Chapter 918 - Shifting Pillars
Ethan exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before glancing back at Jane. His voice was calm, steady—not demanding, not pushing.
"I know there's something in your past," he said, watching her reaction carefully. "Something you don't talk about."
Jane's fingers tensed slightly in her lap, but she didn't interrupt.
"But I'm not going to investigate it," Ethan continued. "You don't have to tell me anything until you want to." He leaned back slightly, letting his words settle. "No need to hurry. I trust you."
Jane's eyes widened just a little, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something. But no words came out. Instead, her gaze grew softer, almost fragile. A shimmer of moisture gathered at the edges of her eyes, her hands clenching slightly before she quickly looked away, blinking rapidly.
Ethan didn't comment on it.
Instead, he moved on instinct, reaching forward and pulling her into a hug.
It wasn't dramatic, wasn't anything grand. It was casual, natural. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Jane stiffened at first, caught off guard, but after a few seconds, she slowly let herself relax into the warmth. Her head rested lightly against his shoulder, her body no longer holding that tense edge.
Neither of them spoke.
They just stayed like that for a little while.
A quiet moment, a rare kind of comfort.
Eventually, Ethan pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her properly.
Jane sniffed softly, giving him a small, almost embarrassed smile. "Sorry. I probably look ridiculous right now."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Nah. You always look like that."
Jane let out a short laugh, swatting him weakly on the arm. "You're terrible."
Ethan smirked but didn't say anything else. Instead, his expression grew a little more thoughtful as he studied her, debating whether or not to bring up what was on his mind.
He wanted to talk to her about everything—Azure Crest, his family, the pressure building in the city. But at the same time…
Did he really want to drag her into all of that?
She had her own problems. Problems that were clearly weighing on her.
Would it be selfish to put more on her plate?
Ethan sighed, rubbing his temple. "Hey, Jane?"
She tilted her head slightly. "Yeah?"
He hesitated, then shook his head with a small smirk. "Nothing. Just… glad you're alright."
Jane blinked before smiling softly. "Thanks, Ethan."
He nodded.
For now, that was enough.
*****
The cold evening air did little to settle the storm in Lilia's mind. Her boots struck the stone pavement with steady, measured steps, her posture upright, composed—but internally, her thoughts churned relentlessly.
She had resumed her guild work over the past few days, reestablishing her influence, reinforcing the alliances she had built, and ensuring that everything within her control remained intact. She had no time to dwell on failures, no room for hesitation. The Thornheart family succession was heating up, and so was the looming battle for Olympus Vanguard.
Yet despite all the strategic maneuvering, the negotiations, and the steady execution of her plans, there was one thing that refused to leave her thoughts.
Astron's words.
"You hesitate."
"That's why you lost."
Lilia's crimson eyes flickered as she entered the archery grounds, the familiar scent of wooden targets, waxed bowstrings, and mana-imbued arrows filling the air. The place was quieter than usual, the evening light casting long shadows over the training dummies lined up in neat rows.
She welcomed the solitude.
Still, her grip on her bow was tighter than necessary as she approached the shooting range. She was here to train—to push past the distractions. But her mind had never been so restless.
Astron's words had been circling her thoughts for days now, lingering like an echo that refused to fade.
She had initially dismissed them. She had wanted to dismiss them.
But she hadn't.
Instead, she had spent too much time dissecting them, replaying that damn conversation in her head, considering every angle, every implication.
"You hesitate when it comes to doing things the way Adrian or Selene would."
"You don't have the necessary drive."
Her fingers twitched slightly against the smooth curve of her bow, irritation creeping in at the mere memory. Astron was wrong. He didn't understand. He observed, analyzed, picked people apart with cold precision—but he didn't know what it meant to be Lilia Thornheart.
He didn't know what it meant to carve out power under the weight of expectations.
He didn't know what it meant to bear the legacy of the Olympus Vanguard, to carry the burden of a name that dictated an entire future before she had even been given a choice.
…Did he?
Her lips pressed into a thin line, her thoughts a whirlwind as she notched an arrow onto her bowstring. The tension in the string felt familiar, grounding. She exhaled slowly, focusing on the target before her.
Everything else could wait. Right now, she would train.
Her gaze locked onto the target, her mind calculating the distance, wind resistance, the subtle shifts in mana around her. Archery had always been something of a sanctuary—an art of precision, control, and adaptability.
Yet, even as she loosed the arrow—a perfect shot, hitting dead center—the words continued to gnaw at her.
"Do you even know if this is what you really want?"
Lilia exhaled sharply, gripping the bowstring tighter. Why the hell was that question still in her head?
It wasn't as if she had never asked herself that before. Of course she had.
She had dedicated years of her life to preparing for this. She had built her own following, established her own strength, fought tooth and nail for every ounce of recognition. She wasn't like Selene, manipulating the game from the shadows. She wasn't like Adrian, relying on brute force and privilege.
She was better.
And yet—
Why does it feel like I have to keep proving that?
Her next shot was off by a fraction—just a fraction. But it was enough to irritate her.
She lowered her bow, inhaling slowly.
No. No distractions.
There was no time to second-guess herself, not now. The succession battle within the Thornheart family was escalating, and the various factions within Olympus Vanguard were growing restless, each vying for dominance. The situation was reaching a boiling point.
Some supported Selene, drawn in by her intellect and calculated leadership. Others stood behind Lilia, seeing her as the rightful successor—not just because of her talent, but because she was a leader who earned her strength.
But that wasn't enough.
Selene played the game like a grandmaster, always several moves ahead, ensuring the board was arranged to her favor before anyone even realized they were playing.
Adrian, meanwhile, had shifted tactics. After their fight, he had stopped underestimating her. Now, instead of arrogance, he was carefully moving against her, consolidating alliances, making plays that couldn't be ignored.
And then there were the outside forces—those who wanted Olympus Vanguard under their own influence.
Lilia wasn't naive. The internal power struggle wasn't just about her and Selene. There were hidden hands in the shadows, powerful figures who had their own plans for the future of the guild. Some of them saw her as an obstacle. Others saw her as a tool.
Lilia exhaled, drawing her bowstring back once more. The cool evening air sharpened her focus, the rhythmic tension of her shots grounding her, allowing her to push aside the thoughts that had been circling in her mind for too long.
Her next arrow flew true, striking the target with pinpoint precision. It should have been satisfying. It should have been enough to silence the storm in her head.
It wasn't.
A flicker of mana in the distance pulled at her senses.
She barely reacted at first. The archery grounds weren't private—it was only natural for others to be here. There were many cadets and club members who used the facility at this hour. Some came to train, some to spectate, others simply because they had nothing better to do.
Lilia ignored it.
She lowered her bow, drawing another arrow, resetting her stance, preparing to fire again.
Then—
The door to her section creaked open.
Her instincts tensed—not because of the sound itself, but because of the shift in mana.
It was subtle, almost concealed, but she sensed it immediately. A spell being cast. Not just any spell—an attack. Aimed at her.
"Heh?"
Chapter 919 - Shifting Pillars (2)
"Heh?"
The sound barely left her lips before she moved.
Her body reacted before her mind could fully process the threat. She twisted to the side, her mana-enhanced reflexes kicking in at the last second. A sharp pulse of energy crackled through the air, missing her by mere inches, striking the wooden wall behind her with a sharp explosion of force.
The impact was controlled—not enough to kill, but enough to send a message.
Lilia landed smoothly, bow raised, her crimson eyes flashing with pure, razor-sharp focus.
Someone just attacked her.
And now?
They had her full attention.
Lilia barely had time to reposition before her attackers moved.
Four of them.
