In world history class, Mel sat beside Jake, who was quietly scribbling notes in his notebook. Glancing at him, Mel leaned in, his voice low. “Do you really think I look down on you?”

Jake froze for a moment, then turned to Mel, his gaze dropping. “N-no,” he stammered. “You were the first person who talked to me. I was just drunk… I liked it because, I don’t know, it made me feel confident enough to stand up to Arid.” He hesitated, gripping his pen tightly. “I know he’s probably had the worst childhood out of all of us, but that doesn’t excuse what he did to me. For years, he made me feel small.”

Jake’s voice faltered, but he pushed on. “When he came to train me, I thought maybe he’d changed. But he didn’t. He only did it to one-up you.” Jake paused, then sighed. “You were right, Mel. About no one really being friends with him. He doesn’t know how to be friends with anyone because he doesn’t show it in the ways that count. Yeah, he helped you fight the wardens, but…”

Jake glanced at Mel with a faint smile, his voice softening. “If you want to be his friend, Mel, I won’t stop you. But I just can’t do it.”

Mel didn’t respond right away, his expression unreadable as he leaned back in his chair. “I get it, Jake,” he said finally, his tone surprisingly gentle. “I just needed to know how you really felt.”

Mel smiled warmly, ruffling Jake’s hair with a playful touch. “Want me to train you? Then you can really become Jacob the Knight,” he teased.

Jake’s grin widened as he glanced down at his notebook, where he had drawn his dream self—Jacob the Knight, standing proud in gleaming armor.

“Thanks, Mel,” Jake said, his voice steady with determination. “But I want to get there on my own, ya know?” He tapped Mel’s forehead lightly with his pencil, a confident smile lighting up his face.

The warden, who also served as their teacher, turned his attention to Mel. “Melanthius, would you be alright if I spoke about your father?” he asked carefully, his tone measured. At the mention of Mel’s father, the room fell silent, and all eyes shifted to him.

Mel smiled, flipping open a book with a sense of quiet resolve. “Actually, I’ll just read it to you,” he said, scanning the pages.

“Merlin orchestrated the massacre of the Veil Clan, a group that once loyally served under him,” Mel explained, his voice steady but tinged with underlying bitterness. “They were slaughtered for daring to challenge his plans, and he showed no remorse.” He sat down quietly, letting the weight of his words settle over the room.

A girl with a white card raised her hand. “Why do you think he did it?” she asked cautiously.

Mel glanced down, his fingers brushing against the edge of the book in his lap. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his tone softer now. “I have his strength, his intelligence, his face. His magic—I think. But his memories? Those are a mystery to me.”

“Thank you,” the warden said with a respectful bow. Mel gave a slight nod in acknowledgment, his expression calm yet unreadable.

The bell rang, echoing through the classroom as students began packing their bags. Elowen approached Mel, her curiosity piqued.

“Are we the only black cards in this class?” she asked.

Mel shook his head, his expression tight as he spoke through gritted teeth. “In our class, there are three. Me, you...” He gestured subtly to the back of the room without turning around. “And him.”

Elowen followed his motion, her eyes landing on a tall boy sitting silently at his desk. His muscles strained slightly against his shirt, partially concealed by a black jacket draped over his broad shoulders. His gaze was locked on the front of the room, his lips moving in quiet murmurs as if lost in thought.

“I think his name is Dontai Bennet,” Mel whispered, his tone low.

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Elowen’s brows furrowed as she turned back to Mel. “He hasn’t moved the entire class,” she murmured, glancing over her shoulder again.

Moments later, Mel, Elowen, and Jake stepped into the crowded hallway, navigating through the noise.

Jake groaned, his nerves bubbling to the surface. “Next class is weapon handling! I don’t know anything about weapons!” he stammered, clutching his notebook like it could save him. “Well for white and yellow cards we just have to write in the back while the black and red cards are in the front training but still!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll partner with you if we have to do anything like sparring.” Mel gave Jake a reassuring smile, rubbing the back of his head. Jake let out a relieved sigh.

