Morning light cut through the mist, slicing across the academy grounds like blades of gold. Lee Shin stood at the edge of the training field, breathing slowly. His hands were trembling — not from weakness, but from the raw force coiling beneath his skin.
He'd been awake since before dawn. Again.
He had spent the last two nights testing the ring's mana reaction. Every time he pushed it, it responded differently — sometimes empowering his mana, sometimes nearly overwhelming it. It wasn't just an artifact. It felt alive. Watching. Waiting.
"Focus," Shin murmured, tightening his stance. The ring dimmed, and he inhaled deeply, gathering his inner mana.
Then he thrust his palm forward — Mana Burst.
A shockwave rippled through the field, scattering dust and gravel.
For the first time, the blast didn't backfire. His control held steady.
He exhaled slowly, sweat beading on his forehead. "Better."
"Training again, Lee Shin?"
A voice cut through the quiet.
He turned to see a girl approaching — Arin Seo, Class D's top student. Her silver hair was tied into a loose braid, and her uniform sleeves were rolled up, faint traces of mana burns along her wrists.
"You'll wear yourself out before the next assessment," she said, half teasing, half concerned.
Shin wiped his hands. "I can't afford not to."
Arin tilted her head. "You mean because of the Class Competition?"
He nodded once. The upcoming event — the Inter-Class Combat Trial — was all the academy could talk about. A public test of strength between the first-year classes, where ranks could shift depending on performance.
For Class D, it was everything.
For Shin, it was his chance to climb.
Arin crossed her arms. "You've improved. But you're still rough. You're focusing too much on raw output."
He glanced at her, faintly amused. "You're giving me advice now?"
"I don't want my team to lose because of you," she replied simply.
That made him laugh quietly — the first real one she'd heard from him.
"Then I'll make sure you don't."
Later that day, the announcement echoed across the training halls:
"First-Year Inter-Class Combat Trial begins next week. Teams of five. Rankings will determine placement for the midterm advancement."
The air in the cafeteria buzzed with tension. Class A students sat tall and confident; Class B and C whispered plans; Class D sat quietly, as always — underdogs among lions.
But this time, whispers followed Shin's name. His solo performance in the last evaluation — defeating a Class C cadet in record time — hadn't gone unnoticed.
When he entered, a few heads turned.
"That's him."
"The guy from D-Class who broke the training meter."
"Probably luck."
Maybe. But luck didn't train before sunrise every day.
That night, Arin and the rest of Class D gathered in the empty gym for team coordination. Their instructor, a tall man with an eyepatch named Professor Hwan, observed quietly from the corner.
"Alright," Hwan said. "This year's rules are simple — team duels. Mana combat only. No lethal force. Class D's never made it past the second round before." He scanned the group, then fixed his gaze on Shin. "That's going to change."
Shin straightened slightly, feeling every eye on him.
"You've got raw strength," Hwan continued, "but that's not enough. You'll need precision, adaptability, teamwork."
Arin stepped forward. "We've been training mana synchronization," she said. "Shin's pulse rhythm is different, but we can adjust."
Hwan raised an eyebrow. "You've been helping him?"
Arin nodded. "He learns fast."
"Good." The instructor's tone softened slightly. "Then Class D might actually surprise someone this time."
When training resumed, Shin sparred with Arin — mana against mana, sparks lighting the floor. Her technique was elegant and fluid; his was sharp and unpredictable. Every clash sent a ripple of blue and silver light between them.
"You're holding back again," she said between strikes.
"So are you," he countered, parrying her blade with a flicker of mana.
Their eyes met — a silent acknowledgment of shared drive.
By the time they stopped, both were panting, sweat dripping down their necks. But Arin smiled faintly. "You're not the same Lee Shin from a month ago."
"Good," he replied. "That one was weak."
Later, as the night deepened, Shin returned to the dorm. He found a letter slipped under his door.
The seal — silver phoenix.
Nonna.
He opened it carefully.
"Little brother,
I heard you'll be in the Combat Trials. Don't underestimate yourself. You have what it takes — you always did. I'll be visiting soon. Train hard, but don't lose your heart.
— Nonna"
Shin held the paper for a long moment. Then, for the first time in months, he smiled quietly.
"Nonna… I'll make you proud."
He looked out at the moon above the academy towers.
Below, training lights flickered — Class A practicing late, as always.
Somewhere among them, Haru trained too, basking in his stolen status. But Shin didn't care anymore. He wasn't chasing anyone's shadow now.
He was building his own.
When the wind swept through the courtyard, carrying the faint hum of mana, the ring pulsed once — faint but steady.
Not as a warning.
As if it approved.