She registered their presence in a heartbeat—stronger than first-years, stronger than what she was used to dealing with. These weren't just reckless juniors trying to make a name for themselves. These were cadets. Seniors.
Her crimson eyes flickered as they surrounded her, their mana signatures controlled, refined, dangerous.
What the hell are they doing?
This was the archery grounds. There were surveillance cameras everywhere. Attacking someone openly here wasn't just reckless—it was outright stupid.
But they didn't hesitate.
The first one lunged.
Lilia reacted instinctively, twisting away as a blade of condensed mana slashed past her, slicing through the empty air where she had stood. The moment her feet touched the ground, she had already drawn an arrow, her fingers a blur against the bowstring.
Too close.
She didn't fire. Instead, she used the motion as a feint—a deliberate shift in stance that forced her attacker to react. The moment he did, Lilia spun low, kicking at his legs. The strike connected, disrupting his balance for a split second—
But he recovered too fast.
The second attacker came from behind.
Lilia barely dodged in time as a spear of mana surged toward her back, forcing her to roll into a low crouch. Her mind worked fast—too coordinated, too precise.
These weren't just any cadets.
They had trained together.
Her jaw clenched as she leapt backward, creating distance. The third and fourth opponents cut off her retreat, flanking her with well-timed movements.
Damn.
She loosed an arrow at the one on her right. He dodged, twisting away with speed unnatural for an archer. The way they moved, the way they adjusted—it wasn't just raw strength.
They were trained to fight in a team.
This isn't random.
Lilia exhaled sharply. She didn't have the luxury of questioning their motives now. Not while she was still outnumbered.
The first attacker—a tall male with sharp features and a broadsword crackling with mana—moved in again, his footwork controlled.
Lilia's breath came steady despite the chaos around her, her crimson eyes flickering between her attackers. Four seniors. Strong, disciplined, trained in coordinated combat. They moved with precision, cutting off her retreat, anticipating her movements. This wasn't a spur-of-the-moment attack.
This was intentional.
But why?
Her grip on her bow tightened as she sidestepped another strike, her body twisting to evade the arc of a mana-infused blade. She needed answers.
Lilia narrowed her eyes, her voice sharp as she spoke.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
No response.
She shot a glance at the two on her left. Familiar faces.
Her mind worked rapidly, piecing together details in an instant.
Renald Voss. A cadet she had seen before, a rising talent in mid-range combat. He had once spoken about wanting to establish himself among the elite, always shadowing higher-ranked figures within Olympus Vanguard.
Elara Nox. A quiet but deadly archer. Lilia had noticed her before, always watching from the background, always aligning herself with those in power.
Both of them… were already affiliated with her guild.
A cold realization settled in her gut.
They weren't just attacking her.
They had been sent.
Selene.
It could only be her.
Lilia's lips curled in a bitter smirk even as she dodged another attack, barely managing to twist her body out of the path of a mana spear. Of course. Selene wouldn't dirty her own hands. She didn't need to.
She simply whispered in the right ears, set the pieces in motion, and let the board shift in her favor.
And right now, Lilia was the piece that needed to be removed.
Her energy was draining fast. The relentless attacks weren't giving her a chance to counter. Even as she evaded and defended, she was losing ground—step by step, strike by strike.
Another slash came from the right. Too fast.
She barely managed to deflect it with her bow, but the impact sent her skidding backward.
She exhaled sharply, feeling the burn in her muscles. She wasn't just outnumbered. She was being overwhelmed.
Damn it.
She was running out of options.
And then, before she could react—
A sharp pulse of mana exploded against her side.
The force tore through her defense, sending her body crashing against the training platform. Pain shot through her ribs as she hit the ground, her vision momentarily blurring.
No—she had moved to avoid it. She had calculated it right. But—
Lilia forced her gaze up—just in time to see the final strike descending.
Mana surged around them, crackling, lethal.
She was not going to get up in time.
And for the first time that night, she understood—
She was going to lose this fight.
Lilia's body screamed in protest as she forced herself to move. No time. No hesitation.
The strike was coming down fast. Too fast.
Her mana surged instinctively, pushing through the pain. She twisted her fingers against the ground, sending a burst of raw energy into her limbs—not to block, but to redirect.
[Mana Acceleration]
Her body jerked sideways just in time. The attack that should have crushed her chest missed by a breath, slamming into the floor instead, cracking the reinforced stone beneath it.
Lilia didn't stop to recover.
She kicked off the ground, spinning midair and nocking an arrow even as her muscles burned. The mana surged into her fingers, her control sharp despite the exhaustion.
She had no choice.
She had to hurt them.
Her shot exploded forward, its path shifting midair—not one, but two arrows splitting off from the original.
The first arrow sank into Renald's shoulder.
He cursed, stumbling backward as mana flared from the wound, disrupting his balance.
The second arrow pierced through Elara's leg.
She let out a strangled sound, collapsing to one knee.
A sharp pain flared in Lilia's skull, her vision tunneling for a brief moment. She was pushing her body beyond its limits, the repeated use of high-level mana control chipping away at her stamina.
But she had evened the playing field—at least, slightly.
She could still—
CRACK.
Pain erupted along her ribs.
One of them had struck her while she was mid-movement, their mana-enhanced fist crashing into her side with brutal force.
Lilia gasped, barely able to register the blow before another strike hit her from behind.
Her body jerked forward, her knees buckling.
She tried to move—tried to fight—
But they didn't give her the chance.
The next attack came as a violent knee to her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs.
Lilia collapsed onto her hands, coughing, blood spattering against the stone floor beneath her.
Too much.
They weren't stopping.
A boot crashed into her ribs. Another to her back.
She barely registered the world around her anymore, her senses breaking under the relentless barrage. Her vision blurred. The cold air of the archery grounds no longer registered against her skin.
She had lost.
And now, she was being beaten into the ground.
A part of her raged—refused to accept it.
But another part—the part that had always understood how Selene played the game—
Knew this was exactly how she had planned it.
One final, calculated humiliation.
The attacks kept coming.
And Lilia could do nothing but endure.
Chapter 920 - Shifting Pillars (3)
Ethan and Jane spent the next while in quiet company, talking about anything but the obvious problems looming over them.
It was simple. Comfortable.
Jane didn't try to force conversation, and Ethan didn't press her to talk more than she wanted to. Instead, they sat together, occasionally throwing jabs at each other, shifting the mood back into something lighter.
But after a bit, Jane finally sighed, stretching her arms before fixing him with a look.
"Alright, you've wasted enough time on me."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Wasted?"
She smirked. "Yeah. Don't you have things to do? I know you don't just sit around all day."
Ethan leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. "I can spare time."
Jane shook her head. "I'm fine now. Really."
He frowned, not entirely convinced.
She must have noticed because she let out a breath before reaching forward, poking his forehead lightly with her finger. "I mean it, Ethan. You don't have to babysit me. Go do whatever big, important things you were supposed to be doing before you called me."
Ethan huffed, swatting her hand away, but there was no real annoyance in his expression.
"...Alright. But if something happens again, call me."
Jane smiled softly. "I will."
Still, Ethan lingered for another second, studying her face, making sure she wasn't just saying that to get him to leave.
Jane just rolled her eyes playfully. "Go already."
With a final shake of his head, Ethan finally stood. He gave her a last glance before heading toward the door, stepping out of her dorm and into the hallway.
The moment he exited the girls' dormitory, the air outside felt cooler against his skin. The shift from the enclosed space to the open corridors of the academy grounds was almost refreshing.
He started toward his own dorm, his pace unhurried.
But then—
His senses flared.
Something was wrong.
The shift was subtle—so subtle that most people wouldn't have noticed it.
But Ethan wasn't most people.
The air changed.
The world around him seemed to bend, just slightly.
