Shichi Katayagi watched as the dome barriers and hologram crystals faded from power. On the court opposite, Shilla and Dolf were knocked out of the ring and were just beginning to get on their feet, nursing their wounds. Quinton was walking back towards the stands.

“Hey,” Shichi raised. “Good job.”

“Thanks,” Quinton replied. “Couldn't have done it without you, my friend.”

He wondered if that was true. Quinton had a way with the sword, a focus that Shichi found himself lacking in a fight. He was always too focused on the big picture. the greater battlefield before them, and was often reckless.

As he watch Quinton head back to his seat, the stadium raised in light cheers from across the classes, the loudest being their own. Even some of the more hard-headed of Class A and B were begrudgingly clapping their hands at the victory. Shichi sighed and began his way back. The moment he stepped off the court, the mood turned. The claps from their rival classes died and all eyes turned on him. A cough. A jeer.

Boos erupted across the two classes. The students were livid, jumping to their feet with wild swings of vulgar gestures and words as they remembered who they were dealing with. The adrenaline of watching the fight had worn off quicker than Shichi expected. The emptiness of the stadium meant that the downpour of insults echoed around as if the whole world was joining in.

“Die! Katayagi!”

A rock flew through the air at him. But due to the distance, it did nothing more than clatter at his feet. Rehiy stepped up beside him, and in a bellowing voice, roared a dragon's roar that quelled the noise and caused birds to take off from the rafters for the safety of the skies.

The drakin bellowed, “Whoever threw that rock is now suspended, understood? I will have none of this infighting. You are meant to work as a unit, not this imprudent pack!”

For a moment, the threat worked. There were downtrodden looks of regrets from dark faces. Then, someone drew up enough courage and stupidity and started to jeer. The rest of the students gathered their guts and followed. Shichi could see the veins in Rehiy's head bulging. Before the drakin could say anything, Shichi stopped his teacher.

“There's no point,” he said, just loud enough for Rehiy to hear. “It's the name. Imagine someone with your last name who inadvertently caused the death of millions of people. Would you forgive yourself?”

“Drakins don't have last names, boy,” Rehiy reminded.

“Right...”

“Though that's not the point.” The jeering was raising louder as more of Class B and C caught the guts. “One should not be punished for the acts of their ancestors. I will settle with these clowns.”

“It's okay.”

“How are you satisfied with this?” Rehiy asked.

“I'm not,” Shichi replied. “But it's not all that bad.”

“Woo!” the cheer was loud enough that the jeering quietened. “Go! Shichi!”

Class C got on their feet, clapping and cheering loud enough that the adulations soon drowned out the insults. He loved his class, more so than he will ever admit aloud. It was the only place where he ever felt normal, unburdened by the weight of his name. Even at home he was constantly reminded of the cost of his name. But there, with his fellows, he was just Shichi Katayagi, guy with a awesome giant scythe.

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He smiled and told Rehiy, “Sometimes, it's bearable.” He began walking back to his class.

Katayagi. The name of the infamous Suho Katayagi. He was Shichi's great grandfather and one of the key figures in the First War of Gods. He incited the Nugohs Civil War right before the onset of the War of Gods. His aggressive tactics and refusal to step away from the Civil War caused the lives of countless Nugohnians and indirectly contributed to the gods gaining a foothold on Tearha. Many blamed him for the escalation of the war, the millions of deaths, and the genocides of sentinels, dwarfs and lizardkins that followed.

But even as time passed, the populace never forgave Suho. The name of Katayagi became household for evil, greed, and selfishness. Being called a Katayagi was the worst insult one could use. Never in history had one man been assigned with the amount of blood on hands that Suho Katayai did. And over 200 years later, Shichi inherited his name. Their family was systematically chased out of their ancestral home and town. Eventually, Shichi and his immediate family made their way to Aleynonlia where they settled for their second chance.

And that was who he forever was in the eyes of the public. Shichi Katayagi, the great grandson of Suho Katayagi, the man who started the war and killed millions with his pride.

