The night did not move.
It waited.
Moonlight poured over Hunters College in pale sheets, turning stone towers into silver silhouettes and casting long shadows across the courtyards. Mana barriers hummed softly beneath the earth, steady and reassuring, yet Lunaria Vale felt the dissonance immediately—the way the air held itself too carefully, the way sound seemed reluctant to travel.
This was not peace.
This was anticipation.
Lunaria stood by the window of his dormitory room, fingers resting lightly on the stone sill. His ribbon was tied neatly, pink against moonlight hair, and his posture was composed, almost delicate. From the outside, he looked like a student enjoying a quiet night.
Inside, every sense was awake.
[Residual dungeon energy: persistent.]
[Source: mobile.]
[Intent: observational.]
"…They haven't left," Lunaria murmured.
[No.]
He turned away from the window and reached for his sword. The weapon felt familiar in his hand—balanced, patient, waiting for him as much as he waited for the world. He slipped it into place at his side and moved without sound toward the door.
He did not alert anyone.
Not because he was reckless.
Because he understood something instinctively.
This was meant for him.
The corridor outside the dormitories was empty, lanterns glowing softly along the walls. Lunaria walked with unhurried steps, hands folded lightly in front of him when he wasn't adjusting the sword's position. His presence was quiet, almost fragile, yet the mana around him responded subtly, drawn into alignment by his refined control.
[Movement detected.]
"I know," he replied softly.
The path led him away from the residential wing and toward the outer training grounds—an area bordered by tall stone pylons and observation platforms. At this hour, it should have been deserted.
It was.
Too perfectly so.
Lunaria crossed the boundary rune.
The world shifted.
Not violently—no alarms, no barriers flaring—but the air thickened, reality folding inward like a held breath. The lanterns dimmed slightly, their flames bending as if caught in an unseen current.
He stopped.
"…You're welcome to stop hiding," Lunaria said gently. "You've followed me long enough."
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then—
A slow clap echoed through the training grounds.
"Well spoken," a male voice said, smooth and amused. "Most humans wouldn't notice until their hearts were already in their hands."
Figures emerged from the shadows.
Four of them.
At first glance, they looked like students—tall, well-built men wearing Hunters College uniforms, insignias perfectly replicated, mana signatures disciplined and clean. They stood casually, confident, their gazes fixed entirely on Lunaria.
He observed them calmly.
"…You're not students," he said.
[Confirmation: hostile entities.]
[Species: demonic.]
[Threat level: elevated.]
One of them smiled, eyes lingering openly.
"So perceptive," he said. "And even more beautiful up close."
Another laughed quietly. "He really does look better in moonlight."
Lunaria felt no fear.
Only mild annoyance.
"I'm busy," he said politely. "Please leave."
The tallest of the four stepped forward. His hair was dark, his features sharp and handsome in a predatory way. When he smiled, it was slow and deliberate.
"We didn't come to fight," he said. "At least, not at first."
"…Then you should go," Lunaria replied.
"We came to meet you," another said. "To see if you were real."
Lunaria tilted his head slightly, moonlight catching in his lashes.
"And now that you've seen me?"
The leader's gaze darkened with something possessive.
"Now we want you."
The words landed without force, stripped of romance or warmth—desire expressed like ownership.
[Hostile intent confirmed.]
Lunaria's expression did not change.
"I'm not interested," he said calmly. "This is your final warning."
A ripple of irritation passed through the group.
"You reject us?" the leader asked softly.
"Yes."
Silence stretched.
Then one of them moved.
Too fast for an untrained eye to follow.
A flicker behind Lunaria—steel flashing—
Snip.
The pink ribbon fluttered downward, drifting slowly through the air before landing at Lunaria's feet.
Time seemed to slow.
The demon who had done it stared, suddenly uncertain.
"…Oh," he muttered.
Lunaria stood perfectly still.
His hair slid free, moonlight spilling down his back in a silver cascade. The pressure he had been holding—carefully, deliberately—released.
Not explosively.
Precisely.
[Restriction lifted.]
[Combat mode: engaged.]
He turned.
The movement was fluid, elegant, almost gentle.
His eyes were no longer merely calm.
They were cold.
"You shouldn't have done that," Lunaria said softly.
The demon scoffed, masking his unease. "Is that supposed to—"
Lunaria moved.
There was no wasted motion.
One step, a pivot, his sword whispering free as his body flowed past the demon's guard. To an observer, it would have looked like a dance step—a graceful turn executed with perfect balance.
Blood arced.
The demon collapsed before he realized he had been cut.
The others reacted instantly.
Their disguises shattered, demonic mana surging outward. Horns curled from temples, eyes burned crimson, claws tore through gloves and sleeves.
"Kill him," one snarled.
They attacked together.
Lunaria welcomed them.
He stepped into the chaos, hair flowing freely, blade tracing arcs of silver through the night. Every movement was deliberate—never rushed, never hesitant. He slipped between attacks rather than meeting them, redirecting force with subtle shifts of posture and angle.
A claw missed his throat by centimeters.
He slid beneath it, blade rising.
The demon screamed as his arm fell to the ground.
Another leapt from above, shadows folding around his form.
Lunaria looked up, expression serene.
"…Too slow."
He leapt forward, body twisting midair, sword piercing straight through the demon's chest. He landed lightly as the body fell behind him.
Only one remained.
The leader backed away, eyes wide now, breathing uneven.
"You're not bronze," he spat.
Lunaria advanced, steps light, almost delicate.
"I am," he replied. "You simply misunderstood what that means."
The demon gathered his mana desperately, dark energy coiling into a destructive spell meant to erase everything in front of him.
Lunaria stepped into it.
The spell shattered against his blade, dissipating like mist.
His sword moved once.
The demon fell.
Silence reclaimed the training grounds.
Blood soaked into the earth before the mana barriers activated, cleansing the field automatically. The lanterns brightened, reality settling back into place.
Lunaria stood alone, breathing steady.
[Enemies eliminated.]
[Experience gained: +190.]
[Current Experience: 1080 / 1000.]
[Level up available.]
"…Later," Lunaria murmured.
He bent and picked up his ribbon, brushing dirt from the fabric with careful fingers. For a moment, his expression softened.
"…I liked this one."
[Replacement recommended.]
He smiled faintly. "Yes."
In the distance, alarms began to ring—late, but inevitable. Security measures activated. Footsteps echoed as instructors and patrols rushed toward the training grounds.
Lunaria tied the ribbon loosely around his wrist instead of his hair.
He looked up at the moon.
"…They'll come again," he said softly.
[High probability.]
"Stronger ones."
[Yes.]
He did not sigh.
He did not frown.
He simply accepted it.
Because this was the world he had been reborn into.
A world that mistook softness for weakness.
A world that would learn—slowly, painfully—that elegance could be lethal, and that the quietest blade was often the sharpest.
By the time the first responders arrived, Lunaria Vale was already gone, moonlight hair disappearing into shadow, ribbon fluttering lightly at his wrist.
And somewhere in the dark spaces between worlds, something ancient and watchful finally noticed his name.
Not as prey.
But as a threat.