Like a shift in perception.
His steps slowed, his hazel eyes narrowing as he scanned the area.
Then, in the corner of his vision—
A flicker.
A distortion.
Ethan's breath steadied as he instinctively braced himself. The mana around him shifted—pulsing, coiling, thickening like unseen tendrils weaving through the air. It wasn't an attack. Not yet. But it was enough to put him on guard.
Then, a voice.
"What were you guys doing in there? You made me wait a lot."
The tone was casual, almost playful, but there was something underlying it—something deliberate.
Ethan turned, his hazel eyes sharpening, and the moment he saw her, his expression turned cold.
Melaine.
A senior. One he remembered well.
The one who had made Jane's life miserable.
She leaned against the nearby wall, arms crossed, her posture relaxed as if she had all the time in the world. A smirk tugged at her lips, but her gaze held a sharp edge, assessing him, waiting for a reaction.
Ethan didn't give her one.
Instead, he stood there, unmoving, his hands slipping into his pockets as he met her gaze without a word. His mana settled around him, no longer shifting wildly but still present—controlled, restrained.
Melaine tilted her head, her blonde hair catching the dim hallway lights. "No greeting? That's rude, you know."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Didn't realize I owed you one."
She chuckled, pushing off the wall, stepping closer. "Touchy." Her eyes flickered past him, toward the dormitory doors. "Jane seemed fine. I guess she really does bounce back fast."
Ethan's fingers curled inside his pockets, a subtle motion, but enough to ground himself as the quiet rage settled deep in his chest. His breath remained even, his expression blank, but beneath the surface, his patience was fraying.
Melanie was baiting him, and she knew it.
"We warned her, you know," she said, stepping closer, her smirk widening. "But she didn't listen. Stubborn, that one." Her tone was light, almost casual, but the satisfaction in her eyes told a different story. "Surely, you don't hold a grudge, right? You do understand how the rules play out here."
Ethan's eyes darkened.
He had already suspected it. Suspected that people like Melanie—ones who thrived off their status, their influence—were behind Jane's bullying. But Jane hadn't said anything. She hadn't asked for help.
And Ethan…
He had waited.
Because as much as he wanted to act, it wasn't his place to do so unless Jane let him.
But now?
Now, Melanie had chosen to bring this to him directly.
"Rules?" Ethan repeated, his voice dangerously quiet. "You mean the ones that let cowards like you get away with this kind of garbage?"
Melanie's smirk twitched, but she didn't lose her composure. Instead, she let out a small, amused hum.
"Oh, Ethan," she sighed dramatically. "I was hoping you wouldn't be this predictable. But I suppose I should've expected it."
Then, she lifted a hand, snapping her fingers once.
Two figures stepped out from the shadows behind her.
Bigger. Older. Both of them sophomore- second years, by the looks of it. Built like trained fighters, their gazes cold and calculating. One cracked his knuckles, while the other simply rolled his shoulders, as if testing his flexibility.
Ethan barely spared them a glance.
Ethan tilted his head slightly, his hazel eyes locked onto Melanie. He wasn't in a rush to move. Not yet. Instead, he studied her, waiting for her next move.
Calm. Controlled.
Then, in a measured voice, he asked, "Why are you doing this?"
For a second, Melanie didn't respond. Her smirk remained, but something flickered in her eyes. And then—
Her expression twisted.
"Why?" she repeated, her voice laced with venom. "Because I hate that whore."
Ethan's fingers twitched. His expression didn't change, but something inside him snapped.
"And most importantly," Melanie continued, her lips curling into a sneer, "you freshmen think you can just talk after what you've done?"
Ethan's glare sharpened. He didn't need to ask what she meant.
The academy had been a mess for weeks now.
Freshmen and sophomores had been at each other's throats, and nothing the academy did managed to put the fire out. It started as small things—subtle mockery, passive-aggressive taunts, scuffles that broke out during training sessions.
But then, it escalated.
Sophomore students, feeling superior, had begun actively targeting freshmen, believing them to be beneath them. And when the freshmen fought back, things spiraled further out of control.
Fights. Confrontations. Entire sections of the academy being put under surveillance just to prevent another incident from breaking out.
And Ethan?
He was an anomaly in the middle of all of it.
He didn't care about the divide. Didn't care about the pointless conflict that had everyone else tearing each other apart.
And more than that—
He was openly spending time with Jane.
A sophomore.
To the others, that made him a traitor. A freshman who had no respect for the lines that had already been drawn.
Melanie scoffed. "I knew you were going to piss me off the moment I saw you, Ethan. You walk around like you're untouchable. Like this whole damn thing doesn't concern you."
Ethan exhaled slowly, the anger inside him no longer just simmering—it was burning, spreading through his veins like wildfire.
"That's because it doesn't concern me," he stated, his voice calm despite the fury in his eyes. "I don't waste my time with pointless fights over status or year rankings. I have better things to do."
Melanie's glare deepened. "Oh, do you? And what, exactly, would those better things be? Hanging off Jane's arm like some pathetic dog?"
Ethan's jaw clenched.
Melanie smirked, satisfied with the reaction. "Yeah. That's right. That's exactly why I hate you, Ethan." She took a step forward, eyes gleaming with malice. "You don't belong anywhere. You pretend you're above all of this, but guess what? You're not. The moment you step into the academy, you play by our rules. And freshmen?"
Her voice dropped, low and sharp.
"They don't get to talk back."
Ethan didn't respond immediately. He just… stared at her.
His eyes held something dangerous now.
The kind of quiet, simmering fury that didn't explode—but burned, slow and consuming, waiting for the right moment.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"And what happens if I do?"
Ethan's jaw tightened, but he remained still. His hazel eyes darkened, and the air around him felt heavier, as if the very mana surrounding him had started to stir—slowly, dangerously.
Melanie didn't miss the shift. She leaned in slightly, her smirk widening as if she were savoring the moment.
"You act so righteous, Ethan," she mused. "So protective. Like you actually know her."
Ethan said nothing, but his silence only seemed to encourage her.
"Tell me," she continued, her tone laced with mockery. "Do you really know Jane? Do you know what kind of girl she is?"
His fingers twitched.
Melanie's eyes gleamed with something almost excited—like she was waiting for him to react. Waiting for him to break.
"I bet she hasn't told you, has she?" she whispered, stepping closer. "Hasn't told you about her past? About the things she's done?"
Ethan inhaled slowly. His mind was screaming at him to walk away. To not give her what she wanted.
But he couldn't.
Because Jane had never talked about it.
She had always been guarded about her past, and Ethan, despite wanting to know, had never pressed her. He respected her too much to force her to say anything she wasn't ready to.
But now, the way Melanie was speaking—like she knew something, like she was enjoying this—made his blood boil.
Melanie chuckled. "Poor, naive Ethan. Do you think she's some helpless victim? That she's innocent?" She tilted her head, her voice dropping lower. "She's far from it."
Ethan clenched his fists, the movement subtle, but she caught it.
Her smirk sharpened.
"Should I show you?"
Before he could respond, Melanie lifted a hand. Mana flickered at her fingertips, distorting the air as an illusion began to form between them.
And then—
The scene unfolded.
Ethan's breath hitched.
It was Jane.
But not his Jane.
Not the Jane he knew.
The illusion depicted a version of her unlike anything Ethan had ever seen before. She was on a bed—her expression empty, her body exposed in ways Ethan never should have seen. There were hands on her—multiple hands, faceless figures pressing against her, touching her. The sound of breathless whispers filled the space, teasing, mocking.
Ethan's entire body went rigid.
His mind knew it wasn't real.
Knew this was Melanie's illusion.
But it looked real. Sounded real. Felt real.
