I made it...how?

The murmuring starts.

"Wait, him?"

"The human?"

"Didn’t he lose to Kaelen?"

Obinai ignores them...as best as he can.

Lyth watches Obinai carefully for a moment, then nods, lips curling slightly. "Well done."

Obinai barely has time to process it before Lyth continues, his voice carrying over the murmuring crowd.

"These students have shown potential in various ways. But remember—this is just the beginning. Strength alone won’t carry you through. Push your limits. Grow. Become something more than you are now."

The weight of Lyth’s words settles over the students like a heavy cloak. Some nod in quiet determination, others glance at each other, gauging their competition.

Obinai, still reeling, exhales and steps toward Lyth, lowering his voice. "Uh… freaking out a bit here, man." He rubs the back of his head, still aching from Kaelen’s last strike. "Why did I pass? I lost."

Lyth turns to him, unimpressed. "You may have lost the duel, but you demonstrated remarkable skill. You controlled multiple spells at once—layering them, not just throwing them around like a brute. That’s rare. That’s talent."

Obinai blinks. Not really. I just tried not to die.

Before he can respond, a sharp voice cuts through the murmurs.

"This is ridiculous!"

Kaelen.

The air in the arena shifts, tension crackling like a storm about to break.

Kaelen steps forward, his polished academy uniform still immaculate despite the fight. His fists are clenched so tight his knuckles are bone-white.

"I deserve to be in that class more than he does!" he spits, glaring at Obinai like he’s a piece of dirt stuck to his boot. "I won! That should be the only thing that matters!"

Obinai tenses. He's right.

Lyth, unfazed, barely tilts his head. "You’re strong, Kaelen. No one’s denying that. But strength alone doesn’t interest me." He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. "You’re predictable. Boring."

"Boring?" Kaelen's voice rises. "How dare you. I—"

Lyth waves a hand dismissively. "Come back next semester and impress me then."

Kaelen’s jaw tightens so hard Obinai swears he hears his teeth grind. His whole body is rigid, shoulders squared, nostrils flaring as he struggles to contain his outrage. His carefully curated noble poise is fracturing right in front of everyone, and the realization seems to infuriate him further.

"You—you would take him over me?" he snarls, pointing at Obinai.

Obinai crosses his arms, lifting an eyebrow. "Standing right here, man."

Kaelen whirls on him. "You’re nothing. A commoner. A forsaken. A nobody." His lip curls in disgust. "You should know your place."

Something cold flickers through Obinai’s chest, but before he can respond, Lyth speaks again.

"Kaelen."

Kaelen freezes.

Lyth’s gaze sharpens, the amusement fading. "You want to be in my class?" he says. "Prove to me you can be more than what you are now."

Kaelen doesn’t respond, but his whole body trembles with barely contained rage. His hands twitch at his sides, magic crackling at his fingertips, but he doesn’t dare let it loose. Instead, with one last glare, he turns sharply on his heel and stalks off, each step stiff and controlled—too controlled, like he’s forcing himself not to explode.

The murmurs rise again.

Lyth sighs, turning back to the group. "With that, I conclude the selection for the Advanced Magical Combat class. We start soon. Be ready. We have much to do."

And then—

He vanishes.

One moment he’s there, standing before them, and the next, he dissolves into thin air, like he was never there at all.

Gasps ripple through the students.

"Did you see that?"

"How did he do that?"

"Is he even mortal?"

Obinai exhales, dragging a hand down his face as he moves toward the exit, catching snippets of conversations as he passes.

"Was that some kind of advanced spell?"

"I heard the headmaster is the most powerful mage in the kingdom."

"I can’t believe he accepted the human."

Obinai shakes his head. Yeah, yeah, I get it. I don’t belong. Thanks for the reminder.

He pushes past the arena opening, stepping into the cool evening air—

And freezes.

A low chuckle echoes from the shadows.

Obinai's body tenses instinctively, muscles coiled like a spring as he turns to the side, eyes scanning the dimly lit walkway leading away from the arena. There—leaning against the cool stone wall with his hands casually stuffed in his pockets—stands the dark elf from the cart ride.

The hell is with the theatrics of this place?

