Hey readers, just a quick note:
I've changed Reo's name to Leo in the narration to avoid confusion from the dual names. Hope this makes things clearer moving forward!
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In the evening at the infrimary room, Leo sat on his cot, sipping hot coffee, its sharp smell filling the air.
Liana perched nearby, her usual worry fading into a small, happy smile. "I'm glad," she said, her voice light. "Your troubles are done now."
Leo stopped mid-sip, his crimson eyes flicking to her, hard and quick. "Which troubles?" he asked, voice low and edged.
Liana frowned, puzzled. "What? You beat Garrik. No more problems, right?" She looked at him, hopeful.
Leo laughed, a deep, rough sound, taking another sip before setting the cup with a firm tap. "You're wrong, Liana. My problems didn't stop—they grew."
Her eyes went wide, worry creeping back. "What do you mean?"
He leaned back, arms behind his head, smirk tight and knowing. "This is like a book, and I've only turned the first page. Obsidian Academy isn't about learning—it's about power, connections, dominance. I've shown dominance, and they don't like it."
I made Prince Cassian really mad today. Like putting up fire under his ass
In the prince's dorm, Cassian slammed his fist on the table, the bang loud as wine splashed from a fallen cup, staining the wood red. His golden hair shone under the bright lights, his face twisting with anger—then shifting to a slow, evil grin.
"Leonhardt," he whispered, voice sharp and mean, "you think you won? You did—but it's pulling you deep into this place's mess." His grin grew, eyes shining with dark plans.
I've shown I'm tough—took Bronze's leader position. Now every leader's watching me.
In the Silver Section's shadowy hideout, a breathtaking girl with icy blue hair sits on a plush velvet couch, her tight uniform clinging to every curve. A silver brooch attached to her uniform. Her long, bare legs draped languidly over a trembling boy on all fours, she's using him as her personal footrest.
She trailed a manicured finger along her full lips, her voice a sultry, smooth whisper that dripped with sadistic delight. "Oh, taken down in one hit?" She giggled—melodic sound—and ground her stiletto heel into his spine, coaxing a pitiful whimper from his lips. "So fragile… so delicious to shatter."
Nearby, a short girl with bouncy chestnut curls steps forward, hips swaying confidently, her hands planted on her tiny waist as she flashed a cheeky, dazzling grin. "Bronze has a new king, huh? About time that dull pit got some spice!" she chirped, tossing her hair with a playful flick.
A tall slim boy slouched against the wall, shrugging casually. "Maybe. Word is he might climb to Iron or Silver after that show."
Across from her, a tall, willowy girl with raven-black hair leaned against a pillar. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, smirking lazily. "He's got guts," she purred, her voice low and smoky
"I'd love to see how long he lasts under us."
The blue-haired queen's smile twisted into something wicked, her eyes glinting with dark lust as she slid her foot along the boy's cheek, slow and deliberate, her sharp heel grazing his skin until he flinched, a choked sob escaping him. "Mmm, a fresh little plaything," she said, her tongue flicking across her lips.
"I adore when they beg." She pressed harder, her silky laugh curling through the air like smoke as his groan turned desperate, her gaze alight with twisted pleasure.
Another girl, a curvy redhead in a daringly low-cut dress, sits on a nearby couch, her legs crossed as she sips tea. She arched a brow, her voice a husky tease. "Think he'd scream as pretty as this one?" she asked, nodding toward the trembling boy with a wicked grin.
The blue-haired sadist leaned forward, her eyes locked on her pet as she dug her heel deeper, forcing a sharp cry from his throat. "Oh, I'll make sure he does," she purred, her voice dripping with seductive menace. "I want to hear every sweet sound he can make."
In the Iron Section's hideout, a big, muscled guy sat on an old couch, iron pin dull on his wide chest. He cracked his knuckles, voice deep and growly. "This kid's got a real fight?"
"Yeah," his helper said, nodding fast. "One punch—Garrik's down, smashed badly."
The leader grinned, teeth showing, eyes lit with excitement. "Leonhardt Caulem," he said slow, fists tightening. "Can't wait to face you."
Not just the leaders—the academy's maniacs, too.
In the forest beside the academy, where students hunted for training, a C-rank monster prowled-Grim, all sinew and spines, black scales glinting. An glowing arrow shot, slamming its flank, dragging it down dead in one brutal shot. The arrow faded to nothing.
