Time blurred. I wasn’t sure how many hours passed as I stared at the ceiling, my mind blank yet unbearably heavy. The sounds of the dorm faded in and out, my roommates’ voices becoming background noise.

I managed to get up at some point, dragging myself to the bathroom. The mirror showed a face I barely recognized—hollow eyes, pale skin, hair sticking up in every direction. I splashed cold water on my face, but it didn’t help. Nothing did.

I ate something—barely tasting it—and crawled back into bed, clutching the bag like a lifeline.

“Wolfhart,” Hexa said, her voice breaking the silence.

I ignored her.

I lay still, staring at the ceiling, my body stiff from hours—no, days—of barely moving. The bag of living mana rested on my chest, its faint blue glow the only thing illuminating my dim corner of the room.

“Wolfhart, you good?” one of them asked, pausing briefly in the doorway.

I didn’t respond. I barely even blinked.

Their footsteps receded, followed by more chatter and the creak of their beds as they settled in. I didn’t care. The world beyond the four walls of this dorm had become irrelevant to me.

“Wolfhart,” Hexa said, her voice again breaking the silence.

I ignored her again.

“Wolfhart,” she repeated, her tone still neutral. “You’ve been inactive for over 48 hours. You need to—”

“Shut up,” I muttered, my voice rasping. It was the first thing I’d said aloud since returning to the dorm.

Hexa didn’t respond, but I felt her presence linger, a faint hum in the back of my mind.

The days passed in a fog. Break ended and classes resumed. I didn’t go to classes. I didn’t speak to anyone. Ava came by at one point, her knock hesitant at first, then more insistent.

“Wolfhart? Are you in there?” she called, her voice muffled through the door. “Come on, don’t be like this. Just... open up, okay?”

I didn’t move.

“Fine,” she said after a long pause, her voice strained. “I’ll come back later.”

But she didn’t.

Hexa spoke occasionally, her voice calm and clinical as always, but I didn’t answer.

“Wolfhart, prolonged inactivity will only make things worse.”

“Wolfhart, the living mana requires careful handling. You can’t keep holding it indefinitely.”

“Wolfhart, ignoring me doesn’t solve anything.”

I knew she was right. I knew I was being a coward. But the weight of everything—Git’s death, Sona’s probable fate, the way my powers had devoured a man’s leg—crushed me under its enormity.

I wasn’t strong. I wasn’t brave. I wasn’t a hero in some MMO questline. I was just a scared, pathetic moron trapped in a world that didn’t care about me.

I don’t know how long I lay there before the knock came. It was firm, deliberate—not the hesitant tap of a concerned friend or the impatient rap of a roommate.

“Fishboy,” a deep, unfamiliar voice called through the door. “I’m not leaving so easily. Open up.”

I didn’t answer.

“Don’t make me break it down,” the voice continued, an edge of irritation creeping in. “One-Bill sent me. Says you’ve been lying around long enough.”

My body tensed involuntarily. The glow of the living mana bag seemed to pulse brighter, a reminder of the weight I carried.

“Look,” the voice said, softer now but still firm. “I get it. Shit’s gone south. But One-Bill isn’t in the business of losing packages—or runners. He’s willing to be nice this time, but that bag’s hotter than you think. You’re sitting on a ticking bomb, kid. And unless you want it to blow up in your face, you need to get moving.”

The tension in the air was suffocating.

“I’ll be back,” the voice added, heavier now. “One-Bill might be patient for now he likes you fishboy, but that won’t last. Get yourself together.”

Footsteps faded down the hall, leaving me alone once more.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the world to disappear. I could feel Hexa’s presence, her silent judgment pressing down on me even though she didn’t say a word.

I wasn’t cut out for this. Not for the Academy, not for One-Bill’s jobs, not for this world.

“Lucky,” I muttered bitterly, the word tasting like ash. That’s what Hexa had called me before. Lucky to have survived, lucky to still be breathing.