The sickening, twisted image burned itself into his vision, and Melanie's voice slithered into his ear like poison.
"That's the real Jane," she cooed. "That's who she is. A whore, Ethan. Always was. Always will be."
Ethan's breath came slow, measured.
Rage curled in his gut like a living, breathing thing, clawing at his ribs, begging to be set free.
But Melanie wasn't done.
"You think she's different with you?" she sneered. "You think she's changed?" She let out a mocking laugh. "No, no, Ethan. She jumps on others just like this. It's who she is."
Something inside him snapped.
In a single motion, before he could stop himself—
Ethan moved.
Chapter 921 - Shifting Pillars (4)
The cold stone beneath Ethan felt distant. His body was screaming, the dull ache of bruises and the sharp sting of open wounds merging into a single, suffocating sensation. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, his blood pooling beneath him in slow, seeping rivulets.
Damn it…
He had fought. He had fought hard.
But even with his instincts, even with his speed, even with the calculated strikes that had taken down two of them—he was still outnumbered.
And they weren't just some random thugs.
They were sophomores. Trained. Experienced. Stronger, if only by virtue of time and technique.
The last blow had sent him sprawling. A direct hit to his ribs—he wasn't sure if they were cracked or broken, but breathing hurt like hell. He had tried to get up. Tried.
But his body had given out.
Now, lying on the ground, vision swimming, he forced himself to do one thing.
Memorize their faces.
Even through the pain, even as his vision blurred, he committed each of them to memory.
The one with the scar near his eye. The one with the heavier frame, favoring his left side. The one who had stayed back, only striking when Ethan had already been worn down.
And Melanie—standing a few feet away, watching with a satisfied smirk.
She had barely lifted a finger.
Ethan's fingers twitched against the ground. His body refused to move, but inside, a slow, boiling rage burned beneath the surface.
This isn't over.
Then, suddenly—
The air shifted.
A presence. Someone approaching fast.
A pair of heavy boots struck the ground near him, and Ethan felt a sharp pulse of mana spread through the area. A weight settled over the space, thick and unmistakable—authoritative.
An instructor.
"Enough!"
The voice rang through the hallway, filled with barely contained fury. Ethan's barely-open eyes caught the sight of a tall figure, their coat swaying slightly from the sheer force of their presence. A mana signature flared around them, pressing down on the surrounding students like an invisible force.
The world around Ethan swayed, his body on the edge of giving in completely, but he was aware enough to understand what had happened.
The academy had finally detected the fight.
Mana barriers were deployed.
But they were late.
Again.
Too many conflicts had broken out at the same time, scattering the instructors across different parts of the academy. By the time they had reached him, it was already over.
Ethan let out a slow, strained breath. His fingers twitched again.
The instructor crouched down beside him, their presence overwhelming but steady.
"Ethan," they said firmly, their voice sharp with concern. "Can you move?"
Ethan tried.
His arms trembled, his muscles burned, but his body refused to lift.
A low grunt escaped his lips, but that was all.
The instructor let out a controlled sigh, their gaze flickering upward—to them.
To the sophomores still standing.
To Melanie.
The temperature in the air seemed to drop.
"All of you," the instructor's voice was cold now, dangerous, "will be coming with me."
Melanie, to her credit, still managed a smirk, though Ethan could tell it was slightly more restrained now. "Of course," she said smoothly, feigning innocence. "We wouldn't want to cause any trouble, now would we?"
Ethan wanted to glare at her. Wanted to do something.
But his body had reached its limit.
As darkness crept at the edges of his vision, as the instructor moved to lift him up, Ethan had only one thought lingering in his mind.
This isn't over.
Not even close.
Then—his vision faded to black.
*****
Ethan's consciousness stirred slowly, his body still heavy, muscles aching with the deep, dull pain of bruises layered over sharper stabs of something worse.
His ribs throbbed. His limbs felt weighted, sluggish.
The scent of antiseptic filled his nose, the faint hum of mana lingering in the air, the telltale sign of healing magic at work.
He wasn't in the hallway anymore.
His eyelids fluttered open, vision swimming for a second before the world slowly focused.
White walls. Soft lighting. The faint rustling of curtains as a gentle breeze from the ventilation shifted them slightly.
The infirmary.
A woman stood over him, her hand glowing faintly with golden mana as she hovered it over his side, her touch light but precise.
She wasn't a student.
A proper academy healer.
Her sharp, experienced gaze flicked to him the moment she noticed him stir.
"Good, you're awake," she said, her tone professional, but not entirely cold. "Stay still. You took quite a beating."
Ethan swallowed, his throat dry. He felt the faint pull of magic knitting together the worst of his injuries, but even with that, his body still ached.
The healer seemed to notice. "Your ribs took some nasty hits. Two were fractured. One was close to breaking entirely. You're lucky we got to you when we did."
Ethan exhaled through his nose, his jaw clenching slightly.
Lucky.
That wasn't how it felt.
His mind replayed the scene. The fight. The overwhelming force of it, not just in numbers but in pure aggression.
They hadn't been trying to scare him.
They had been trying to break him.
And all of it—all of it—over something this stupid.
His fingers twitched against the infirmary bed.
Again.
Again, he had been dragged into this pointless war between years, between status, between idiots who thought they had control.
He had already fought his way through this garbage once.
And now?
Now he was lying here, body bruised, while they were still walking around, probably thinking they had won.
His blood simmered beneath his skin, his anger not loud or explosive but cold.
This wasn't going to happen again.
No.
He wouldn't let it.
The healer sighed, finishing another pass of her magic before stepping back. "You shouldn't move for at least a few hours. Your body's recovering, but pushing it will just slow things down."
Ethan didn't respond immediately. His mind was still turning, his breathing steady despite the sharp, bitter weight in his chest.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"...Who brought me here?"
The healer tilted her head slightly. "The instructor who found you. They didn't say much, just that there was another incident and that you needed immediate treatment."
Ethan's jaw tightened.
Another incident.
Right. That was how they were going to frame it. As if this was just another random scuffle.
As if Melanie hadn't deliberately orchestrated the entire thing.
As if she wasn't going to walk away from it, untouched.
Ethan inhaled slowly, his fingers gripping the thin blanket covering him.
"How long was I out?"
"Not long. Maybe an hour, at most."
Ethan let that sink in. An hour.
Enough time for the academy to cover things up, to frame it in whatever way they saw fit.
He exhaled sharply, his anger sinking deeper, settling into something heavier.
Then he sat up.
The healer narrowed her eyes. "I just said—"
"I know," Ethan muttered. "I just need a minute."
The healer sighed, shaking her head but not stopping him. "Don't overdo it."
Ethan barely heard her.
His mind was already elsewhere.
Because this wasn't over.
Ethan sat on the infirmary bed, his body still aching, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.
That senior went too far.
He could deal with a fight. He could deal with being outnumbered. He could even handle getting beaten down if it came to that.
But that illusion.
That disgusting, twisted fabrication that Melanie had shown him—it crossed a line.
Ethan's intuition screamed at him that something was off about it. It wasn't just the content. It wasn't just the way Melanie had spoken.
It was something deeper.
The way the image had felt wrong.
The way the details had been too precise.
Like it wasn't just some random illusion. Like it had been constructed with intent.
Ethan detested it.
His jaw tightened, his fists clenching around the thin sheets of the infirmary bed.
What was she trying to do? Humiliate Jane? Break him?
No.
There was something else at play.
And Ethan wasn't going to let this slide.
Not this time.
Just then, the door to the infirmary creaked open.
Ethan turned his head, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly as a familiar figure stepped inside.
Eleanor.
His homeroom instructor.