Silver beads and rings glint in the dark elf’s long, loc’d hair, his piercing silver eyes glowing faintly in the low light. The uniform he wears, pristine and without wrinkles, contrasts with the lazy tilt of his posture. He pushes off the wall and strides toward Obinai, his boots barely making a sound against ground.

Obinai doesn’t move. He just watches...

The dark elf stops just in front of him, a good few inches taller, and studies him like he's an oddity in a museum. Then, with an unreadable smile, he asks,

“Do you know who I am?”

Obinai stares at him, waiting for some sort of context. When none comes, he exhales sharply through his nose. “No, dude.”

The dark elf’s smile widens, something amused, almost predatory glinting behind his eyes. “Excellent.”

Obinai frowns. “Why?”

“Because if you did,” the dark elf says smoothly, “you’d be licking my boots right now for the disrespect you just showed me.”

Obinai eyes narrow. The dark elf waves a hand dismissively before he can respond. “But I’ll forgive it. This time.”

He starts pacing slowly around Obinai, hands still in his pockets, as if measuring something. There’s a certain weight to the way he moves, a quiet authority, like he’s used to people shrinking in his presence.

Obinai doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch—just follows him with his eyes, already exhausted from whatever game this guy is playing. He gets the feeling this is someone who finds joy in watching others squirm.

“I must say,” the dark elf continues, “it’s rather jarring. To be spoken to as an equal.”

Obinai makes a face. “Look, man, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just got out of that damn exam, and I really just want to sleep and prepare for the school year.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The dark elf stops pacing. “Ah, yes. School.” He hums, as if tasting the word, then exhales, almost disappointed. “I’ve always found this institution to be… limiting.”

He pauses, looking at Obinai expectantly. “Thrall me with a good answer—why do you think that is?”

Obinai stares at him. I am too tired for this. “I don't know. Why?”

The dark elf grins, but there’s something razor-sharp about it. “Because it confines us to this place. To this kingdom. Because—” He stops himself abruptly, eyes flickering with some thought before he shakes his head. “Ah, my apologies. I tend to rant.”

There’s a beat of silence between them before the dark elf’s gaze sharpens, the teasing lilt in his voice vanishing. “But I merely wished to see something.”

Obinai raises an eyebrow. “See what?”

The dark elf’s silver eyes pulse faintly, and for the first time, there’s something almost hungry in the way he looks at him. “If my new source of entertainment has something worth coveting.”

Obinai feels his skin prickle. He can’t tell if it’s the arrogance that’s pissing him off or the underlying something else in those words that makes his stomach twist slightly. Before he can even decide what to say, the dark elf’s gaze flicks past him, toward the arena, and his smirk grows.

“And as always, both validity and victory find their way into my hands.”

Obinai’s brows furrow. The fuck does that mean?

The dark elf’s amusement dims slightly as he turns back to him. “The Royal Council is hard at work.”

Obinai stiffens. “What?”

“You’re lucky to have Headmaster Lyth,” the dark elf continues, voice light. “Even if he was… lenient.”

Obinai's breathing fractures slightly. “What do you mean?”

The dark elf tilts his head. “The Royal Council has been debating whether or not to have you executed. Unfortunately for them, laws protecting students of the Academy prevent such measures. But they are very interested in repealing that law. Temporarily, of course. Just long enough to make an exception.”

Obinai’s heart drops. “What—”

The dark elf claps a hand on his shoulder, fingers light, almost mockingly reassuring. “Lyth, of course, wishes to keep an eye on you. That is why he sacrificed a spot in his class for you.” His grip lingers, tightening just enough before he steps back.

“That spot was never Kaelen’s,” he adds smoothly. “Even if he had met the criteria, it was always yours. Human.”

Obinai swallows hard, his thoughts scrambling. He barely even notices the way the dark elf is watching him, reading his every reaction...

Then, as if nothing of weight had just been said, the dark elf muses, “On that note, I remain intrigued. You performed better than I anticipated—for a mere Second Circle mage against a Third Circle.”

Obinai exhales sharply. “Okay, I get it, but why are you talking to me, man?”

The dark elf chuckles. “Why not? A mere servant or future servant holds no value in a conversation.”

