The academy cafeteria was loud.
Too loud.
Ryomen sat near the window with a tray of food he hadn't touched, listening to overlapping conversations crash into one another like poorly coordinated spells.
"I'm telling you, the Sentinel stopped moving"
"Headmaster sealed the entire lower wing"
"that Arker prince lost a duel today, didn't he?"
Good, Ryomen thought calmly. That version is spreading.
He lifted his cup and took a slow sip.
Across the room, reactions differed.
Fear.
Curiosity.
Relief.
No one wanted the truth. They wanted something they could survive believing.
Elowen Sylfaeris
Elowen sat stiffly with her friends, pretending to eat.
She couldn't stop replaying the duel in her head.
The misstep.
The shallow cut.
The yield.
It was all wrong.
Mana didn't behave like that. Probability didn't either.
Unless…
She stopped herself before the thought could finish.
Across the cafeteria, Ryomen laughed softly at something Brunhilda said.
That, too, felt wrong.
Brunhilda Ironvein
"Seriously," Brunhilda said around a mouthful of bread, "that noble swung like he wanted applause."
Ryomen smiled politely. "He was very committed."
"Committed to dying later," she snorted. "You held back."
Ryomen blinked. "I lost."
Brunhilda fixed him with a stare sharp enough to split steel.
"…Aye," she said slowly. "That's what you did."
She leaned back, satisfied. "You'll need a real blade soon. Wooden swords lie worse than people."
"I'll keep that in mind."
She grinned. "Good. I like honest metal."
Seraphina Noctyra
Seraphina watched the room through half-lidded eyes.
The prince's blood
No.
The prince himself.
He was doing something subtle. Something clever.
Not hiding power.
Redirecting narrative.
She smiled faintly.
"A dangerous habit," she murmured. "I approve."
Later Training Yard
Ryomen practiced alone.
Not because he had been ordered tobut because no one wanted to be near him without supervision anymore.
He drew, struck, sheathed.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Each motion was deliberately imperfect. Each flaw carefully chosen. He let sweat bead on his skin, let his breathing roughen slightly.
A performance.
"You're terrible at this."
Ryomen stopped.
Nyx leaned against a pillar that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago.
"At what?" he asked.
"Looking weak," she replied. "Demons don't buy it."
"I'm not acting for demons."
Nyx tilted her head. "That's your first mistake."
She stepped closer, voice dropping. "They don't watch strength. They watch exceptions."
Ryomen considered that.
"…Noted."
Underground Sealed Zone
The chamber was silent.
Cracked glyphs glowed faintly, tryingand failingto reassert themselves.
In the center, where the Sentinel had once been anchored, something remained.
Not a body.
A scar.
Reality there felt thinner.
And through that thinness, something listened.
He pretends to be small.
The thought was not sound.
But the world moves when he breathes.
A pressure gathered.
Not enough to break through.
Not yet.
Evening Rooftop
Ryomen sat cross-legged, academy lights glowing below like grounded stars.
He closed his eyes and reached inward.
Not to pull.
Not to bend.
Just to feel.
The seal responded reluctantly, humming like a restrained storm.
"You heard them," he murmured. "Didn't you?"
No answer.
But the threads trembled.
Ryomen smiled faintly.
"Don't worry. I'm still hiding."
Above him, clouds shifted, revealing the moon.
And for just a moment, its light bent ever so slightly
as if acknowledging the lie.