It was still hard to keep my mood and behavior under control—but I knew one more breakdown might cost me Taisha as a teacher.
So I did the only thing that made sense.
I cut myself off from everyone.
I woke up before anyone else, came back to the room when they were already asleep, and spent every free minute meditating in a small grove near one of the academy exits—a place I'd never used before and had no idea where it even led.
The exercises Chen gave me…
They actually worked.
Slowly.
Painfully.
But they worked.
"Instructor… did you use these meditations too?" I asked her one day at lunch. Lately, I'd been avoiding people whenever I could—even meals.
"No," she said. "I developed this method a few years ago. For another student. Your situations seemed… similar." A brief pause. "Though I hope I'm wrong."
"Situations?"
"Don't dwell on it, Holivan." She cut me off with a small gesture. "I hope I'm mistaken—and that I won't have to explain. You're making progress. That's what matters. You've fought three duels—and each one was clean. Controlled."
"But I still can't fully control myself," I said, exhaling sharply. "What the hell is wrong with me? Is this just… puberty?"
"Let's hope so," she replied calmly. "Keep meditating. And even when you feel stable—don't stop completely. Otherwise, you'll slip again."
"Thank you, Taisha. For giving me another chance."
"Don't thank me. I have a weakness for people like you," she said lightly, lifting her hand to cut off any further questions. "And one more thing—you need to start talking to your friends again. It will help."
"I don't think they'll just take me back like nothing happened," I muttered. "I've been ignoring them for three weeks."
"And there it is again—your habit of underestimating yourself."
I turned sharply.
"Silius?"
"Good afternoon, Taisha," Clyde said. "Can I assume he's back on his feet?"
"Not fully. But yes—he's ready to return to normal life."
"Good." Clyde's gaze shifted to me. "Holivan. Be in my office tonight. Your leave is over."
He turned and walked off without another word.
—
I headed toward my room, hoping to catch Torrent.
Figured I should start with him.
Apologize.
My phone buzzed.
I didn't keep it on silent anymore.
Not even during class.
You have ten minutes to get to the basement on the Special side. Come alone—or your precious Alma Hwon will regret it.
The message was sent from Alma's number.
I read it twice.
Cold dread settled in my chest.
I turned immediately and headed back toward the academy, forcing myself not to run.
Drawing attention now would only make things worse.
I'd always known the people around me could get hurt.
I just didn't think it would happen this soon.
Shit.
Between everything going on in my head, I'd completely forgotten about the real danger.
I took a slow breath.
Then another.
Forced the anger down.
I couldn't lose control now.
Not here.
I pushed open the basement door.
The corridor was empty.
It always was.
Storage rooms. Archives. Dead space.
No one came here unless they had to.
Of course they chose this place.
I knew it was a trap.
And I still walked in.
I couldn't risk Alma.
She'd already been through enough.
"You're quick. Good."
I turned.
One of the Specials.
Didn't know his name—but I'd seen him around Silius's group.
That made this worse.
"Move," he said, already turning away.
I followed.
The deeper we went, the tighter something coiled in my chest.
He stopped at the last door.
Dust-covered.
Untouched for years.
Bad.
Really bad.
The door creaked open.
Five of them.
All upperclassmen.
I didn't recognize any of them.
One wore a gold badge—
like mine.
The feeling in my gut turned cold.
Behind them—
Alma.
Tied to a beam.
The moment she saw me, she shouted:
"Alan, run! It's a trap—"
The crack of the slap cut her off.
"Alma!" I stepped forward. "Let her go. I'm here. You don't need her."
"Oh, come on," the one with the gold badge said, smiling like this was entertainment. "She makes it more fun."
His fingers brushed along her cheek.
I forced myself to breathe.
Slow.
Controlled.
Don't lose it.
"Let her go," I said, already letting strands of energy slip from my hands.
"No, no," he said, flipping open a folding knife. The blade traced lightly across her cheek.
A thin line of blood followed.
"I don't want this place wrecked. Too much attention." He tilted his head. "Be a good boy. Put your strings away."
My jaw tightened.
I looked at Alma—
and pulled the energy back in.
"Smart," he said. "Now stand still. No resistance—unless you want your friend to suffer."
I didn't move.
Two others stepped in.
Cuffs snapped around my wrists.
They shoved me forward.
Chains.
Bolted into the floor.
Cold iron locked around my ankles.
Heavy.
Solid.
No leverage.
No way out.
No way to use my power.
A perfect trap.
"Now let her go," I said, my voice rough.
"Oh?" he said lightly, sliding the knife away—then letting his hand drift slowly along her waist. "Did I ever say I would?"
"You piece of shit—!" I strained against the restraints. Useless. "She has nothing to do with this! Let her go!"
"I can already hear you screaming," he said casually, not even looking at me, "while we take turns with your little friend."
The others moved closer to Alma.
I pulled against the chains.
Harder.
Harder.
Metal bit into my skin.
Muscles screamed.
Useless.
I shouted.
Struggled.
Fought—
losing control.
But Alma—
she didn't move.
Didn't fight.
Didn't even flinch.
Her eyes were empty.
No fear.
No resistance.
Nothing.
And that—
hurt more than anything.
How many times had this happened to her?
With that same look?
She'd stopped fighting.
Given up.
Like it didn't matter anymore.