Sora's death lingered in Izak's mind. Even now, as the crowd slowly dispersed, the image of his face remained vivid in his thoughts. That expression of shock, the horrifying crack of his neck… Grażyna had done it quickly and brutally, yet the echo of that sound wouldn’t leave his head. He hadn’t been able to help him. No one had.

When he closed his eyes, he could still see Sora standing on the track, calm, focused, as if all the chaos around him didn’t affect him. He deserved better. But this world wasn’t fair. No one here got what they truly deserved.

Izak looked around the crowd. People were leaving, as if everything that had just happened—the murder, the tragedy, the blood—was merely an insignificant episode. Yet their faces betrayed the weight of what they had witnessed. They pretended nothing had happened, though everyone felt the same unease.

Across the way, he spotted Maja. She stood tall, speaking with a tall, elegant woman whose severe gaze was fixed on her. That must have been her mother.

"You weren’t first, Maja," the woman said coldly, her voice slicing through the air like a sharp blade. "I expected more. Do you know what this failure means for our family?"

Maja clenched her fists, standing rigid. She was clearly trying to maintain her composure, though her trembling face betrayed the emotions she was holding back.

"I’m sorry, Mother," she replied quietly but firmly. "I’ll do better."

"I’m not interested in ‘I’ll try,’" the woman replied with disdain before turning sharply and heading for the exit.

Maja was left alone, motionless like a statue. Izak watched her for a moment longer. Proud, strong, and yet… hurt.

His thoughts were interrupted by movement on the other side of the square. Two men in black uniforms approached Kornel, who leaned casually against a wall. One of them flashed a badge and said something in a low voice.

"Please come with us. We need to question you regarding the tragedy of the Violet Night."

The boy in the red scarf raised an eyebrow, as if the situation was no surprise to him. Sighing heavily, he adjusted his scarf and followed them without a word. He didn’t so much as glance back at the rest of the participants before disappearing through a doorway into the corridor.

Izak didn’t have time to dwell on this as he suddenly felt a hand on his uninjured shoulder. He turned quickly and saw his mother, Aniela Piłsudska, standing with his younger sister, Oliwia.

"Izak!" his mother called, her voice filled with relief and warmth. She hugged him gently, careful not to touch his injured arm. Oliwia ran up to him with a wide grin, grabbing his sleeve.

"I saw you on the screen! You were amazing!" she exclaimed with enthusiasm, her eyes shining with admiration.

Izak felt some of the tension leave his body. For a moment, he almost forgot about the pain in his arm, the race, and… Sora. Almost.

"Mom… Oliwia… I’m glad you’re here," he said softly, returning the hug. His voice was calm, but there was a hint of exhaustion in it.

His mother looked him over carefully, quickly noticing his stiff posture and the bandage on his arm.

"What happened?" she asked, her expression tightening with concern. "Izak, what’s with the bandage?"

"It’s nothing, just a scratch," he tried to dismiss it, shrugging one shoulder, but the grimace of pain gave him away.

Aniela raised an eyebrow, her tone shifting to that familiar firmness he knew all too well.

"A scratch? That doesn’t look like ‘just a scratch.’ Oliwia, we’re taking your brother to the hospital."

"But Mom, I told you, I’m fine!" Izak protested, trying to downplay the situation.

"No arguments, Izak. Doctor first, everything else later," she cut him off, grabbing his good arm and leading him toward the exit. Oliwia followed close behind, still full of energy, though she didn’t entirely understand what was happening.

At the hospital, the doctor examined Izak’s arm, his brow furrowing in apparent confusion. He removed the bandage, expecting to see a fresh wound, but what he found left him stunned.

"This… this is impossible," the doctor murmured under his breath.

"What is it?" Izak asked, looking at his arm. He was sure the injury couldn’t have healed yet, and yet… The skin was completely smooth, as if it had never been damaged.

"Mr. Piłsudski, you said this injury occurred during a mutant attack?" The doctor glanced at him skeptically. "There’s no trace of any wound. It seems your body has healed remarkably fast. This is… unusual."

Izak exchanged a glance with his mother, who seemed equally surprised but didn’t press the issue.

"I told you it wasn’t serious," he said, trying to hide his relief, though he didn’t understand what had happened himself.

The doctor shook his head, jotting something down on his clipboard.

"If you’re feeling fine, then that’s good. Just be careful and take it easy on that arm."

"I will," Izak replied, sneaking a glance at his mother.

After leaving the hospital, Aniela suggested,

"Since the doctor said you’re fine, let’s finally get something to eat. Oliwia must be starving."