He returned to his class, sitting down beside Nossaral Unn, the new student. Unlike most of their classmates whose dress sense coloured their motley crew, Nos was much like Shichi, in that his casual uniform was modest, though still different from the standard uniforms given like the ones Shichi and Quin wore. At the academy, students were allowed to customise their dressing, so long as they adhered to the maroon, green, and black colour code of their school that made them identifiable.

Nos had a dark grey hoodie over a plain maroon shirt. Deep black pants reached swamp green shoes. It was a painful sight to behold. The dark dressing contrasted brightly with his fair skin which further darkened to black in his eyes and short buzz hair. An even greater disconnect between the new student and the class was his weapon of choice, which dangled from his belt. While the rest of the class wielded variations of combined arms from Shichi's artillery-scythe to Quinton's shield-sheathe, Nos simply had a one-handed punch dagger.

“Is this how it always is with you?” Nos asked.

“Not always. Most of the times, I'm being chased by beautiful women.” Shichi replied.

“Is that right?” Nos's face was unflinching, holding both disinterest and feigned interest in a perfect balance.

Shichi found his new classmate odd. Though it had only been two days, Nos had not made an effort to speak to anyone unless spoken to or with questions already on his mind. Shichi had thought it might be due to nerves and had opened up conversations from time to time, but quickly found Nos to be too confident in manners to be nervously breaking down from meeting new people. His only conclusion was that Nos simply wanted to be alone.

Which was fine with Shichi. He had no real need to expand his circle of friends. After all, Nos would only be with them for that one year before they would graduate and go their separate ways. Even with the rest of his classmates who were open-minded to begin with, it took them a while before they could fully disassociate themselves with the norms of 'Katayagi'.

“You know...” Nos began, much to Shichi's surprise. It was unlike him to make small talk. “I never much like the name Katayagi.”

Shichi felt a pinch of annoyance. “Is that right?”

“Yeah. It's much too plebeian for a shorthand of evil. I would chosen something more attas.”

Shichi sat quietly, stunned. He wondered if the willingness to forgive was a trait shared by all his classmates. Perhaps it was what settled them as the odd class out in the first place. And if so, he was unsure what he was doing in Class C. He had never forgiven the name Katayagi. Too him, that name had caused too much pain to be deserving of any form of kindness.

Rehiy returned to the front of the field, standing before the classes which had largely quietened down. The drakin wore a rare scowl on his face, further drawn by the hard scales of his species to resemble that of a near monstrous anger.

“Disgraceful!” his voice boomed. “Is this the best of the next generation of Spellblades? If so, you are disgusting. Is this how you uphold the legacy of the Clovers? With bigotry?”

There was a moment where frustration, anger and reflection hung equally in the air. For a moment, it felt like there was a shift in the masses, a way of thinking reviewed.

Then, Dolf spoke, his soft voice cutting clearly through the unspeaking classes. “But he's a Katayagi.”

“What's that?” Rehiy immediately replied. “Mister Hiteler, please speak up.”

They watched as Dolf ran a nervous gaze across the classes. In the end, he swallowed a mouth of his own distorted form of bravery. “But he's a Katayagi!” Dolf exclaimed.

“Yes,” Rehiy answered. “Yes he is. And you, Mister Hiteler, are hereby expelled from the academy. Proceed to the headmaster's office and turn in your school badge. You'll be given until the end of the season to pack.”

Dolf was wide-eyed and on the verge of tears. The three classes were stunned into absolute immobility.

Shichi stood to his feet. “Sik Rehiy.”

“Yes, Mister Katayagi?”

“Please, forgive Dolf. He's a gearing idiot, but he doesn't deserve to be expelled.”

“Watch your language, Mister Katayagi.”

“My apologies.”

Rehiy adjusted his standing, crossing his arms over in scrunched contemplation. “You are willing to stand-up for the person who had just insulted you?”

“It's just a word, sik.”

“What is?”

“Katayagi.”

Shichi felt as if he was back on the battlefield, where one mistake would turn the tides of battle irreversibly. He felt the same tenseness in his spine as he does when fighting. The same pounding of his chest and tunnelling of his vision.

The teacher broke gaze first, turning his attention to Dolf. “Thirty days detention. And you are hereby banned from participating in the tourney in Leaf. Class dismissed.”