Her sharp, unreadable eyes swept over him briefly before she stepped closer, arms crossed. Even without saying a word, her presence alone made it clear that this wasn't just a casual check-in.
"Ethan," she said, her tone firm. "You're coming with me."
Ethan exhaled slowly. He had been expecting this.
Without another word, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.
The healer let out a sigh behind him. "At least pretend you're still recovering."
Ethan ignored her.
Eleanor didn't wait for him to complain or ask questions. She simply turned and walked out of the infirmary, fully expecting him to follow.
And Ethan did.
Chapter 922 - Shifting Pillars (5)
Ethan followed Eleanor through the dimly lit halls of the academy, his steps steady despite the dull ache in his body. His mind was already turning, anticipating what was coming next.
When they reached her office, the door was already open.
Inside, three familiar figures were already waiting.
Melanie.
And the two sophomores who had jumped him.
Melanie sat comfortably, her legs crossed, her expression the perfect picture of innocence. The two guys beside her were more restrained, standing stiffly, but their presence alone was enough to remind Ethan of what had happened.
Eleanor stepped inside, gesturing for Ethan to take a seat. He did, though his muscles remained tense, his entire body wired for whatever was coming next.
The air in the room was heavy.
No one spoke at first.
Then, Eleanor's voice cut through the silence.
"Tell me what happened."
Ethan exhaled through his nose, leaning forward slightly. His hazel eyes flickered toward Melanie, his jaw tightening. "I was leaving the dorms. She was waiting for me."
Eleanor's sharp gaze turned to Melanie. "Is that true?"
Melanie's smirk widened just slightly, as if she had been expecting this exact question. "Well, I was waiting for him, yes." She tilted her head slightly, her tone light. "But only because I wanted to talk."
Ethan's fingers curled into his palms.
"Bullshit," he muttered.
Eleanor's gaze flickered toward him, but before she could say anything, Melanie sighed dramatically.
"See? That's exactly the problem," she said, shaking her head. "I really did just want to talk. But instead, he got aggressive."
Ethan's breath slowed. His body went still.
He already knew where this was going.
And then—
Melanie reached for her smartwatch and tapped the screen.
A video began to play on the holographic display.
The moment Ethan saw the footage, his stomach twisted.
The angle was clear, steady—someone had been recording from a distance.
It showed him standing in the hallway. Melanie in front of him, speaking. Then—Ethan attacking.
The moment his fist moved. The moment his spear flicked out.
But everything before that was gone.
There was no taunting. No illusion. No mention of Jane.
Just him.
The aggressor.
Ethan's jaw clenched. "That's not the whole video."
Eleanor didn't react immediately, her gaze still fixed on the footage as it played out.
Melanie let out a soft hum. "I don't know what you mean," she said smoothly. "That's exactly what happened. I tried to have a conversation, and you escalated."
Ethan's fingers dug into his palms.
He knew she was lying. She knew she was lying.
And yet—she had come prepared.
"That's not the full conversation," Ethan said, his voice dangerously quiet.
Melanie blinked, tilting her head. "Oh? Are you saying the academy's recording system is flawed?"
Ethan let out a slow breath, trying to control the way his chest burned with frustration. "You know what I'm saying."
Melanie shook her head, putting on an impossibly innocent expression. "I really don't." Then, she glanced at Eleanor, her eyes wide, almost mockingly sincere. "Professor, I just wanted to talk to him about his friend. I was worried. That's all."
Ethan's blood boiled.
He had to clench his jaw to keep himself from snapping.
"That's a lie," he forced out.
Melanie gasped lightly, putting a hand to her chest. "Wow, Ethan. That really hurts. I was just trying to be a good senior, you know?"
Ethan felt the walls closing in.
It was the perfect setup.
Ethan's breathing remained even, but inside, he felt the sharp coil of frustration tightening in his chest.
'This is so damn unfair.'
He knew it. He could feel it.
Every instinct told him that this was planned—that Melanie had set this up perfectly, waiting for the right moment to twist the story. And worse, she had evidence.
Even if the video was incomplete.
Even if it left out the most important parts.
It didn't matter.
Because what mattered was what was shown.
And what was shown?
Him attacking.
Melanie had already won before he even stepped into this room.
Eleanor was silent for a long moment, her sharp golden eyes flicking between them, watching their body language, reading the room. Ethan could tell she was assessing the situation, trying to see if there were any cracks in the story being presented.
Then, she finally spoke.
"There was a sound barrier."
Melanie didn't even blink. "Yes, there was."
Eleanor leaned forward slightly, her voice slow, deliberate. "Why?"
Melanie sighed, shifting slightly in her chair, playing the role of patient senior dealing with an unreasonable freshman.
"I just wanted to talk to Ethan about his friend," she said, her tone even, almost gentle. "But I also didn't want the conversation to be overheard. You know how rumors spread at the academy, Professor." She let out a small, well-practiced chuckle. "I thought it would be better if we kept it between us. That's all."
Ethan's fingers curled into fists.
'That's all? That's all?!'
She was acting like this was some harmless conversation.
Like she hadn't been baiting him, hadn't been pushing him into reacting.
But the worst part?
She had a perfect excuse.
"And the reason it was still up when the fight broke out?" Eleanor pressed, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Melanie sighed again, shaking her head as if Ethan was the one being unreasonable. "Well… it all happened so fast. Ethan attacked first. We didn't exactly have time to deactivate it before things got out of control."
Her tone was so reasonable, so measured, that even Ethan could see how convincing it sounded.
And Eleanor?
She didn't say anything immediately.
Because what could she say?
The footage was there.
There was no proof of Melanie's taunts, no record of her pushing him, nothing that showed why Ethan had snapped.
All that was left was his word against hers.
And a cropped video that made him look like the aggressor.
'This is insane.'
Ethan inhaled slowly, forcing his shoulders to stay still, forcing himself to not react.
But his thoughts were racing.
'I was provoked. I know I was. She did it on purpose. She's making it sound like I just lost control for no reason.'
But… hadn't he?
His fingers twitched.
Melanie had been taunting him. She had been pushing him, baiting him into losing his temper, into reacting exactly the way she wanted him to.
And he had.
He had let her win.
He clenched his jaw, his nails pressing into his palms as he forced himself to stay still.
Because he wanted to lash out.
He wanted to shout at her, tell Eleanor that this was all a set-up, that Melanie had planned this from the start.
But if he did that?
If he lost his temper again?
He would be playing directly into her hands.
Again.
So instead, he just exhaled slowly, his hazel eyes flickering to Eleanor, watching her expression carefully.
She wasn't convinced.
He could tell.
But without proof, without anything to back him up—what could she do?
Eleanor leaned back slightly in her chair, folding her arms. Her gaze lingered on Melanie, then flicked back to Ethan.
"You're telling me," she said slowly, "that you put up a sound barrier just for a casual conversation?"
Melanie nodded. "Of course. I didn't think it would be a big deal."
Eleanor's gaze didn't waver. Her fingers tapped against the desk in slow, deliberate beats, the only sound filling the tense silence.
"Yet, you still had time to record?"
The question cut through the air, cold and precise.
For the first time since entering the room, Melanie's smirk faltered.
It was brief—just a flicker—but Ethan caught it.
Her posture remained relaxed, but there was a split-second pause before she answered.
"Of course, we did," she said smoothly, though there was a slight edge to her voice now. "Ethan was already getting aggressive. We had to protect ourselves. We didn't think it would escalate, but clearly, we underestimated just how violent he is."
Ethan's jaw clenched.
'Violent? You—'
Before he could open his mouth, Melanie suddenly switched tactics.
She inhaled sharply, her expression shifting from smug amusement to something more wounded.