He turns on his heel, the conversation apparently over, his posture languid as he walks away. But just before rounding the corner, he tosses one last remark over his shoulder:

“Do keep me entertained, won’t you? You have no idea how dreadfully boring it is for the privileged and powerful.”

Obinai watches him disappear around the corner, his brain still trying to catch up. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “The fuck…?”

Shaking his head, he makes his way toward where he left his books. Retrieving them, he starts the long walk back to his dorm.

...

Obinai trudges down the dimly lit dormitory hallway, exhaustion dragging at his limbs. His mind is still spinning from everything—his fight, the strange dark elf, the revelation that the royal council wanted him executed.

Executed.

It keeps replaying in his head, looping over and over like a sick joke.

When he finally reaches his room, he lets out a breath—only for his stomach to drop. The door is locked.

"You’ve gotta be kidding me," he mutters, rubbing his face. He knocks, tapping his foot impatiently. A few seconds pass. Then, the door creaks open, and Bram stands in the doorway, looking like he just crawled out of someone else’s bed.

His uniform is loose, collar slightly askew, and faint kiss marks stain his neck and cheek. His hair is a mess, and his usually dumb, lopsided grin is replaced with a groggy squint.

"Obinai," Bram mumbles. "How are you?"

Obinai crosses his arms, debating whether to even bother venting. "Fine. Just… tired."

Bram rubs his eyes. "Yeah, same. Long day."

Obinai narrows his eyes. "You were supposed to show me around."

Bram scratches the back of his head. "Ah… yeah. Sorry ‘bout that. Got, uh… sidetracked."

Obinai stares. "Sidetracked?"

Bram shrugs one shoulder, offering a lazy, sheepish grin. "Yeah. Errands. Important stuff."

Obinai doesn’t push. He already knows Bram’s an idiot. It’s not worth the headache. He steps inside, walking through the common area and throwing his books onto the bed.

"So," Bram says, flopping onto his own bed, "what’d you do today?"

"Got a job working for some weird scientist."

Bram sits up a little. "The centaur?"

"Yeah, Professor Galewind."

Bram makes a face, like he just bit into something sour. "Creepy guy. I swear he stares at people too long."

Obinai shrugs. "He’s… different." He leans back, staring at the ceiling. "After that, I went to get books. Didn’t even have to pay. Then, I tested into the advanced magic combat class."

Bram whistles. "Damn. You get in?"

Obinai nods slowly. "Yeah. But I lost the duel."

Bram waves that off. "Headmaster Lyth is weird. If he put you in, it means you belong there."

Obinai frowns. "Still doesn’t feel like I earned it."

"Trust me, you did. Some of the kids in my advanced ki combat class got in even though they lost. They fought like their lives depended on it. That’s probably what Lyth wanted just like my professor—some kinda raw desperation."

Obinai mulls that over. Desperation? Maybe...

He remembers the silver-eyed noble standing there, studying him. A little shiver runs up his spine.

"That weird dark elf guy didn’t say that," Obinai mutters.

Bram pauses. "Who?"

"The dark elf. He had silver eyes, beads in his hair. He—"

Bram’s face changes instantly, his drowsiness vanishing. "Wait. You talked to the lord heir?"

Obinai frowns. "Uh… yeah? Should I be wor—"

"YES, YOU SHOULD!" Bram practically leaps up. "Dude, do you even know who that is?!"

Obinai groans. "No! That’s the problem! Why does everyone keep assuming I do?! It’s so fucking annoying!"

Bram grabs his shoulders. "That was Vonstrandt Killian Ashmount. The heir to one of royal families of the dark elves."

Obinai just stares. "Okay… and?"

Bram looks like he wants to smack him. "And?! Dude, he’s the second greatest talent at this school, right behind Nio! He skipped a year because the normal curriculum was too easy for him. But—" Bram lowers his voice, glancing at the door, "—he’s got this… thing about lessers. He watches executions, sentences people like it’s a hobby. It’s fucking weird."

Obinai feels his stomach turn. "And he came to me… why?"

Bram leans in, voice serious. "Because look at you. You’re the first human most of these kids have ever seen. Hell, even most of the adults here have never met one in person. You? You’re something new. And if he’s got his eyes on you…"

Obinai’s whole body feels cold. He swallows hard. "I… don’t want that."