“Wait, does that mean Dontai also failed the test?” Mel mused aloud. “We’re stuck in classes with other black cards because the eight of us bombed it and ended up in Tier One. I guess he did too.” Elowen raised an eyebrow and glanced at Mel. “Why are you still hung up on that guy?” Mel shrugged, his expression thoughtful. “I don’t know. He just gives me this... weird vibe.”

Moments later, Mel found himself tied securely to a punching bag, his arms pinned and his expression somewhere between resignation and annoyance. “Headmaster Kai, I already apologized for how I acted when I was drunk... Do I really deserve this?” he groaned.

Kai, entirely unfazed, shoved a towel into Mel’s mouth with a smirk. “Yes. Yes, you do. Now, students, line up! Grab any weapon of your choice and practice the one-two forms I taught you earlier!” His booming laughter filled the room as the students formed a line, including Elowen and Dontai.

The first to approach was a red card wielding a bo staff. With a confident spin, they executed the one-two form, landing two sharp strikes against Mel’s torso. His muffled yells escaped past the towel as he braced himself against the impact, the punching bag swaying slightly with the force.

“Good form!” Kai clapped. “Next!”

The next student, another red card, stepped up wielding a pair of nunchucks. With a flashy spin, they executed the one-two form—except their strikes landed squarely at Mel's groin.

Mel's body tensed, and a muffled cough escaped as he groaned in pain. “Mmmph! That was a low blow!” he grunted through the towel, glaring daggers at the culprit while the rest of the class tried (and mostly failed) to stifle their laughter.

"Next up!" Kai bellowed, clapping his hands in excitement. Mel, sore and battered after enduring strikes from several students, slumped against the punching bag. His breaths came in ragged gasps. Elowen approached him next, holding a wooden sword. “Just two more. Brace yourself,” she said with a sigh. With measured precision, she struck him twice—each hit eliciting a muffled grunt as Mel grimaced.

“This hurts so much,” he groaned, barely lifting his head. Then he saw the last student step forward: Dontai Bennet. Dontai wore heavy gauntlets, his quiet demeanor now overshadowed by the intensity in his eyes. He rolled his shoulders, adjusted his stance, and began bouncing slightly on his feet. Without a word, he spun swiftly and delivered a devastating punch to Mel's stomach.

Mel's eyes shot open wide as he coughed hard, the wind knocked clean out of him. “Where is he generating this much strength?!” he thought, his mind racing. “This is leagues above Terence’s. He’s built like Bimoth but not as tall.” Before Mel could recover, Dontai spun again, using the momentum to throw another crushing punch.

“It’s his spin!” Mel realized in a panic. “I can’t take another hit! If I do, I’ll pass out!” Acting on instinct, Mel raised his leg in a sharp crescent kick, driving the heel of his foot against Dontai’s face.

The strike landed cleanly. Dontai’s expression didn’t falter—his face remained unreadable—but he dropped his gauntlets and turned to walk away without a word. As he moved back to his seat, he paused briefly, brushing a hand against his face before glancing over his shoulder at Mel.

Mel, still bound and breathing heavily, lowered his gaze, the encounter leaving a lingering sense of unease in the air.

A few moments later, Mel slouched in the bleachers, leaning heavily against Elowen. “I’m in so much pain right now,” he groaned, wincing with every shift of his battered body.

Elowen, calmly working on her homework, paused and glanced at him. “Why did you kick Dontai?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mel sat up, rubbing his sore ribs. “I think he was using some kind of magical technique. I didn’t want to pass out,” he admitted, his voice laced with exhaustion.

As if on cue, Dontai Bennet approached them, his steps measured and deliberate. “Melanthius,” he began, his tone blunt and formal, “I owe you an apology.”

Mel blinked in surprise, sitting up straighter as Dontai continued. “I was using a magical technique—it’s called Torque. By spinning my body, I can amplify the force of my attacks. It’s a technique I learned back in my homeland, a kingdom on another continent. You could call me a foreign exchange student, I suppose.”

Dontai crossed his arms and stared down at Mel. “But let’s get one thing straight: the objective was for me to hit you. You, however, decided to kick me. That wasn’t part of the exercise.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Refrain from hitting me again, and I won’t hit you. Deal?”

Mel opened his mouth to respond, but Dontai turned on his heel before he could get a word out. Without waiting for an answer, Dontai returned to his seat, isolating himself once again.