"Professor, I really don't understand why we're the ones being interrogated right now," she said, her voice rising slightly, a touch of exasperation slipping through. "We were the ones attacked. We're the victims here."
Ethan forced himself to stay still, but his nails were already digging into his palm.
Melanie's performance was flawless.
The shift in tone, the way she played offended but composed, hurt but reasonable.
Like she was barely holding herself together after such a tragic encounter.
Eleanor didn't react immediately. Instead, she tilted her head, her sharp gaze scanning the room, her expression unreadable.
Then, after a moment, she leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on the desk.
"You seem awfully fine for a group that was 'attacked,'" she said, her voice flat. "Meanwhile, the so-called 'aggressor' is sitting here badly injured."
Chapter 923 - Shifting Pillars (6)
"You seem awfully fine for a group that was 'attacked,'" she said, her voice flat. "Meanwhile, the so-called 'aggressor' is sitting here badly injured."
Melanie's eyes narrowed.
For a fraction of a second, just long enough for Ethan to catch, her mask cracked.
She covered it quickly, but he saw it.
Eleanor had just struck a nerve.
Melanie scoffed, crossing her arms. "He brought that on himself," she said, the act of 'hurt senior' starting to slip into something sharper.
Ethan let out a slow, steady breath.
'She's slipping.'
Just a little.
But it wasn't enough.
Because no matter what, the footage was still in her favor.
And unless Eleanor had something stronger to work with, unless Ethan had something to prove his side—
The door to the office swung open.
Everyone turned.
A new figure stepped inside, their presence immediate.
An instructor.
But not just any instructor.
Professor Grayson.
The office door swung open with a measured force, the subtle creak of the hinges breaking the tense silence. Ethan's gaze flicked to the entrance, his muscles tightening instinctively.
Professor Grayson strode inside, his presence commanding immediate attention. He wasn't an especially large man, but the way he carried himself made up for it—his stride was purposeful, his expression calm but unreadable. A man who knew his influence and wasn't afraid to wield it.
His sharp, slate-gray eyes swept across the room, landing on Eleanor first. His lips curled into something akin to a polite smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. Then, his gaze shifted, flicking between Ethan, Melanie, and the two sophomores standing rigid at her side.
Eleanor's expression barely changed, but Ethan noticed the way her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. A subtle shift in her posture, a faint tension in her shoulders.
That alone told him everything.
She wasn't pleased.
And the reason was obvious.
Professor Grayson wasn't just any instructor. He was well-connected—particularly to the Vargras Family, one of the most politically influential families in the academy's network. The same family that Melanie had ties to.
His arrival wasn't a coincidence.
It was calculated.
"Apologies for the intrusion," Grayson said smoothly, stepping inside fully and closing the door behind him. His voice was calm, but there was a weight behind it—an authority that implied he wasn't just here to observe. "I was informed that there was a... disciplinary issue involving one of my students."
His gaze landed on Melanie, who, for the first time since this whole thing started, dropped her act completely.
Instead, she smiled.
A real, smug smile.
'Of course,' Ethan thought bitterly.
Melanie had been confident because she had been expecting this.
Eleanor leaned back slightly in her chair, her sharp golden eyes flicking toward Grayson. "This is an internal matter. Was there a reason you felt the need to get involved?"
Grayson tilted his head slightly, as if feigning confusion. "A reason? Eleanor, please. One of my students was involved in a violent attack. I believe that is reason enough."
Ethan clenched his jaw.
There it was.
The narrative being cemented before he could even properly fight back.
Melanie sat back in her chair, completely relaxed now, her arms draping over the armrests as if she owned the room. The two sophomore lackeys by her side were less composed, but they no longer looked wary.
They had backup.
Powerful backup.
And Ethan?
He was rapidly losing ground.
Eleanor didn't respond immediately. She merely studied Grayson, her expression unreadable, but Ethan knew she wasn't the type to let something slide without reason.
Finally, after a long moment, she exhaled through her nose, tilting her head slightly. "You seem rather quick to defend Melanie, Professor."
Grayson smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "And you seem rather hesitant to discipline a freshman for attacking his senior."
Ethan felt something sharp coil in his chest.
That wasn't just an argument.
That was a warning.
Grayson wasn't just siding with Melanie—he was making it clear that any decision Eleanor made against her would be seen as favoritism toward a freshman over a well-connected sophomore.
He was trying to box her in.
Ethan saw it.
Eleanor saw it.
And Melanie definitely saw it—because she took that exact moment to sigh, sitting up just slightly as she placed a hand over her chest in faux concern.
"I really don't want to cause trouble," she said, her voice a perfect mixture of patience and grace. "But this kind of behavior should be addressed properly, shouldn't it? It would be irresponsible to let something like this slide."
Ethan wanted to laugh at the sheer hypocrisy of it.
The way she said it with such sincerity, as if she hadn't been the one to orchestrate this entire damn setup from the start.
Eleanor tapped her fingers against the desk in slow, rhythmic beats, watching Melanie with a sharp, unreadable gaze. Then, finally, she turned back to Grayson.
"Do you genuinely believe that all factors have been considered in this case?" she asked, her voice measured.
Grayson's smile didn't waver. "The academy's own security footage confirms what happened."
Ethan clenched his jaw.
That damn video.
Without the missing parts—the crucial moments before the fight—it painted the exact picture Melanie wanted. And Grayson knew that.
But he didn't care.
Because his goal wasn't the truth.
It was to control the narrative.
Eleanor exhaled slowly, her gaze flicking toward Ethan briefly before settling back on Grayson. "So that's your final position on the matter?"
Grayson's smile sharpened. "Yes."
Eleanor exhaled slowly, the weight of the situation settling in her chest like a heavy stone. Her fingers drummed against the desk in slow, deliberate beats, her golden eyes flickering between Grayson, Melanie, and Ethan. She had seen setups like this before, orchestrated with precise intent, designed not for justice but for control. And now, standing before her, was yet another example of that same, tired game.
She knew exactly what Grayson was doing. By forcing the conversation into a corner, he was creating a scenario where any resistance from her would be perceived as a challenge to the academy's authority structure. If she pushed back, if she insisted on reopening this case, it wouldn't just be a matter of Ethan versus Melanie—it would be her against the influence backing Grayson. And that? That was something the academy could ill afford right now.
Things were already unstable.
The divide between freshmen and sophomores had only grown worse over the past weeks. More fights, more tension, more whispers in the hallways about alliances and rivalries. If this case was dragged out further, if the faculty was seen as taking sides rather than controlling the chaos, it could very well be the spark that turned things into outright war.
Eleanor knew it.
And Grayson knew she knew it.
That's why he was so calm. Why he was watching her with that same unreadable smile, waiting for her next move, fully aware of how limited her options were. If she resisted, he would twist this into her negligence—say she was making excuses for Ethan, that she was playing favorites. And the last thing she needed was for her credibility to be questioned, not now.
Finally, she sighed, a sound filled with quiet resignation. She leaned back in her chair, fingers steepling together as her gaze settled on Ethan. His posture was rigid, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides, his hazel eyes burning with the kind of fury that could only come from knowing you were being forced to lose.
But she couldn't save him.
Not without risking everything else.
"…Very well," she finally said, her voice measured. "Ethan will receive disciplinary action for his attack on Melanie."
There was no immediate reaction. No sound.
Then—
Melanie let out a small, pleased sigh, as if she had been waiting to hear those words the entire time. She leaned back into her chair with a knowing smile, her arms folding over her chest. The two sophomores beside her remained still, but Ethan caught the way their shoulders loosened just slightly, as if the tension had been lifted from them completely.
Grayson gave a small, approving nod. "That is a reasonable decision."
