Reo straightened slowly, his bruised body protesting with every movement. The pain was sharp, but he held himself upright as he began to walk away from the arena. His bloodied glove swept through his red hair, leaving pale streaks among the crimson strands.
The crowd remained in a dazed, strangling silence, no one having the courage to utter a word, their lips sealed by Leonhardt's dominance—until a lone, biting clap cut through the silence.
Heads turned, eyes darting toward the sound. There, in the stands, stood Rin—a striking figure with violet hair cascading over her shoulders, her ample chest rising with each breath, her hands coming together in steady, deliberate applause. A bright smile lit her face as her gaze fixed on him with admiration.
Her applause ignited the crowd. Slowly, others joined in. What began as scattered claps swelled into a reluctant wave of acknowledgment. Despite their losses, despite their dislike of Leonhardt, they couldn't ignore the spectacle. The applause grew louder, filling the arena with its reluctant rhythm.
In the royal box, Princess Thalina rose, her gold eyes bright as she clapped with quiet grace. Adrin, still stunned, joined hesitantly, while Selene's clapping was deliberate. Erin With her knowing smile applauded lightly.
Meanwhile, across the arena, Darius stood up. His face darkened with frustration, his jaw tight as he watched the scene. Without a word, he turned and walked out.
At the edge of the arena, Liana stood waiting, her brown eyes locked on Reo. Concern fills across her face as she rushed to him. Without hesitation, she slipped under his arm, draping it over her shoulder to steady him.
"Young Master Leo," she said softly, her voice filled with worry as she supported his weight.
Reo gave her a faint smile, his voice light despite the exhaustion. "I'm fine. Don't worry."
"Don't lie to me, Young Master," she replied sharply. "I can see how much you're struggling—even if no one else can." Her gaze swept over him, noting every strained breath, every step he struggled to take.
Reo chuckled quietly, a low sound that carried a hint of genuine amusement. "Caught me," he murmured. He leaned into her support as they moved toward the exit. The applause faded behind them, the roar of the crowd giving way to the quieter echoes of the corridor.
After a while, the principal's office lay steeped in a heavy, contemplative silence. Principal Veymoor sat behind his imposing desk, his eyes narrowed in thought, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he stared into the middle distance.
Opposite him, Professor Gidon stood with arms crossed, his grizzled features set in a rare, pensive stillness. Around the room, a handful of the academy's top professors were present here to discuss.
Professor Valelim broke the quiet, his voice clipped with irritation. "Yesterday, Leonhardt brutalized four third-year students. And now? He's left Garrik Solmire comatose—for at least a month, the healers say"
Miss Isolde, a tall woman with cascading blue hair and a piercing gaze, leaned forward from her seat. "How does someone like Leonhardt—a second-year bronze —bring down a giant like Garrik? It defies reason."
"I saw it with my own eyes. It wasn't just strength—he used his head," Gidon shifted, his deep voice rumbling through the room as he met her gaze. "Every move was calculated, like he was three steps ahead of Garrik from the start. Brain and brawn, perfectly synced."
"How, Gidon? That brat was a sniveling wreck in his first year—barely worth noticing," professor Vaelem argued. "Then he vanishes for a vacation, comes back, and suddenly he's a different person entirely. What changed?"
Veymoor's orange-haired leaned against the wall, his arms folded as he spoke up, "It must've been the carriage attack. Something happened to him out there—shifted him down to his core. You've seen it too, haven't you? He's got an aura now—strong, unknown."
The room fell silent again. Principal Veymoor listened, his expression unreadable, he knew more than he let on, a secret he guarded closely, unwilling to unveil it even to this trusted circle. His fingers tapped once against the desk, a subtle break in his stillness, before Gidon's voice drew their attention back.
"I propose we promote Leonhardt Caulem to Silver Class," Gidon said, his tone firm. He paused, then added, "And I want to take him as my apprentice."
The room fell silent again, her words hanging in the air. Principal Veymoor listened carefully, his expression unreadable. A flicker of something—knowledge, perhaps—flashed in his eyes, but he said nothing, keeping his thoughts to himself.
"I propose we promote Leonhardt Caulem to Silver Class," Gidon said firmly, breaking the stillness. "And I want him as my apprentice."
A stunned silence followed. Valelim finally scoffed, shaking his head. "Promote him? Maybe. But your apprentice? You've refused the top students in this academy—geniuses who begged for your mentorship. Now you want him?"
Isolde's brows lifted. "Are you serious, Gidon? This is reckless."
