The realization settled in quietly, but its weight lingered.
Someone among the volunteers was responsible.
Not an outsider sneaking in under cover of night, not a mysterious figure hiding in restricted areas, but someone who worked alongside them, moved freely, and blended in without drawing attention. That made things far more complicated than before.
Sylwen didn't speak immediately after that conclusion. Instead, she walked slowly along the edge of the arena, her gaze shifting from one group of students to another. Her expression remained calm, but there was a subtle sharpness in her eyes now—something that hadn't been there before.
She was observing people.
Not systems.
Not mana circuits.
People.
Alaric followed her, his usual confidence tempered by caution.
"So what's the plan?" he asked quietly. "We can't just accuse random volunteers."
"We won't," Sylwen replied.
Her voice was steady, controlled.
"We watch."
Roderick frowned.
"We've already been watching," he said. "And we didn't notice anything."
"That's because we were looking in the wrong place," Seraphine said.
She stepped forward, her gaze drifting across the arena.
"We were looking for mistakes," she continued. "Now we look for intent."
Thalia nodded slightly.
"That changes things," she said. "People make mistakes unconsciously… but intent leaves patterns."
Sylwen stopped walking.
"Exactly."
She turned toward them.
"If this was done deliberately, then whoever did it had to come here multiple times. They didn't just make one change and leave. They adjusted multiple points."
Alaric crossed his arms.
"So we're looking for someone who keeps coming back to the same spots?"
"Yes," Sylwen said.
"And someone who doesn't draw attention while doing it," Liora added.
That narrowed the possibilities.
But not enough.
There were too many volunteers moving around constantly. Students from different years, different classes, all assigned to different sections. Tracking movement alone wouldn't be enough.
Seraphine tapped her chin thoughtfully.
"There's another problem," she said.
Sylwen glanced at her.
"What?"
Seraphine's expression grew more serious.
"If they're smart enough to do this…" she said slowly, "then they're smart enough to notice us."
A brief silence followed.
Thalia exhaled quietly.
"…Which means they might know we're onto something if not handled well."
Roderick clicked his tongue.
"That's annoying."
Alaric's gaze hardened.
"Then we move faster than them."
Sylwen shook her head.
"No."
Everyone looked at her.
"We don't rush," she said. "If we pressure them, they'll stop… or worse, they'll act early."
Liora frowned.
"Isn't that dangerous?"
"It is," Sylwen replied calmly.
"But losing them is worse."
That made sense.
Reluctantly.
Seraphine smiled faintly.
"So we pretend we know nothing," she said.
Sylwen nodded.
"Yes."
Thalia's eyes narrowed slightly.
"And keep watching."
Sylwen didn't respond, but her silence was answer enough.
They split up shortly after.
Not officially.
Not in any way that would draw attention.
But each of them moved to different sections of the arena, blending back into the flow of volunteers.
Alaric joined a group adjusting the outer barrier supports. Roderick moved toward the equipment storage, pretending to help organize supplies. Liora stayed near the central platform, assisting with coordination.
Thalia returned to the mana circuits.
And Seraphine…
She wandered.
At first glance, it looked like she wasn't doing anything in particular. She moved from one section to another, occasionally stopping to observe or assist, but never staying in one place for too long.
But her eyes were always moving.
Always calculating.
Sylwen remained near the center, her role naturally keeping her in a position where she could see most of the arena.
Time passed.
Minutes.
Then an hour.
Nothing happened.
Or rather—
Nothing obvious.
But small details began to emerge.
Thalia noticed the same student passing by her section more than once. Not unusual by itself, but his path didn't quite make sense. He wasn't assigned there.
Roderick saw someone leave the storage area without taking anything, despite spending several minutes inside.
Alaric caught a brief hesitation from a second-year student when asked about assigned tasks—just a fraction of a second too long.
Individually, none of it meant much.
Together—
It formed a pattern.
When they regrouped later, Sylwen listened carefully as each of them shared what they had seen.
She didn't interrupt.
Didn't comment.
She simply processed.
Then—
"…Second-year," she said.
Everyone paused.
Alaric frowned.
"You're sure?"
Sylwen nodded.
"All the anomalies you mentioned involve second-year students," she said. "Movement patterns, hesitation, access points… they all align."
Seraphine tilted her head.
"That narrows it down significantly."
"But not enough," Thalia added.
Sylwen agreed.
"No," she said. "But it gives us a direction."
Liora looked uneasy.
"So what do we do now?"
Sylwen's gaze sharpened slightly.
"We wait."
Roderick groaned.
"Again?"
"Yes," Sylwen said calmly.