But I didn’t feel lucky. I felt like a coward—a failure who had no business being here.

The glow of the living mana bag pulsed again, mocking me. My hands clenched around it, the fabric rough against my skin.

I turned over, facing the wall, and let the void inside me swallow everything else.

The sound of her knock pulled me out of the fog. It wasn’t harsh or demanding, but soft and deliberate, like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to disturb me. Her voice came through the door, hesitant at first.

“Wolfhart? It’s me.”

I stayed silent, hoping she’d just go away like before. I wasn’t ready to face her—or anyone, for that matter.

“Wolfhart, you can’t keep doing this,” she said, her voice trembling. “The first ranking matches of the year are in two days. If you miss them, the Academy will come after you. I don’t know what they’ll do, but it won’t be good.”

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I stared at the ceiling, my chest tightening as I listened.

“They’ll punish you, Wolfhart,” she continued, her tone growing more desperate. “You’ve already missed so much. I don’t... I don’t understand why you’re acting like this. You’re wasting everything. Your father worked so hard to send you here. Your brother—he’s out there risking his life for your family. Your mother’s...”

Her voice cracked, and I could hear her start to cry. “And you’re just... here. Lying in bed while everyone else is surviving.”

Her words cut deep. I felt my throat tighten, my vision blurring as tears welled up. I’d never heard Ava cry before—not like this.

“You were always the weird one,” she said, her voice softer now. “But you were my weird one. You’re not just my friend, Wolfhart—you’re my family. So why are you shutting me out?”

----------------------------------------

Something inside me snapped. The weight of her words, the sound of her tears, the reminder of everything I’d been avoiding—it was too much.

I forced myself to sit up, my muscles aching from days of disuse. Slowly, I stood, the bag of living mana slipping from my hands and hitting the floor with a faint thud.

When I opened the door, Ava stood there, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She looked up at me, relief and sadness etched into her face.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Ava, I...” My words faltered as the tears came, hot and uncontrollable.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

So I did. I told her everything.

Between ragged breaths and choked sobs, I recounted the nightmare of the warehouse—the ambush, the Sword Mage, Git’s death, Sona’s screams. The void’s hunger. The horrible, crushing weight of my choices.

Ava listened without interrupting, her hands gripping my shoulders like she was afraid I’d collapse.

“I thought I could handle it,” I admitted. “I thought I was strong enough, smart enough, to survive in this world. But I’m not. I’m just... I’m just me.”

“You’re not just you, Wolfhart,” Ava said, her voice firm. “You’ve always been more than that. And you can get through this. But not like this. Not by giving up.”

Her words lingered, cutting through the haze in my mind.

The next morning, I forced myself to get up and go to class. My head still pounded, and my limbs felt heavy, but I pushed through it. My band blinked with unopened messages from One-Bill.

The stares from my classmates were sharp, filled with curiosity and judgment. I kept my head down, focusing on the lessons even though I knew most of the material already.

At the end of the day, the teachers announced the teams for the ranking matches. My name was called last, followed by a pause.

“Wolfhart Valda-Ashdock,” the instructor said, glancing at me with thinly veiled disdain. “You will compete alone. As teams were decided days ago now.”

A wave of whispers spread through the room, and I felt my cheeks burn with anger and shame. The message was clear: this was a punishment.

I clenched my fists, the weight of their judgment heavy on my shoulders. “Fine,” I muttered under my breath. “I’ll do it alone.”

That night, I returned to my dorm and sat on the floor with Hexa’s interface glowing faintly in front of me.

“We need a plan,” I said, my voice steady despite the lingering ache in my chest.

Hexa replied. “I’ve already prepared a simulation. Supersaturating your blood supply with mana using your skill Mana adaptable blood. We could theoretically provide a mid-fight boost. However, the risk of damage to your body remains significant and it will take the better part of the night to create enough stored mana for one use.”

“I don’t care about the risks,” I said firmly. “I need every advantage I can get. The void drains my mana too fast—I have to mitigate that somehow.”

