The next morning, the sky over the campus was heavy with grey clouds.
Students moved in groups, laughter echoing through the lawns. But Aarav wasn't one of them.
He had skipped his classes again.
His hands were in his pockets, his expression unreadable as he walked across the empty pathways of the college. His mind wasn't in the present—it was stuck on that night, on her.
The girl he had saved.
The girl who was later found dead in a hospital bed.
Murdered.
Aarav's jaw tightened. "Murder…" the word echoed in his mind like a curse.
As he turned a corner, he froze.
Standing near the stairway was a guy—tall, slightly disheveled, eyes hollow with something between grief and guilt. Aarav recognized him instantly.
The boyfriend.
For a moment, time stopped. Aarav's heartbeat slowed. Then, without hesitation, he walked straight toward him.
His footsteps echoed—steady, unhurried.
The guy looked up, startled.
Aarav's tone was calm… too calm.
"You were her boyfriend, right?"
The boy blinked. "W-what?"
Aarav's gaze was sharp, surgical. "Tell me… why did she try to kill herself?"
No response.
"Who was after her?" Aarav's voice dropped lower. "And who killed her in that hospital?"
The boy's face went pale. His lips trembled, but no words came out. He took a step back, fear clear in his eyes.
Aarav stepped forward.
"I'm not asking again," he said quietly, eyes cold. "Answer me… or I'll find the truth myself. And when I do—trust me, you'll wish you'd spoken first."
The boy swallowed hard, his breathing quick. "I-I don't know anything," he stammered. "Please… just stay away from this. You don't know who you're dealing with."
Aarav's eyes didn't waver. "Then teach me."
The boy's knees almost buckled—but before he could reply, loud footsteps echoed from behind.
A group of five guys approached.
Their presence was heavy… commanding. Every student nearby turned to look, then quietly backed away. The crowd knew who they were.
"Vortex of Sins."
The second most powerful group in the entire college.
The leader—a tall, broad-shouldered guy with a scar under his left eye—grinned lazily.
"Well, well," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Looks like we found a little hero."
Aarav didn't move. He didn't even blink.
His silence felt heavier than their threats.
The leader tilted his head. "You think you can mess with our people and walk away?"
He took a step closer, his voice lowering. "You'll get beaten so bad, you won't even recognize your own face. Every bone in your body will scream for mercy."
Aarav's lips curved slightly—barely a smile, more like disdain.
He raised his gaze, eyes calm and dark like still water.
"Done talking?"
The group paused. His tone wasn't loud—but it carried weight. The kind that made even the air tense.
"You can try breaking bones," Aarav said, stepping forward. "But remember—scars heal. Regret doesn't."
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then the leader smirked. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But guts won't save you, boy."
Aarav's expression didn't change. "Neither will numbers."
The silence stretched, sharp as a blade.
And then—the storm began.
The air in the courtyard hung heavy, thick with tension.
Students had gathered in a circle, phones in their hands, whispers spreading like wildfire.
In the center—Aarav.
His shirt was half untucked, blood on his lip, but his expression… calm. Silent. Watching.
Before him stood Vortex of Sins—five members, each built like they lived in gyms and chaos.
At the front was Rivan, the leader. His grin carried cruelty, the kind that needed no reason to exist.
Rivan chuckled. "Still standing, huh? Thought you'd run by now, new boy."
Aarav didn't respond. His hands stayed in his pockets.
Rivan smirked. "You got some nerve showing up after what you pulled yesterday."
He cracked his neck, then his knuckles. "Let's fix that attitude."
Before Aarav could move, the first punch landed.
Right across the jaw.
Aarav's head jerked sideways, his vision flickering white for half a second.
Another followed—straight to his ribs.
Then a kick to his stomach.
Then another punch, right to the cheekbone.
The crowd flinched with every blow.
Aarav didn't.
He stumbled, breathing heavy, but didn't raise a hand. His eyes never left Rivan's.
"Look at him," one of Rivan's guys laughed. "All quiet now, huh?"
Another spat near Aarav's shoes. "He's not so tough. Probably pissed his pants already."
Rivan stepped closer, his grin stretching wider. "You thought saving one girl made you some kind of hero? This is college, not a fairytale. People like you don't survive here."
He punched Aarav again—harder. Aarav's lip split. Blood trickled down, staining his chin.
The crowd murmured. Some wanted to help. Most were too scared.
Aarav slowly raised his head. His eyes—no fury, no fear. Just… silence.
A silence that pressed harder than any scream.
Rivan laughed. "You done?"
Aarav wiped the blood from his mouth with his thumb. His voice was low, steady.
"…Done?"
He looked up—straight into Rivan's eyes.
"Who decided that?"
The entire crowd froze.
Rivan blinked. "What?"
Aarav stepped forward, his shadow falling across the ground between them.