"Because now," she continued, "we're not looking for mistakes."
She paused.
Then finished quietly—
"We're looking for the one who doesn't make any."
The wind moved softly across the arena.
Students continued working.
Nothing seemed out of place.
But now—
They knew better.
And somewhere among them—
Someone was already adjusting their next move.
The idea was simple.
Too simple, perhaps.
But in situations like this, simplicity was often the most effective approach. They weren't looking for someone making mistakes anymore—they were looking for someone who wasn't.
The next few hours passed quietly. There was no confrontation, no sudden discovery, just observation.
Sylwen adjusted her position slightly, choosing a place where she could see multiple sections of the arena without appearing suspicious. She picked up a set of documents and began reviewing them, occasionally giving instructions to nearby volunteers. To anyone watching, she was simply doing her job.
But her attention was elsewhere.
Her eyes moved subtly from one group to another, tracking patterns rather than individuals. Who moved too much, who moved too little, who hesitated—and more importantly, who didn't.
Seraphine had taken a different approach. Instead of watching directly, she engaged. She moved between groups naturally, asking questions, offering suggestions, and occasionally correcting small mistakes.
Her presence was light, almost casual.
But her questions were precise.
"Who assigned you here?" she asked one student with a gentle smile.
"Instructor Kael," he replied.
She tilted her head slightly, as if thinking.
"That's strange," she said lightly. "I thought someone else was assigned to this section."
The student hesitated.
"…Was I not?"
Seraphine laughed softly.
"Ah, I must be mistaken."
Thalia remained near the mana circuits, her role unchanged, but her focus entirely different. She wasn't just studying the flow anymore—she was watching the people who approached it.
Not once.
Not twice.
But repeatedly.
Most students followed a pattern. They arrived, completed their task, and left. Their movements were efficient, predictable.
But a few—
Stayed longer than necessary.
Even fewer returned without reason.
Alaric and Roderick handled the more direct pressure. They didn't hide their presence—in fact, they made themselves more noticeable.
Alaric led a group openly, giving instructions, correcting mistakes, and occasionally asking questions that seemed harmless.
"Why are you here again?" he asked casually.
"I was told to double-check the alignment," the student replied.
Alaric nodded, as if satisfied.
"By who?"
"…Instructor."
Alaric smiled faintly.
"Which one?"
The hesitation was small.
But it was there.
Roderick, on the other hand, didn't bother with questions. He simply watched. His presence alone created pressure, and when people felt his gaze, they reacted.
Some ignored it.
Some grew nervous.
And some tried too hard not to react.
Time passed slowly, but not without result.
Then—
It happened.
Thalia noticed him first.
A second-year student. Average build, average presence, nothing remarkable.
That was exactly the problem.
He had passed by her section earlier.
Then again.
And now—
A third time.
Each time, his path had been slightly different. Each time, his actions had just enough justification to avoid suspicion.
But when combined with everything the others had observed—
It formed a pattern.
Thalia didn't react. She didn't even look at him directly.
Instead, she spoke quietly.
"He's here again."
Sylwen's voice came almost instantly.
"Same one?"
"Yes."
There was a brief pause.
Then—
"Don't move."
Thalia continued working, her hands moving along the circuit as if nothing had changed.
Sylwen adjusted her position, not moving toward him directly, but closer in a way that didn't attract attention.
Seraphine drifted in from another section, her steps light, her expression unchanged.
Alaric stopped mid-instruction and shifted slightly, bringing the student into his field of view.
Roderick leaned casually against a nearby structure, blocking the most obvious escape route without making it obvious.
They didn't surround him.
They didn't confront him.
They simply waited.
The student knelt near the circuit.
His movements were careful.
Precise.
Too precise.
Thalia watched from the corner of her eye.
There was no hesitation.
No error.
No wasted motion.
He adjusted the circuit smoothly, perfectly.
And that—
Was the mistake.
Sylwen stepped forward.
"Got you."
The student froze.
Just for a fraction of a second.
But that was enough.
Alaric moved instantly, grabbing the student's wrist before he could pull away.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
The student looked up.
Calm.
Too calm.
"Working," he replied.
Roderick stepped forward, blocking his path.
"Doesn't look like it."
Seraphine tilted her head slightly.
"You've been here three times," she said. "And none of those times match your assignment."
Thalia stood up slowly.
"And that adjustment," she added, "wasn't standard."
Sylwen stepped forward, her gaze steady.
"You're not just a volunteer."
There was silence for a moment.
Then—
The student smiled.
"Looks like I made a mistake."
Sylwen shook her head calmly.
"No," she said.
"You made too few."