly.
This is going to be inconvenient.
The courtyard fills faster than I expected.
Students pour from corridors.
Upper-years lean from balconies.
Mana flickers faintly in the air.
Cassian Thornmere doesn't wait for ceremony.
Lightning detonates from his palm in a jagged spear.
It cracks through the air with a sharp snap—
Fast.
Very fast.
I pivot sideways.
Not a leap.
Not a flourish.
A simple rotation of my shoulders and hips.
The lightning skims past my uniform sleeve and detonates against stone.
The courtyard explodes in sparks.
Gasps ripple outward.
Cassian's already moving.
Second strike.
He doesn't give space.
Lightning arcs low this time, skimming the ground in a sweeping wave meant to take my legs.
I step forward instead of back.
Mana compresses beneath my feet.
A short hop.
The current passes under me.
I land inside his reach.
Close enough to see surprise flicker in his eyes.
I tap his wrist lightly.
Mana pulses outward.
Just enough to disrupt the flow.
His lightning collapses mid-channel.
He stumbles two steps back.
That's when Adrian Valemont moves.
No wasted emotion.
No shouting.
Lower B-Rank flame magic.
His palm rotates and the air condenses—
Flame compresses into a tight sphere.
Not wild.
Controlled.
He launches it low, then snaps his fingers.
The sphere splits mid-flight into three.
Predictive positioning.
Good technique.
I raise my hand.
Not a full barrier.
Just angled mana planes.
Thin, efficient sheets.
The first flame sphere strikes and splits around the plane.
The second detonates, scattering sparks upward.
The third clips my shoulder.
Heat burns fabric.
I roll with it instead of resisting.
Momentum carries me sideways.
Adrian closes distance instantly.
He's trained.
His footwork is disciplined.
A flame-coated strike aimed for my ribs.
I rotate inward.
Redirect the arm.
His flame scrapes across the courtyard floor instead.
Stone hisses.
Students retreat further.
Marius Arclight finally joins.
Not with raw power.
With interference.
His hands weave precise spell matrices.
Mana threads snap into the air around me.
Compression fields.
Restrictive.
Calculated.
The space tightens.
Movement slows.
That's clever.
For a brief second—
My breathing feels heavy.
Cassian recovers.
Lightning surges again.
Adrian reignites flame.
They synchronize.
Upper C speed.
Lower B precision.
Coordinated noble training.
The next exchange comes fast.
Lightning from the left.
Flame from the right.
Mana compression tightening from behind.
I exhale slowly.
Then release a measured pulse.
Not the overwhelming wave from last night.
Smaller.
Sharper.
Dense.
The mana pressure pushes outward in a controlled shockwave.
Not destructive.
Disruptive.
Marius' compression fields shatter like glass.
Cassian's lightning sputters mid-arc.
Adrian's flame flickers violently before stabilizing.
The ground beneath my feet cracks in a shallow ring.
The courtyard goes silent.
Not because I attacked.
Because I didn't.
I simply stood there.
And forced their mana to recoil.
Cassian charges again out of pride more than strategy.
This time he aims high.
Lightning compresses into a narrow thrust instead of a wave.
Faster.
More lethal.
I step inside the strike.
Catch his forearm.
Mana surges through my palm.
Not burning.
Not explosive.
Just heavy.
His lightning dies instantly.
The force sends him skidding back across stone.
Adrian lunges to cover him.
Flame blade forming along his arm.
We exchange three rapid strikes—
Flame.
Barrier.
Counter.
Pivot.
Elbow redirect.
Flame scatters.
Heel slide.
He's strong.
But he's reacting.
Not leading.
I shift past him and let my mana rise a fraction more.
The air thickens again.
The crowd recoils instinctively.
That's when I see her.
Seraphine.
Standing near the edge of the courtyard.
Hands clenched tightly at her sides.
Her jaw set.
Her eyes sharp.
Not angry.
Not proud.
Guilty.
She sees what this became.
She sees her fiancé risking humiliation.
She sees the narrative spiraling.
But she doesn't step in.
Because stepping in would admit she lost control first.
Cassian pushes himself upright.
Furious.
Humiliated.
"Enough!" Adrian snaps.
But Cassian lunges again.
I release another pulse.
He stops mid-stride.
Feet grinding against stone.
He cannot move forward.
Not because I strike him.
Because the air itself resists him.
Adrian realizes it first.
He steps back.
Marius' eyes widen slightly.
They are not losing because they're weak.
They're losing because I am not escalating.
And that imbalance is terrifying.
I let the pressure drop.
Immediately.
The courtyard breathes again.
No one speaks.
I look at them calmly.
"You're upset," I say evenly. "But I did not drag myself across the courtyard."
Adrian clenches his jaw.
"You've embarrassed noble houses."
"I was unconscious."
Cassian tries to surge forward again.
Seraphine finally speaks.
"Enough."
Her voice cuts through cleanly.
Not loud.
But absolute.
Cassian freezes.
Adrian stiffens.
Marius goes still.
She steps forward slowly.
Her eyes don't leave mine.
And there it is—
The flicker.
Guilt.
Frustration.
Refusal.
She does not apologize.
She does not defend me.
But she does not deny what happened either.
"This ends here," she says evenly.
Adrian hesitates.
