Chapter 20: Shadows in the Hall
The dining hall buzzed with chatter, the clatter of cutlery and muffled conversations weaving into a steady hum. Morning light filtered through stained-glass windows, painting fractured patterns on the tiled floor.
Near the center of the hall, a scene began to unravel—one that drew eyes despite the hushed murmurs urging restraint.
A senior student loomed over a younger boy, sneering with the confidence of someone who'd gotten away with this countless times. His lackeys flanked him, arms crossed and grinning, the glint in their eyes promising trouble. The boy, barely older than sixteen, had his back to a marble column, hands clenched at his sides. Though fear flickered in his eyes, defiance smoldered just beneath.
"Oh? You've got some fight in you," the senior mocked, cracking his knuckles with a lazy grin. "Go on, then—let's see what you've got."
The boy gritted his teeth, mana flaring faintly around his fists. He lunged, swinging a desperate punch infused with raw, unrefined power. For a moment, it seemed he might actually land a hit—until the senior sidestepped smoothly, smirking as he brought a knee up into the boy's stomach.
Air burst from the boy's lungs in a harsh gasp, his body folding. Pain flashed across his face, but he refused to fall, stumbling back and struggling to regain his stance.
Across the hall, Reynald's eyes narrowed at the scene, fingers twitching towards the hilt of his rapier. His instincts screamed to interfere, to put a stop to the humiliation unfolding before him. He began to rise, boots scraping against the stone floor—
Only to halt as a firm hand settled on his shoulder.
"Don't." The voice was smooth, indifferent, as if the outcome was already known.
Reynald's head snapped to the side, irritation flaring—only for the words to die on his tongue.
She was seated casually, a half-finished breakfast on the table before her and a book cracked open in one hand. Midnight-black hair cascaded past her shoulders, a few strands tucked behind an ear. Her eyes, a deep storm-gray, remained fixed on the scene, detached and unbothered.
Selene. The name flitted through Reynald's mind, distant yet familiar.
"You can't be serious," Reynald hissed, muscles tensing beneath her hold. "They're going to beat him senseless."
Selene's gaze didn't waver, her fingers idly tracing the spine of her book. "And you think jumping in alone will change that?" she countered, voice calm and annoyingly reasonable. "That senior is Rank IV at least—charging in would only add you to the pile."
Reynald scowled, jaw clenching. "So we should just watch?"
"Depends," Selene replied with a shrug, finally turning a page. "Sometimes the smartest move is not playing at all."
His glare sharpened, but before he could snap a retort, the fight escalated.
The younger boy, blood trickling from a split lip, snarled through the pain. Mana flared around him in a jagged aura, the air humming with barely-contained power. He thrust a palm forward, a raw blast of energy tearing across the hall. Plates and cups clattered in its wake, a ripple of shocked gasps rising from nearby students.
The senior clicked his tongue, unimpressed. In one fluid motion, he sidestepped, mana coiling around his fist like crimson lightning. With brutal efficiency, he closed the distance, driving a mana-infused punch into the boy's gut. The impact reverberated, a dull thud echoing as the boy crumpled to his knees, gasping and wide-eyed.
Snickers rippled from the senior's lackeys, their eyes glinting with savage amusement. One kicked the boy's shoulder, sending him sprawling across the tiles. A fresh wave of whispers swept through the hall, some students looking away uneasily, others watching with morbid curiosity.
Reynald's fists trembled, nails biting into his palms. It took every ounce of willpower not to storm across the hall, not to hurl himself at the senior despite Selene's warning.
"Stop gritting your teeth," Selene drawled, barely glancing up. "It's distracting."
"Easy for you to say," Reynald bit out, eyes blazing. "Aren't you bothered at all?"
Her gaze flickered to him—calm, unreadable. "No," she answered bluntly, tone void of sympathy. "Getting worked up won't change anything. You'd do well to learn that."
His glare could've melted iron, but Selene only hummed, lips curling faintly. For a moment, Reynald contemplated shoving her hand off and charging in anyway—consequences be damned.
But no one stepped in. Not a single observer, student, or professor. The message was clear: power determined standing, and weakness was its own punishment. The juniors watched with a mix of fear and resignation, eyes darting nervously as if to imprint the lesson into their bones.
A final kick left the younger boy crumpled on the floor, blood streaking his chin and breaths coming shallow and strained. The senior scoffed, dusting off his hands as if the fight had been a tiresome chore. He shot a glare at the surrounding students, eyes promising a similar fate to anyone foolish enough to interfere.
The hall fell into a strained silence, the only sound the quiet whimper of the defeated boy.
After a tense pause, a pair of younger students—likely friends of the boy—rushed forward, eyes wide and frantic. They hoisted him up, arms slung around their shoulders, whispers of concern slipping past their lips. Without sparing a glance at the senior, they hurried out of the hall, likely heading for the hospital wing.
Reynald's jaw clenched so tight it ached, but he couldn't move, couldn't breathe past the fury roiling in his gut. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to turn away as the senior stalked off, his lackeys snickering in tow.
"Smart choice," Selene murmured, her tone bland but eyes glinting with faint approval.
Reynald grit his teeth, the taste of bitterness sharp on his tongue. "Shut up," he growled, shrugging her hand off as he stood.
Selene chuckled softly, rising with a fluid motion and tucking the book under her arm. "Whatever you say."
A bell chimed from the corridor outside, signaling the start of morning classes. Students began filing out in uneasy streams, whispers and glances cast toward the boy's retreating friends.
Reynald hesitated, guilt gnawing at the edges of his resolve. But the sight of the boy's friends struggling to support him—faces pale and grim—left a sour pit in his stomach. Another reminder that mercy had no place here.
With a final glare at the retreating seniors, Reynald turned sharply, cloak snapping behind him as he moved. Selene followed with unhurried steps, eyes already flitting back to her book as if the scene had been nothing more than a passing distraction.
They merged into the stream of students, the hall's atmosphere thick with unspoken tension.