"Who decided," he said softly, "that you could lay your hands on me?"
The tone wasn't loud—but the weight behind it made even the wind go still.
Rivan sneered. "You talk big for someone bleeding."
Aarav's lip curved faintly. "Bleeding doesn't mean losing."
He straightened his collar. "It just means you hit first."
Rivan scowled. "You still don't get it. You're in our world now."
Aarav's gaze didn't waver. "Your world?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"Then let me correct you."
He took a slow step forward.
"When the sun rises," Aarav said, voice calm, echoing like Escanor's pride,
"does it ask permission from the darkness?"
Rivan's eyes narrowed.
Aarav exhaled softly, blood still dripping from his lip.
"Remember this… I am not angry."
His tone sharpened—controlled fury behind calm.
"I'm disappointed that you thought you stood above me."
Something in that voice—its quiet certainty—made Rivan flinch.
For the first time, he hesitated.
Aarav tilted his neck until it cracked. "Now it's my turn."
Rivan swung first.
Aarav caught the punch mid-air—his palm absorbing the full force. The crowd gasped.
Then—thud! Aarav's elbow smashed into Rivan's forearm, twisting it aside.
Before Rivan could recover, Aarav drove a knee into his ribs.
The sound—a sharp, dull crack.
Rivan staggered back, clutching his side.
"Lesson one," Aarav said coldly. "Never mistake mercy for weakness."
Two members lunged at once from behind—Aarav turned, blocking one's punch with his forearm and countering with a headbutt that sent blood spraying.
The second swung wildly; Aarav ducked, grabbed his shirt, and slammed him to the ground.
Thud! The sound echoed through the courtyard.
Rivan roared, charging in again. Aarav turned just in time to catch a brutal right hook to the face. He stumbled back, spit blood, then exhaled.
"Strong," Aarav said, steadying himself. "But slow."
Rivan yelled and went for another punch. Aarav sidestepped, pivoted, and drove his fist straight into Rivan's gut. The impact folded him in half. Aarav followed with a precise elbow to the back of his neck, sending him crashing forward.
The crowd erupted—half in awe, half in fear.
Three down, two still standing.
Aarav wiped his face, breath calm, eyes focused.
"Still think I'm weak?" he asked softly.
One of them, trembling, spat blood and growled, "You're dead."
Aarav tilted his head slightly. "Who decided that?"
He stepped in, blocked the guy's wild swing, and slammed a clean jab to the chin—crack—then swept his legs. The man hit the ground hard.
Rivan got up again, wheezing but furious. "You think this is over?"
Aarav's eyes gleamed under the sunlight. "If you can still stand," he said quietly, "then prove it."
Rivan charged. Aarav met him halfway—two fists colliding with a thunderous impact. The courtyard shook from the sound alone.
They traded blows—real, fast, brutal. No wasted movement, no cinematic flair—just raw, efficient violence.
Aarav's forearm blocked a kick. Rivan's elbow grazed Aarav's jaw. Aarav countered with a right cross, then a left hook. Rivan slammed his shoulder into Aarav's chest, pushing him back.
Both were breathing heavy, blood dripping from their faces.
The crowd fell silent. No one dared move.
Then, just as Rivan raised his fist again—
"Enough."
A voice cut through the chaos. Deep. Cold. Commanding.
The crowd instantly shifted.
Every head turned toward the main staircase.
Walking down with the calmness of a king descending his throne—Wraithborne.
Tall, lean, wearing a black coat. His silver chain glimmered faintly in the sun.
Even Rivan's men froze.
Wraithborne's eyes locked on Aarav first, then on Rivan.
"Two second-tier idiots brawling in public," he said flatly. "Pathetic."
Rivan clenched his fists. "Stay out of this, Wraith—"
Wraithborne's gaze flicked toward him. Cold. Piercing.
Rivan's words died in his throat.
Wraithborne walked forward until he stood between them.
"Vortex of Sins," he said quietly, "back off. Now."
Rivan's jaw tightened, but he nodded. His men slowly stepped away, helping each other up.
Wraithborne turned to Aarav.
Up close, his presence was even heavier. He looked Aarav in the eye, scanning him as though measuring his worth.
"You," he said. "What's your name?"
Aarav wiped the blood from his face, still breathing slow. "Aarav."
Wraithborne smirked faintly. "You've got spirit. Don't waste it on meaningless fights."
Aarav stared back. "Then make them meaningful."
Wraithborne's smirk deepened. "Maybe one day."
He turned and walked away.
The crowd erupted in whispers.
That guy fought Vortex of Sins… and didn't lose.
As they dispersed, Aarav stood alone in the courtyard, blood dripping from his hand, the faint burn of bruises along his ribs.
He looked up at the fading sunlight and murmured,
"Who decided… I can't change this place?"
The wind carried his words through the campus like a silent promise.