"…Seraphine—"
"It ends," she repeats.
He exhales sharply.
Then looks at me.
"This isn't finished."
I tilt my head.
"I suspected."
They withdraw.
The crowd erupts in whispers.
Commoners stare at me differently now.
Nobles look unsettled.
Seraphine lingers a moment longer.
Her gaze meets mine.
A silent admission.
Not spoken.
Not accepted.
Then she turns and leaves.
I exhale slowly.
"It's still Tuesday," I mutter.
The courtyard doesn't even have time to settle.
A ripple of authority cuts through the crowd.
"Enough."
Headmaster Alric Davenhall stands at the far end of the stone path.
He does not shout.
He does not release mana.
He does not need to.
Everyone freezes.
His gaze sweeps once across:
Me.
Adrian.
Cassian.
Marius.
Seraphine.
Vivienne.
Cassia.
Elara.
"You will all report to my office. Immediately."
No one argues.
That would be suicidal.
The room is crowded.
On one side:
Adrian Valemont — Lower B-Rank combat
Marius Arclight — Lower B-Rank theory
Cassian Thornmere — Upper C-Rank lightning
Behind them stand:
Seraphine Valemont — Upper C-Rank
Vivienne Arclight — Lower B-Rank
Cassia Thornmere — Upper C-Rank
And slightly apart from the cluster—
Elara Windmere.
The Headmaster remains standing.
Hands folded behind his back.
"You have given me," he says calmly, "exactly one week of administrative peace."
Silence.
He turns first to the fiancés.
"You stormed a first-year lecture."
No response.
"You initiated combat on academy grounds."
Adrian answers evenly.
"We were defending our families' reputations."
"You were escalating a rumor."
"It was more than a rumor."
The headmaster's eyes shift to me.
"Ren."
"Yes, Headmaster."
"Did you provoke this confrontation?"
"No."
"Did you initiate combat?"
"No."
"Did you release mana?"
"Yes."
"How much?"
"Measured."
Cassian scoffs quietly.
The headmaster ignores him.
He turns to the girls.
"Lady Valemont."
Seraphine steps forward.
Composed.
Controlled.
"You bound him."
"Yes."
"You transported him."
"Yes."
"In public."
"Yes."
"Why?"
A pause.
Not long.
"Suspicion," she says evenly.
"Of what?"
"That he cheated. Or concealed lineage."
"Did you find evidence?"
"No."
Silence settles.
The headmaster nods once.
"And this morning?"
Elara steps forward before anyone else.
"I apologized," she says clearly.
Cassia shifts uncomfortably.
Vivienne's jaw tightens.
Seraphine does not look at her.
"And do you regret apologizing?" the headmaster asks.
Elara's voice is steady.
"No."
That lands.
Adrian's posture stiffens.
Marius looks irritated.
Cassian looks furious.
The headmaster's gaze sharpens.
"Lord Valemont."
Adrian meets his eyes.
"You escalated the matter further."
"She was humiliated," Adrian replies.
"She kidnapped him."
Silence.
That is not said loudly.
But it lands heavily.
Adrian clenches his jaw.
"That was not public."
"It became public," the headmaster replies calmly.
"This academy is not a dueling ground for noble pride." The headmaster faces the room fully now.
No one speaks.
"You," he points lightly at the fiancés, "allowed rumor to override reason."
"And you," his gaze shifts to the girls, "allowed suspicion to override judgment."
Then he looks at me.
"And you."
I blink once.
"Yes?"
"Stop destabilizing my institution."
"I am attending classes."
"You are existing loudly."
"That was not intentional."
"I do not care."
A pause.
The headmaster steps forward slightly.
"This ends now."
He looks directly at Adrian.
"You will not approach Ren again outside sanctioned academy proceedings."
Adrian's jaw tightens.
"…Understood."
"Marius."
"…Understood."
"Cassian."
A longer pause.
"…Understood."
The headmaster turns to the girls.
"You will not bind first-year students again."
Cassia looks faintly embarrassed.
Vivienne nods stiffly.
Seraphine says nothing.
Then—
She steps forward.
And bows her head slightly.
"I misjudged you."
It is not an apology.
But it is something.
I incline my head.
"Noted."
Cassian looks like he wants to explode.
Adrian looks restrained by effort alone.
The headmaster folds his hands.
"This matter is closed."
A beat.
"If I see lightning in the courtyard again, I will personally remove someone's rank."
That is not a joke.
Everyone understands that.
"Dismissed."
They begin filing out.
Adrian brushes past me.
Close enough to murmur quietly:
"This isn't finished."
I reply just as quietly.
"It rarely is."
Across the room—
Seraphine pauses.
For a fraction of a second, her eyes meet mine.
Still proud.
Still conflicted.
Still unwilling to admit fully that she was wrong.
But no longer certain she was right.
Elara lingers last.
"…Are you alright?" she asks quietly.
"I've had worse Tuesdays."
She almost smiles.
Then leaves.
The room empties.
The headmaster sighs.
"You," he says to me without looking up, "are exhausting."
"I'm aware."
"Go to class."
"Yes, Headmaster."
As I leave, I realize something important.
This is no longer about rope.
Or rumors.
Or pride.
It's about balance.
And balance, historically, is not stable for long.