Gidon's jaw tightened. "I don't care about raw strength or gifted talent. I want someone who can do wonders—who's got potential that burns brighter than any pre-made prodigy. That kid—" He gestured vaguely toward the arena beyond the walls.
"The way he stored mana in those Voltsteel knuckles? That takes focus—monstrous, sharp concentration most mages twice his age couldn't muster. And those punches—he struck them exactly where it'd do the most damage, critical points mapped out like he's been fighting for years. He's not a student; he's a damn tactician already."
Valelim scoffed, crossing his arms. "You're romanticizing a fluke. He's still a Bronze Class runt—"
"No," Gidon cut in. "He's different. We've rigged the Bronze Class to fail—intentionally. We don't teach them, don't push them, just let them flounder to prove they don't belong in the noble circles. It's a meat grinder for the weak, a filter for the elite. But Leonhardt? He's broken that mold—climbed out of the pit we built and turned it upside down."
Veymoor's eyes flickered with a faint as he broke his silence at last. "I'll grant you the promotion argument—it's hard to deny after today. But taking him as your apprentice, Gidon? That's a leap even for you."
Gidon met his gaze without hesitation. "I know what I'm asking. And I know what I see in him."
Isolde tilted her head, still unconvinced. "You're betting on a wildcard over proven talent. That's a risk."
"It's not about risk," Gidon replied, his tone softening but resolute. "It's about what he could become. I've watched geniuses coast on power they were born with. Leonhardt—he's forging his own, piece by piece. That's the kind of student I'd stake my name on."
Veymoor exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming once more against the desk as he considered. "Very well," he said at last, his voice low and final. "I'll speak with the boy myself—see what he's made of up close. We'll settle this later."
The room settled into a tense quiet, the professors exchanging looks—some skeptical, some intrigued.
---
Meanwhile in the infirmary, Reo perched on a narrow cot, his chest and arms wrapped in crisp bandages, the healer's work still tingling faintly across his skin—bruises softened, gashes sealed. She stepped back, wiping her hands on her apron, her voice warm. "That's the worst of it. Three days, and you'll be whole again. Rest it out."
Reo flexed his bandaged arm, testing the stiffness, and gave a curt nod. "Appreciate it," he said, his tone low but sincere.
"I'll be back tomorrow to for daily healing," she replied, gathering her satchel of tools before slipping out, the door closing with a soft thud. Reo eased back against the wall, exhaling sharply as his gaze settled on his hand.
[Initiate healing protocol?(3/3)]
He stared at the words, crimson eyes narrowing as his fingers twitched into a loose fist. Not now, he decided.
The curtains parted abruptly, a sharp rustle accompanied by a voice laced with equal parts concern and frustration. "Young Master Leo!" Liana stormed in, her brown eyes blazing as she stopped at his bedside. Reo glanced up, a wry thought flashing through his mind—Yeah, I'm dead.
[Best of luck.]
Liana's hands slammed onto her hips, her voice rising with barely-contained fury. "You swore you'd just dodge—keep it safe! Not let that brute beats you into the dirt!"
Reo shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back, voice casual despite the ache threading it. "I did dodge—mostly. Had to take a few hits to juice the betting odds, relax."
Her eyes blazed, her step closing the gap as her voice sharpened. "Relax? You think I'd have backed this scheme if I knew you'd be this reckless? No more, Young Master—I'm done watching you gamble your life like it's nothing! Is gold really worth more to you than life?"
Reo's smirk faltered, his gaze drifting upward as a quiet sigh slipped out. Is this Grace reborn as Liana? he wondered, the parallels striking him like a hammer—both fierce, unbothered by how intimidating he could be, their worry a force that pierced his armor.
"Sorry," he murmured, the word soft but real.
Her tension eased a fraction, her arms crossing as her anger turning into concern. "Then why not use that healing power—like when you defeated razor-claw bear? You were up in no time."
His expression tightened, voice dropping to a guarded whisper. "That's the goddess's gift. Not showing that card to the world—too much at stake."
Before she could argue, the door creaked open, a new voice breaking the tension. "Leonhardt? You here?"
Liana peeked past the curtain, her brow lifting in a soft, curious arc as she spotted the newcomer—Rin, the violet-haired girl from Leonhardt's class, hovering in the doorway.
Her bold figure was softened by a shy, hesitant tilt of her head, her big pink eyes darting around with a quiet, almost puppy-like intent, searching for him with a flicker of nervous excitement.