Perched high in a nearby tree, a long-eared figure let his bow dissolve into nothing, his smile widening as he muttered softly, "Leonhardt Caulem… I hear you've got good skills."
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In the classroom, away from the chatter, a lone boy sat quietly, his presence distinct. His skin bore a different hue—unlike the others in the academy. Leaning back in his seat, his lips curled into a sly grin as he murmured to himself, "Finally, some entertainment. Good thing I came here as an exchange student."
I stirred the entire gambling today, duels gambling run by the students council.
In the student council chamber, Volkahardt Rathur sits behind the president's desk, his dark hair framing a handsome face. A golden brooch attached to his uniform. He leaned forward, piercing Darius with a stare. "So, Leonhardt didn't just win—he flipped the betting game inside out?"
Darius stood rigid, jaw locked. "Yes, big brother. Every move is calculated."
Volkahardt's grin was a blade's edge, fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the desk. "That duel racket's council's lifeblood—staff won't dare touch it. One punk storms in, twists it all, and hands us a profit haul bigger than we've seen in years. Gotta respect the audacity."
He leaned back, eyes narrowing. "But you, Golden leader—what's your move?"
Darius was silent, his fists tightening. Volkahardt's voice dropped, cold and cutting. "His aura shook you—I heard about it. You'll let that slide?"
Darius's gaze sharpened, his words a snarl. "He put his finger into the current and stirred it bloody. I'll cut it—make him choke on his own game."
Volkahardt's laugh was a dark, resonant boom. "There's the Rathur blood," he said, his grin widening.
You forgot someone wants me dead. They tried before—and they're not done.
In a loud, dirty underground dark guild, the air was full of yells and laughs, guys slamming mugs of ale and arm-wrestling with sweaty grunts.
Everything stopped when a man burst in, his boots stomping loud. Everyone went quiet, staring. He looked rough—scars on his face, messy hair, and a beat-up coat, looks like the bandit leader Leo killed when he first woke up here. People moved aside as he marched to the middle, a crumpled paper in his fist. He yanked it open, holding up a drawing—Leonhardt's face, clear and bold.
"Leonhardt Caulem," he shouted, voice like a punch, shaking the room. "We got paid to kill him once, but it messed up. Now the price is huge." He waited, letting it sink in. "Kill him—500 gold coins." Gasps hit the air, eyes lighting up with want.
He grinned mean, throwing a heavy coin pouch on the table with a loud bang. "Bring him alive, and I'll add 300 more right here!" Cheers exploded, guys jumping up, shouting, ready to hunt.
He glared at the picture, whispering darkly, "You burned my brother, Leonhardt Caulem. I'll make you hurt forever."
And that's not all—bigger trouble's might be coming.
In a creepy forest, a castle stood tall, its sharp towers cutting through thick fog. Inside, a young guy walked fast down empty halls, dressed in white, clean and strong, like a knight. He stopped by an old man in the same white, face old and serious. "We got intel," the young guy said, voice tight and fast.
The old man looked up, eyes small. "What?"
"King's Aura," the young guy said, words heavy. The old man stopped breathing for a second, stiff. "A kid's got it, King's Aura in him."
The old man slammed his large staff on the floor, a loud crack, voice scratchy and low. "Ruler's Prophecy." His hand shook, holding tight. "He'll end the destruction. He shouldn't be alive."
Morning light hit the infirmary, waking Liana in her chair,who's sleeping leaning her head on bed. She jumped up, heart racing—Leo's bed was empty, sheets tossed off.
"Young Master!" she yelled, voice sharp with fear, looking around fast. She saw him by the window, standing tall in the morning rays, bandages gone, thrown away. His wounds were healed, showing hard abs—stronger now, tougher. The ring on his chest glowing under morning rays.
His crimson eyes staring out, as he muttered low, "Let's see who breaks and who dies first."
Meanwhile, Elara stood alone in the hallway. She looked toward the infirmary room which is in opposite building. "Leonhardt Caulem…" she murmured to herself, her expression unreadable.
She stiffened slightly as she sensed movement—a presence. Turning her head, she found herself looking at Erin Dranemount, casually passing by, her violet eyes calm. Erin offered no words, no acknowledgment, simply passing her.