Hexa was silent for a moment before responding. “Understood. I will monitor your vitals closely. If your mana reserves drop too low, I will release the stored mana incrementally. But be warned: this is not a long-term solution.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” I said. “I just need it to work for the matches.”

The arena was massive, its towering stone walls etched with glowing runes that shimmered faintly in the morning light. The space hummed with energy, a mixture of ambient mana and the collective excitement of the crowd. Spectators filled the stands, their voices blending into a cacophony of anticipation as they settled into their seats.

The arena floor itself was a wide expanse of compacted sand, its surface dotted with small mana generators that powered the magical illusions used in the matches. The mock castle walls stood on the battlefield felt almost cruel—a space designed to expose weaknesses, to leave competitors with nowhere to hide the ramparts small and cover sparsely spaced on the walls.

Ava sat near the middle of the stands, surrounded by chattering students. Some were there to cheer on their friends, while others were eager to see bloodless spectacles of skill. The first matches of the year always drew a crowd, the promise of watching classmates display their newfound abilities too enticing to pass up.

But this time, the buzz of the crowd carried a different note—a ripple of curiosity and amusement that made Ava’s stomach twist.

“They’re making him fight alone?” a girl a few rows down giggled. “What did he do to deserve that?”

“Probably something weird,” another boy chimed in. “He’s always been... off.”

The laughter that followed was light, careless, but it cut through Ava like a blade.

Wolfhart stepped onto the arena floor, his figure small against the vastness of the space. The whispers and giggles from the crowd grew louder as they realized he was the only one standing there.

Ava’s heart clenched. She’d seen him face awkwardness and ridicule before, but this felt different. This wasn’t just teasing or isolation. This was deliberate.

From her seat, she could see the tension in his posture—the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his hands balled into fists at his sides. He wasn’t afraid, but he wasn’t confident either.

“He’s not ready,” she whispered to herself, though she wasn’t sure if it was true.

The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena, cutting through the chatter.

“Wolfhart Valda-Ashdock, competing solo. The first match of the ranking tournament begins now!”

The crowd erupted into a mixture of cheers and laughter, the novelty of a solo fight clearly entertaining to them. Ava could feel the weight of their attention pressing down on him, could see how it threatened to crush him under its scrutiny.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the boy she’d grown up with—the nerdy, curious kid who used to ramble about physics and gravity while fishing by the docks. He’d always been different, but that difference had felt harmless back then, even endearing.

Now, as she watched him standing alone in the arena, he felt like someone else entirely.

He wasn’t just different anymore. He was... dangerous.

Ava’s thoughts churned as she remembered their conversation the night before. The things he’d told her—about the warehouse, the ambush, the deaths—had shaken her. She’d never imagined Wolfhart could be capable of such things, of stepping into a world that felt so far removed from their simple life in Valda-Ashdock.

And yet, here he was. The boy who used to talk about the stars and the mysteries of the Nexus now stood in the center of an arena, facing down a challenge no one else would have dared to accept.

Part of her wanted to scream at him, to drag him back to the person he used to be. But another part, a quieter, darker part, couldn’t look away.

He was fascinating now in a way that scared her. The awkwardness, the innocence—those were still there, but they were buried under layers of something else. Something sharper. Something real.

The crowd laughed again as Wolfhart began to move, and Ava’s grip on the edge of her seat tightened.

“Wolfhart,” she whispered, her voice lost in the noise. “What are you doing?”

She wasn’t sure if she was asking about the match or his life as a whole.

The arena fell silent as the illusions began to form, shimmering figures of beasts and constructs materializing across the battlefield. The crowd leaned forward in their seats, eager to see how Wolfhart would fare.

Ava couldn’t take her eyes off him. Her heart pounded as she watched him shift into a ready stance, his face unreadable from this distance.

Whatever happened next, she knew one thing for certain: the boy she’d grown up with was gone. And the person he was becoming...