Ethan felt something sharp twist in his gut. His fingernails dug into his palms so hard it hurt, but he refused to say anything, refused to let them see just how much this infuriated him. Every instinct screamed at him to fight back, to demand that they review the full footage, to make them see the truth—but the truth didn't matter here.
Not against power.
Not against politics.
Not against people like Melanie, who knew how to play the system so well that it bent for her without effort.
Eleanor's gaze didn't waver as she continued, "Given the circumstances, I'll be issuing a formal reprimand and a temporary suspension from combat-related activities."
Chapter 924 - Shifting Pillars (7)
The academy was in disarray.
Sophomores under Trevor's influence had begun stirring conflict across the campus, instigating fights, pressuring first-years, and creating an atmosphere of tension and uncertainty.
Everything was going exactly as planned.
Almost.
Trevor tapped his fingers against his desk, his brow slightly furrowed as one of his subordinates stood before him, nervously shifting on his feet.
"You're telling me you can't find him?" Trevor asked, voice calm but dangerously cold.
The sophomore swallowed hard. "We checked everywhere—the training grounds, the gravity chambers, the gym—but Astron isn't training at all."
Trevor's fingers stilled.
That was odd.
Astron had always been predictable. He was the type to train constantly, refining his techniques, honing his skills. Trevor had expected him to fall into his usual habits, making it easy to corner him again.
But instead, he had disappeared.
"Are you saying he's hiding?" Trevor asked, tilting his head slightly.
The sophomore hesitated. "I—I don't know. He's just… nowhere."
Trevor exhaled sharply through his nose, mildly irritated.
This wasn't a major setback, but it was annoying nonetheless.
Astron shouldn't have been hard to find. And yet, somehow, he had managed to slip away from them entirely.
Trevor leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly.
It wasn't panic. Not even frustration.
Just… a feeling.
Something was off.
But before he could dwell on it, his communicator buzzed.
A call from Leontius.
Trevor exhaled and picked up the line. "Tell me it's good news."
A low chuckle came through. "Oh, it's better than good news."
Trevor arched an eyebrow. "Go on."
Leontius's voice carried a sharp edge of amusement. "Ethan has been dealt with. And this time?" He let out a slow, satisfied sigh. "He's actually getting punished."
Trevor's eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
Finally.
That righteous idiot had managed to slip through consequences far too often, his status as a Hartley shielding him.
But not this time.
"What happened?" Trevor asked.
Leontius chuckled, his voice carrying that self-satisfied edge Trevor had come to associate with him. "Let's just say we finally got the right footage. Clean, crisp, and conveniently cropped to paint our boy Ethan as the aggressor."
Trevor's fingers tapped against the surface of his desk once more, his lips curling into a slow smirk. "Oh?"
"Caught on the academy's surveillance," Leontius continued, his tone oozing amusement. "Well… not all of it, obviously. Just the right part."
Trevor exhaled through his nose, leaning back in his chair as he processed the information. This wasn't just good news—it was a significant shift in momentum. Ethan had been a constant thorn in their side, a wildcard who refused to play by their rules. He had defied them more than once, standing against their influence without any hesitation. And worse? People had started to notice.
Freshmen looked up to him. Some of them had even begun following his lead, refusing to fold under the sophomore pressure, refusing to bow their heads like they were expected to. That kind of behavior was dangerous.
So making an example of him?
It was necessary.
Trevor's fingers drummed in thought. "And Eleanor?"
"She had no choice but to go along with it," Leontius said, amusement lacing his words. "Grayson backed Melanie, and with the footage in play? Eleanor was boxed in. She let it go and punished Ethan."
Trevor hummed, considering the implications. "So he's actually facing consequences this time?"
Leontius let out a low chuckle. "Suspension from combat-related activities. Not as satisfying as I'd like, but…" He trailed off, his tone still smug. "It's a start."
A start, indeed.
Trevor wasn't foolish enough to believe this would completely rid them of Ethan, but it would weaken him. Humiliate him. And that was enough for now.
"Good," Trevor finally said, the smirk never leaving his lips. "That should keep him in check—at least for a while."
Leontius let out a sharp breath. "And while he's licking his wounds, we keep the pressure on the rest of them. The first-years are already on edge, and with Ethan out of the picture for now? They'll start falling in line real soon."
Trevor nodded to himself. That was the key. It was never just about Ethan—it was about control. The academy was a battlefield, and dominance was dictated not just by strength, but by perception. Right now? Ethan looked weak. And that meant the freshmen would hesitate before trying to fight back.
Still, Trevor wasn't entirely satisfied. Something about this felt too easy.
And easy things?
They never lasted.
"…Keep an eye on him," Trevor said after a moment. "I don't trust Ethan to stay quiet."
Leontius scoffed. "He doesn't have much of a choice."
Trevor didn't respond right away. Instead, he let his gaze drift toward the window, looking out at the academy grounds.
Trevor barely had time to process his thoughts before his communicator buzzed again.
Another call.
This time, the name flashing across the holo-screen made his smirk fade slightly.
Adrian Castillo.
Trevor exhaled through his nose, already bracing himself for the conversation.
Unlike Leontius, who at least held a basic level of respect, Adrian didn't bother with pretenses.
He wasn't an ally.
He wasn't a subordinate.
Adrian was a force of his own, a temporary asset in the grand scheme of things. Useful, but unreliable.
Trevor accepted the call, leaning back as the projection flickered to life.
The first thing he saw was Adrian's easy, cocky grin, his sharp, golden-brown eyes gleaming with amusement. His short, dark hair was slightly messy, but intentionally so, like he had just finished a training session and couldn't be bothered to fix it.
Unlike Trevor or Leontius, who commanded presence with calculated intent, Adrian's presence was something far more unpredictable.
He wasn't a tactician.
He was a natural predator—someone who thrived in the chaos, someone who enjoyed the thrill of the game, regardless of who was playing.
"You finally picked up," Adrian drawled, tilting his head. "For a guy who talks so much about control, you sure take your sweet time answering calls."
Trevor ignored the jab, his expression unmoving. "I assume you have something worth saying."
Adrian chuckled, completely unfazed. "Oh, I do. Thought you'd want to know—I fulfilled my part."
Trevor raised an eyebrow. "It's done?"
"Mmhm." Adrian stretched his arms behind his head. "Lilia Thornheart's little problem has been taken care of."
Trevor kept his expression neutral. "How?"
Adrian's smirk widened. "Oh, wouldn't you love to know?"
Trevor narrowed his eyes slightly but let it go.
Adrian had his own way of doing things, and as long as the result was the same, Trevor didn't particularly care about the method.
Instead, he kept his response simple. "Good."
Adrian chuckled again. "Man, you're just so warm and friendly, Trevor. I love our little chats."
Trevor didn't react. He wouldn't give Adrian the satisfaction of rising to the bait.
Instead, he kept it clean. Simple. Detached.
"As long as you hold up your end, I don't care how you act," Trevor said smoothly. "Just know that if you ever fail to deliver, I won't be as tolerant."
Adrian grinned wider, leaning in slightly. "Ooooh, is that a threat?"
Trevor didn't blink. "It's a fact."
There was a beat of silence.
Then, Adrian let out a low, amused laugh. "Damn. You really are fun, Trevor."
Trevor didn't bother responding.
Adrian wasn't like Leontius.
Leontius was calculating. Purposeful.
Adrian was chaos wrapped in a smirk.
A wildcard.
And Trevor knew better than to expect loyalty from a wildcard.
So he tolerated it.
For now.
Adrian finally exhaled, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. I'll keep my word. We're done for now, yeah?"
"For now," Trevor echoed.
Adrian grinned. "Great talk, as always. Later, Trevor."
