The day after the tournament, Seoul Hunter Academy buzzed like a disturbed hive.
Every corridor was alive with rumor.
Lee Shin's name drifted from one conversation to another — whispered, doubted, praised, and feared.
By the time he entered the mess hall, the noise dimmed.
Eyes followed him. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Even the upperclassmen looked wary, as if seeing him for the first time.
A few students gave polite nods. Others turned away.
Shin didn't care for either reaction. He took his tray, sat alone, and quietly ate while the room murmured behind him.
"Did you hear? He beat Ha-Jun with just a practice sword."
"I heard he used some kind of ancient artifact. That's how his mana flared like that."
"Nonsense. A D-Class can't beat a prodigy like Ha-Jun without cheating."
"Tell that to his sword."
Shin's hand twitched on the spoon. The ring beneath his sleeve pulsed faintly in rhythm with his heartbeat, as if amused by the attention.
He finished his meal quickly and left for class. But before he could reach the hall, a message flashed across the hallway screen.
[Lee Shin – Report to the Academy Council Room, immediately.]
The air around him grew colder.
So, it begins.
The council chamber was a wide, circular room filled with floating glyphs, ancient runes etched into the walls, and portraits of powerful hunters who had once shaped the academy.
Six council members sat in elevated seats, their robes shimmering with mana thread. At the center stood Headmistress Seo Ji-Yeon, known for her calm voice and merciless eyes.
"Lee Shin," she said, her tone flat. "Congratulations on your victory yesterday. It was… impressive."
He bowed slightly. "Thank you, Headmistress."
"However," she continued, her gaze sharpening, "several professors have raised concerns. Your mana readings were inconsistent — fluctuating between Rank E and Rank B levels within seconds. Explain that."
Shin remained silent for a moment. "My mana control isn't stable yet. The fluctuation might have been from overexertion."
One of the elder professors leaned forward. "Overexertion doesn't create ancient mana waves. We detected traces of pre-modern resonance—a frequency unseen since the Reclaimer Era."
The term hit Shin like a jolt. Reclaimer Era—the age before the Great Cataclysm, when hunters wielded powers now lost to time.
"I don't know anything about that," he lied smoothly.
The Headmistress studied him for a long time, then finally nodded. "Perhaps. But understand this, Lee Shin—power without control is danger. We'll be watching you closely."
"Yes, ma'am."
As he turned to leave, the Headmistress added softly, "And Shin… your father sends his regards. He's requested a personal report on your progress."
Shin paused at the doorway, eyes darkening.
"Then tell him," he said quietly, "that I'm doing better than he ever expected."
He left before she could respond.
That night, rain returned.
The sky was a swirl of gray and gold as lightning danced across the city's skyline.
Shin trained alone in the courtyard, his breath forming mist. Every swing of his blade carved faint arcs of blue energy through the air. The ring glowed faintly — sometimes crimson, sometimes silver.
He could feel the mana lines around him — threads of power connecting the world, whispering like old voices.
"You shouldn't push yourself this late."
The familiar voice came from behind him. Arin stood under an umbrella, her uniform jacket loosely buttoned, eyes soft but worried.
"Couldn't sleep," he replied. "Needed to think."
"About the council?"
"And other things."
She hesitated, watching him for a moment. Then, in a softer tone:
"When you fought Ha-Jun, your aura… changed. It wasn't just mana. It felt older. Wilder. What are you hiding, Lee Shin?"
He lowered his sword and met her gaze.
"I don't know yet," he said truthfully. "But I'll find out."
Arin stepped closer. Rain speckled her umbrella, droplets sliding down like liquid glass. "Then let me help."
For a moment, the silence between them was filled only by the rhythm of rain. The way she looked at him — curious, unafraid, drawn — reminded him painfully of a time long gone.
He looked away. "You already are."
Across the academy, in the observation towers, a different kind of meeting was taking place.
Ha-Jun stood before his father — Guildmaster Lee Dae-Ho, the same man who had scolded Nonna days ago.
"You disappointed me," Dae-Ho said, his voice cold. "Beaten by a mistake I should've erased long ago."
Ha-Jun's jaw clenched. "He cheated, Father. No D-Class could—"
"Silence." The Guildmaster turned to the large holographic projection on his desk. It showed a grainy image of Shin mid-battle, ring glowing on his hand. "That artifact he wears—it's not from this era. I want it."
Ha-Jun blinked. "You mean to steal it?"
"Steal? No." Dae-Ho smirked. "I'll claim it. As his rightful father, I have the authority to request inspection of any dangerous relics."
"But if the Academy resists—?"
"Then we'll make them hand him over through the Guild Association."
Ha-Jun bowed. "Understood, Father."
Dae-Ho's smile faded as he whispered, "This time, I'll make the boy suffer the way his mother did."
Unaware of the storm building outside, Shin stood under the rain until dawn.
The moonlight shimmered against the puddles at his feet, each reflection showing not just his face, but echoes of someone older — someone burdened by countless battles.
When he closed his eyes, a whisper floated through his thoughts again, clearer than before:
The cycle turns once more… the heirs awaken… the seal weakens.
He clenched his fist.
"I won't let history repeat."
Behind him, Arin's umbrella closed softly as she stepped closer.
"Then let's make sure it doesn't," she said, her voice steady.
He opened his eyes, the faint smile of a warrior returning from the edge of despair.
For the first time in years, Lee Shin didn't feel alone.