"Not just Oliwia," Izak added with a small smile, trying not to show how exhausted he really was.

They went to a small restaurant near the academy. The atmosphere was warm, and the scent of homemade dishes quickly eased the tension that had followed them since leaving the arena. Sitting at the table, Izak watched his mother and sister, feeling a rare sense of peace, though thoughts of what had happened continued to gnaw at him.

"We’re so proud of you, Izak," Aniela said, placing her hand on his. "You’ve finally found your path. After your father’s death… I was so worried about you. You seemed so lost."

Oliwia, busy with her food, looked up and added with her mouth full,

"But now you’re the best! I saw how fast you ran. Everyone was watching you!"

Izak smiled, feeling warmth spread through his chest.

"Thanks, Oli. I’ll do my best not to let you down again."

After dinner, as they walked back toward the academy, Aniela brought up one more topic.

"You know, Izak, maybe we could stay for tomorrow’s opening ceremony? September 1st is an important day. We could…"

Izak shook his head, gently interrupting her.

"Mom, you really don’t have to. You’ve got so much on your plate, and you need to take care of Oliwia. You’re the head of the family now, and I… I’ll be fine here."

Aniela looked at him with slight surprise but saw the determination in his eyes.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

"If you think so…" she said softly, then added with a smile, "But remember, you can always count on us."

Oliwia, clearly disappointed they wouldn’t stay for the ceremony, grabbed his hand in farewell.

"Promise you’ll visit us."

"I promise," Izak said, pulling them both into a tight hug. But in his mind, only one thought repeated itself: "You’re not safe here."

He watched his mother and sister walk away, a mix of relief and worry settling in his chest. Finally, he turned on his heel and headed to his room, bracing himself for another sleepless night of thoughts and uncertainties.

Later that evening, Izak entered his dorm, tossing his bag onto the bed with a sigh of relief. Despite his exhaustion, he felt an urge to occupy his restless mind. Powering up his computer, he logged into the NoHealing guild chat. To his surprise, only one user was online—Hunter11.

Hunter11: Oh, still alive? Thought you deserted after today’s race.

AlfaSigma69: Barely, but alive. Wanna play?

Hunter11: Always. Just don’t slack off this time, or we’ll be grinding bosses till morning again.

Izak smirked to himself. Hunter11 always had something to say, but their gaming sessions were a highlight for him. They made a solid duo—while Izak focused on aggressive attacks, Hunter expertly managed defense and strategy. They knew little about each other beyond their usernames, but their teamwork was seamless.

"Let’s do this," Izak muttered, putting on his headset.

The mission began. Their moves were perfectly synchronized, as if they’d trained together for years in real life. Izak handled waves of enemies head-on, while Hunter11 methodically sniped distant threats that could jeopardize the team.

AlfaSigma69: Sometimes it feels like you know what I’m gonna do before I do.

Hunter11: Playing with someone like you makes it easy. You always charge in headfirst and count on me to save you.

AlfaSigma69: And that’s why we’re the best duo in NoHealing. You’re just my personal support.

Hunter11: Support? Pfft, more like your last hope of survival.

Their banter was lighthearted, filled with sarcasm, but underpinned by camaraderie.

Meanwhile, Kornel leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk on his face. But his thoughts were elsewhere.

AlfaSigma69… the player who had mysteriously logged off the day of the terrorist attack on the Rzeszow shopping mall. Kornel wasn’t someone who believed in coincidences.

"It has to be him," he thought, closely watching Izak’s movements in the game. "His playstyle, his methods… and that stupid ‘sigma’ line. How blind do you have to be not to see it?"

AlfaSigma69: Do you even have a life outside gaming? I can’t imagine a genius like you wasting away on a computer.

Hunter11: Genius, huh? Probably as much as you’re a sigma.

AlfaSigma69: I’m serious. Without you, I’d screw up half the missions.

Kornel’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he leaned back further. Izak’s unawareness was so natural it was almost charming. It was hard to resist testing him further.

"You’re hiding well, Pilsudski. But I’ll figure you out."

When the game ended, Izak yawned widely, stretching his arms.

AlfaSigma69: Thanks for the match. Maybe one day I’ll catch up to you.

Hunter11: Maybe. But for now, stay in the back—that’s your place.

Izak snorted in mock offense, though he was amused.

AlfaSigma69: Oh, so confident all the time?

Hunter11: Always. Goodnight, Sigma.

After logging out, Izak shut down his computer and lay back on his bed, still smiling faintly. Hunter11 might have his secrets, but he was reliable—in both games and conversation.