Bram just nods. "Yeah, well. Too late."

Obinai presses his hands to his face, his breath coming short and ragged. He clenches his fists, voice breaking under the frustration boiling inside him.

"I’m here for a reason. To figure out why the hell so much has happened to me. To go under the radar. To fix everything I did wrong." He exhales sharply. "SO WHY THE FUCK IS EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING TRYING TO GET IN MY WAY?!"

Rubbing his temples as he leans back against his bedpost Obinai makes a loud exaggerated groan. Silence lingers between him and Bram.

Bram scratches the back of his head, clearly searching for something to say but coming up short.

"Look, man... you don't gotta tell me what you're lookin' for," Bram finally says. "But... I'm sure you'll find it."

Obinai lets out a humorless chuckle. "Feels like I never will."

Bram nods, stretching out on his bed. "Yeah... some places do that to you. But hey, you've made it this far. Right now, you gotta focus ‘n' shit ‘cause you got like two days before classes start." He yawns mid-sentence, waving a lazy hand. "Make sure you got everything. This place turns into a goddamn zoo once school kicks in."

Obinai stares at the ceiling. "Shit… I should probably get organized."

"Yeah, might even see the third to fifth years around, but most of ‘em’ll be gone once the semester starts."

Obinai raises an eyebrow. "Gone? Where?"

Bram props himself up on one elbow, expression surprisingly serious. "Expeditions. Missions. Some of ‘em are in guilds or noble houses with duties and shit. That’s the whole point of the big tournament—The Trials of Ascension." He puts up exaggerated air quotes. "It’s how they find benefactors, people to work for, all that."

"Trials of Ascension?" Obinai repeats, skeptical.

Bram shrugs. "Yeah. Second years got their own tourney too, but ain’t as big a deal ‘cause everyone already knows who’s got what."

Obinai frowns. "So it's more about making connections than actual skill?"

Bram snorts. "Welcome to high society, dumbass."

Obinai shakes his head, exhaling through his nose. "That’s gonna be tough, seeing as I already pissed off nobility and royalty."

Bram’s eyes light up with interest. "Who else?"

Obinai runs a hand through his hair. "Kaelen."

Bram throws his head back, laughing. "Oh, you’re screwed. Man, I wish I was there to see that. That guy’s got more sticks up his ass than a damn porcubane." His grin fades slightly. "But... that’s gonna be a problem. The Eryndor house is big. Crazy influence. They might mess with your selection. Might do the same to me just ‘cause I was with you yesterday."

Obinai’s stomach sinks. "Mess with my selection? How?"

Bram leans forward, rubbing his jaw. "They got connections. If they want you out, they’ll make sure of it. Make it so your fights are stacked against you. Get some instructors to look the other way. Nobles play dirty. They see you as a threat? You’re gonna have a harder time than most."

Obinai pinches the bridge of his nose. "Great. Just what I needed. Any advice?"

Bram leans back, stretching with a groan. "Shit, man, don’t even care. They eat that drama up."

Obinai eyes him. "What do you mean?"

Bram gestures vaguely. "Nobles and royalty—they thrive on this kinda stuff. Keeps ‘em entertained. The more you stand out, the more they’ll notice you."

Obinai scoffs. "So I should just play along?"

Bram grins. "Nah, I mean use it. Turn their dumbass attention into somethin’ useful. Play the long game."

Obinai rubs his chin, considering. "Not a bad idea."

"Damn right it ain’t," Bram says with a proud nod. "Now, go shower or somethin’. You smell like a battlefield."

Obinai chuckles, grabbing a towel. "Yeah, yeah. I’m heading out."

As Obinai steps into the shower, the warm water loosens his tense muscles, washing away the grime and exhaustion. He presses his palms against the wall, letting the day’s events run through his mind.

Kaelen, Ashmount, the damn nobles... It feels like trouble’s circling him like vultures.

But Bram's right. If they’re gonna watch him anyway, he might as well make it worth their while.

By the time he returns to the dorm, Bram’s already sprawled across his bed, snoring. Obinai climbs into his own, staring at the ceiling. His bed is still bare, just a thin sheet, but he barely notices. His mind is too full.

He closes his eyes, exhaustion finally pulling him under...