The call disconnected.
Trevor sat there for a moment, fingers still lightly tapping against the desk.
Adrian was an asset, but he wasn't someone Trevor could trust long-term.
If there was one thing Trevor had learned in this game, it was that people like Adrian only stayed if the game was interesting enough for them.
And if it ever stopped being interesting?
They left. Or turned.
Trevor exhaled, letting his smirk return.
It didn't matter.
For now, the board was set.
The Pentagon Families were already taking hits.
And soon?
The real storm would begin.
Chapter 925 - Shifting Pillars (8)
A sharp breath tore through Lilia's lungs as her consciousness clawed its way back to reality. Pain laced every inch of her body—her ribs ached with every shallow inhale, her arms felt like dead weight, and the coppery taste of blood lingered on her tongue. The cold ground beneath her sent shivers through her battered frame.
She barely registered the sound of hurried footsteps.
"Lilia!"
The voice was sharp, edged with alarm and unmistakable fury. Strong hands grasped her shoulders, carefully turning her over. Her vision flickered, her head pounding as she blinked up at the stern face of Instructor Ethan.
His usual composed demeanor was gone—his brown eyes burned with anger.
"What the hell happened?" he demanded, his voice tight with restrained rage.
Lilia exhaled slowly, gathering enough breath to respond. "I… was attacked."
His jaw clenched. "Attacked? Here?" His gaze flicked around the training ground, his sharp eyes taking in the shattered stone, the remnants of mana residue lingering in the air. His grip on her tightened slightly, his fury barely contained.
She forced a weak smirk, though it hurt. "Yeah. Apparently, the archery club is more intense than I thought."
Ethan wasn't amused. "Enough. Can you stand?"
Lilia tried to push herself up, but pain shot through her ribs, sending a sharp gasp from her lips. Ethan didn't wait—he scooped her up effortlessly, his expression thunderous.
"We're going to the infirmary," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.
******
By the time Lilia had been settled in the academy's infirmary, her wounds being treated by the healers, Ethan had already begun investigating. His anger hadn't lessened—if anything, it had sharpened into something lethal.
Minutes later, he returned, his expression unreadable. "We pulled the surveillance footage."
Lilia forced herself to sit up despite the pain, her crimson eyes watching him carefully.
"And?"
Ethan's hands clenched into fists.
"There is no footage."
She narrowed her eyes. "What?"
Ethan exhaled sharply, his tone clipped. "The cameras in the archery grounds were conveniently under maintenance at the exact time of your attack. Every single one of them."
Lilia stared at him, her mind processing the implications. This wasn't just an ambush—it had been planned from the start.
Ethan's voice was dangerously calm. "This isn't a coincidence."
Lilia let out a slow breath. "No. It's not."
Silence stretched between them. Then Ethan pulled out his communication device, his fingers tightening around it as he issued a single command.
"Call Adrian. Now."
Lilia exhaled as she leaned back against the infirmary bed, her body still aching from the brutal beating she had endured. The healers had done their work—her wounds were stabilized, and the worst of the pain had been dulled—but she was still sore, her ribs throbbing with every breath.
The infirmary wasn't quiet.
Far from it.
Around her, the large room was filled with other injured students—most of them freshmen and sophomores. The tension was thick in the air, punctuated by hushed whispers, occasional groans of pain, and the sharp, wary glances exchanged between the two groups.
Another fight must have broken out.
Lilia's gaze flickered over to a group of freshmen on one side, their uniforms stained with dirt and blood, some sporting visible bruises and bandaged wounds. Across from them, a cluster of sophomores sat with equally battered expressions, their glares sharp, muttered insults barely concealed under their breath.
She had heard the murmurs before—the ongoing confrontation between the two groups was getting worse. What started as small rivalries had escalated into more open hostility, almost like someone had been pushing them into conflict.
Lilia didn't need to guess who.
Her jaw tightened. Selene.
Of course, she wouldn't act directly. But stirring discord? Fostering division? That was how she played the game.
Lilia's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Ethan's voice.
"Adrian. Now."
The device in Ethan's hand flared with a mana pulse, signaling a connection. A few seconds later, a voice came through the communication line.
"Instructor Ethan?"
Adrian's voice was as composed as ever, though there was a note of curiosity in his tone.
Ethan didn't waste time. "You're coming to the infirmary. Now."
A short pause. Then Adrian sighed. "What happened this time?"
Ethan's gaze darkened. "Lilia was attacked."
Silence.
Then Adrian responded, his voice still even but carrying a sharper edge. "And you think I had something to do with it?"
Ethan's grip on the device tightened. "That depends on your answers. I want to know why the security cameras in the archery grounds were all conveniently down during the exact time of the attack."
A longer pause.
Then Adrian spoke, his tone shifting slightly, a careful balance of control and annoyance.
"I ordered the renewal of the security system."
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "Convenient timing."
Adrian let out a slow breath. "Instructor, as you know, Miss Selene decided to sponsor us for this security update."
Lilia's expression remained blank, but inside, she felt something cold settle in her chest.
Ethan's gaze flickered, his anger undiminished. "Selene?"
Adrian continued, his voice smooth. "Yes. The funding came through recently, and the system was scheduled for maintenance today. If you check the request logs, you'll find the approval went through three days ago. There's nothing suspicious about it."
Nothing suspicious?
Lilia scoffed under her breath.
Everything about it was perfectly suspicious.
Selene had set the board just right. Now, Adrian had a convenient reason for why the security had failed at exactly the right moment. No one could accuse him directly—after all, it was just bad timing.
And yet, deep down, Lilia knew the truth.
This was all orchestrated.
Ethan's lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't believe in coincidences, Adrian."
Adrian let out a soft chuckle. "Neither do I. But in this case? It looks like one."
Lilia met Ethan's gaze from across the room, both of them silently understanding the same thing.
Ethan exhaled sharply, the tension in his stance far from subsiding. His golden-brown eyes flickered toward Lilia, then back to the communication device in his grip.
"I don't care how it looks," he said, his voice unwavering. "Something doesn't add up, and I will be looking into it in the coming days."
Adrian didn't respond immediately. Then, with a light chuckle, he finally spoke, his tone laced with amusement. "Of course, Instructor. Do what you must."
Ethan's jaw tensed, but he didn't push further—not now. He had already decided. He would dig deeper, even if there were no loose threads to pull just yet.
With one last glance at Lilia, his expression unreadable, he turned on his heel and walked toward the infirmary exit, his boots clicking against the tiled floor. The tension in the air didn't ease as he left—it only settled into something quieter, something watchful.
Silence hung between Lilia and Adrian for a few long moments before he finally turned toward her.
His violet eyes roamed over her seated form, taking in the bruises along her arms, the faint traces of dried blood along her lip, the way she held herself with measured stillness.
Then, his lips curled into a smirk.
"You look kind of weak like this," he remarked, his voice smooth, effortless. "I hope you'll be fine when the interclub activities start. Wouldn't want you falling behind after all the effort you've put in."
Lilia's crimson eyes met his, unreadable, unwavering.
She knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't just mocking her. He was probing, testing—waiting to see how she'd react, if she'd lash out, if she'd let him see how much this actually affected her.
She wouldn't.
Instead, she exhaled softly, her voice steady despite the exhaustion in her bones.
"Worried about me, Adrian?" she mused, tilting her head slightly. "How touching."
Adrian chuckled, shaking his head. "Not worried. Just making sure you're still in the game."
With that, he turned and strode toward the exit, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed as though this entire conversation had been nothing more than a passing curiosity.
Lilia watched him go, her expression neutral, but inside, something cold settled deeper into her chest.
Selene had made her move.
And now, Lilia had to decide how she would make hers.