Meanwhile, Kornel sat for a moment longer, staring at the screen. His thoughts continued to circle around Izak.

"I’ll uncover everything, Pilsudski. And then we’ll see who you really are."

September 1st

The new day came quickly. The academy buzzed with excitement as students crowded into the main hall. On the stage stood Filip Nowak, his cold, unflinching gaze silencing the chatter in an instant.

"Welcome to the new academic year!" he began, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Here are the top candidates who earned their place in the elite class."

Spotlights illuminated the stage, drawing every eye to the group of students called to stand before the crowd.

"First place: Kornel Mickiewicz."

Kornel strode onto the stage with calm confidence, his expression unreadable. His distinctive red scarf stood out, adding to his aura of self-assuredness. Murmurs of approval rippled through the crowd.

"Second place: Lucja Serafin."

Lucja walked up with her head held high, her wide, almost childlike smile eliciting a mix of reactions—some warm, others puzzled. Her pride was evident.

"Third place: Maja Moniuszko."

Maja stepped onto the stage with a commanding stride, exuding the poise of someone destined for leadership. Her gaze was cool, though she avoided looking toward her mother in the audience.

"Fourth place: Makoto Kobayashi."

Makoto approached with quiet elegance, ignoring the whispers around him. His expression remained serious, as if focused on something far beyond the ceremony.

"Fifth place: Anna Sendlerowa."

Anna appeared shy as she stepped forward, offering a small wave to the audience, which drew a few kind smiles in return.

"Sixth place: Tommy Evans."

Tommy sauntered onto the stage with his hands in his pockets and his console tucked under one arm. He seemed utterly indifferent to the honor, eliciting a few chuckles from the crowd.

"Seventh place: Izak Pilsudski."

Izak, the last to be called, stepped onto the stage with his heart pounding. Memories of his mother’s concerned gaze from the night before lingered in his mind. "I’m doing this for you," he thought, taking his place beside Tommy. The spotlight lingered on him for a moment longer, but Izak paid it no mind.

The ceremony continued, but for the elite class, it was merely a formality. The real challenges were yet to come.

Afterward, the elite class was led to a spacious room where their homeroom teacher awaited. The room had rows of desks arranged in a semicircle at its center.

Standing in the doorway was Jian Xing—a mysterious man with dark hair tied in a loose braid. His calm face bore red markings, and his closed eyes gave the impression he was asleep on his feet. Yet the aura surrounding him warned everyone not to underestimate him.

"Welcome," he said quietly, his voice filling the room and carrying an unspoken weight. "I am Jian Xing, your homeroom teacher. I will guide you through this difficult year and ensure you don’t end up as dead statistics."

A few students swallowed nervously. Kornel raised an intrigued brow, while Izak exchanged an uncertain glance with Lucja, who offered a hesitant smile.

Jian Xing walked deeper into the room, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Every student in this academy carries a symbol of their affiliation—a brooch with a spiritual crystal. This stone is unique; it takes on the color of your soul, revealing who you truly are."

He approached the first desk, handing out brooches one by one. Kornel examined his crystal as it turned a vivid purple. He nodded, as if unsurprised.

Next was Lucja. Her crystal immediately lit up with a neon yellow glow, earning her an excited gasp.

"Cool!" she exclaimed, turning the brooch over in her hands.

Anna’s crystal turned green, while Maja’s glowed a pulsing red, mirroring her intense determination.

Makoto observed his pink crystal with a stoic expression.

"Perfect," he muttered, pocketing it.

When Izak’s turn came, Jian Xing lingered, his gaze unreadable.

"Pilsudski," he said, handing him the brooch.

Izak watched as his crystal lit up. Instead of the light blue he expected, it shone with pure white. A strange silence filled the room. Students exchanged puzzled glances, and Kornel frowned, studying the brooch intently.

"That’s… odd," Kornel muttered under his breath, but Jian Xing cut him off.

"This is not the place for questions," the teacher stated calmly. "Let’s move on."

Tommy was the last to receive his brooch. His crystal took on a cherry-red hue, though he seemed indifferent.

"Cool glow, huh?" he remarked, casually stuffing it into his pocket.

As Jian Xing returned to the center of the room, he addressed them all once more.

"From this day forward, you are part of the elite class. Don’t waste this opportunity. Your uniforms will be distributed shortly. Make sure you wear them properly—tomorrow, your real lessons begin."

His words carried the weight of a warning, though his tone remained steady. The students exchanged glances, sensing that the year ahead would be the hardest of their lives.

Izak glanced again at his crystal. "White…" he thought. "I wonder what it means."