The cold, exhilarating jolt of realization about his true power—that simmering abyss within—still throbbed beneath Jake's skin as the two emotionless Nightfall servants continued to escort him through the academy's impossibly grand halls. The vibrant, almost cacophonous energies of the high-grade students around him felt like a constant, irritating static against the profound, ancient darkness stirring within his core. He kept his gaze fixed rigidly ahead, trying to appear utterly unremarkable, an F-grade ghost, but the incessant whispers and overt sideway glances were an inescapable, grating chorus. Each subtle shift of power, each casual display by a passing student, resonated with a chilling clarity in his burgeoning senses, a stark reminder of the blinding, clean-cut powers of this world versus the murky, primeval force he was learning to call his own.
Suddenly, a voice, dripping with an almost musical disdain, cut through the ambient hum of the hall, slicing through the polite murmurs and power flares. "Well, well, look what the stray cat dragged in."
Jake's jaw tightened, a tremor of primal instinct, not fear, rippling through him. He hadn't expected a direct, public confrontation so soon. He turned his head ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing, observing his tormentor. Standing a few feet away, leaning against a gleaming pillar of polished black obsidian, was a student whose aura burned like a miniature sun, so potent it made the air around him shimmer. His Nightfall uniform, tailored to perfection, seemed to ripple with arrogant self-importance, and his fiery red hair, artfully styled to frame a sneering face, seemed to crackle with static electricity. This was an S-grade, Jake knew with a visceral certainty, even without his nascent Dark Knight senses confirming it; the sheer raw power emanating from him was undeniable, almost suffocating.
"Isn't this just precious?" the S-grade continued, pushing off the pillar with a fluid, dismissive movement and taking a leisurely step closer. His voice, amplified by some subtle power, carried through the vast hall, cutting through the usual dignified quiet like a sharp blade. "An 'F' grade, gracing Nightfall's hallowed halls. What did you do, beg your way in? Polish someone's boots, perhaps, or perhaps you're here to perform some… unseen service?" A ripple of cruel laughter, sharp and dismissive, spread through the small knot of students who had already gathered behind him, drawn by the public spectacle, their faces mirroring Kael's disdain. "Or maybe," he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper that was still easily audible in the sudden silence, "you're just here to empty the waste receptacles? No offense, of course. Someone has to do the dirty work, right?" He punctuated his taunt with a soft, condescending chuckle.
Jake's hands, hidden by the folds of his simple, ill-fitting shirt, clenched into white-knuckled fists. The insult stung, a familiar wound reopened, but it was the casual cruelty, the utter lack of acknowledgment of him as a sentient being, that truly grated. His very existence was an affront to them. A low, ominous thrumming, like a distant, ancient drum, began deep within him. The primal darkness, so recently recognized as his own, stirred restlessly, a desperate, hungry urge to lash out, to make them see him, to make them feel the devastating, crushing power they so readily dismissed. A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer, the "photonic distortion" of his F-grade, wavered around his clenched hands, a tiny ripple on the surface of an oncoming tsunami.
Before Jake could utter a single, defiant word, or before his nascent, terrifying power could even begin to manifest beyond that barely visible shimmer, the two Nightfall servants moved with chilling, almost supernatural speed. They stepped forward in perfect synchronicity, interposing their rigid forms between the sneering S-grade and Jake. Their movements were swift, efficient, and utterly devoid of human emotion, like automated guardians.
"Young Master Kael," the taller servant intoned, his voice still smoothly synthetic, yet carrying an undertone of unyielding authority, "please refrain from engaging with new arrivals. Your presence is required elsewhere, and such disturbances are not tolerated in the main thoroughfares."
Kael, the S-grade, scoffed, a flicker of genuine annoyance, quickly masked by arrogance, crossing his perfect features. "Oh, please. I was just admiring Nightfall's... diversity program," he drawled, his gaze sweeping over Jake with exaggerated contempt. He threw a final, condescending grin at Jake, then straightened up. "Fine. But I'll be seeing you around, F-grade. Don't trip on your way to the janitor's closet. And try not to pollute the aura of the real students."
The servants completely ignored Kael's parting shot, their attention immediately snapping back to Jake. Their perfectly neutral expressions hardened infinitesimally, shifting from mere disinterest to a cold, almost menacing demand. "Subject 723," the shorter servant commanded, his voice now clipped and sharp, "you will move with us. Immediately. Any further delay will be noted."
Jake felt a surge of bitter injustice, a hot wave of fury washing over him. He hadn't said a word, hadn't provoked the confrontation, hadn't even so much as lifted a finger, yet it was he who was being reprimanded, he who was being rushed away as if his very presence was an inconvenience, a stain. The glaring unfairness burned, fueling the simmering darkness within him, threatening to boil over. This was the brutal reality of his existence here: constantly judged, constantly dismissed, constantly blamed, even when utterly innocent. He was a piece on their chessboard, utterly disposable.
The servants led him not to a dorm wing, but to a discreet, unmarked door set within a grand, curving wall of polished black marble. It hissed open with a soft sigh of displaced air, revealing a short, silent corridor illuminated by recessed lights that glowed with a subdued, intelligent warmth. The corridor ended in another, equally plain, unmarked door. This one, however, radiated a palpable aura of immense, ancient power. Jake felt the Dark Knight within him stir with a deep, almost ancestral recognition of formidable authority, a resonance that vibrated through his very bones. This was no ordinary office.
The servants didn't knock. The door simply glided open as they approached, sliding silently into the wall, revealing a vast, cavernous office carved from dark, polished obsidian and shimmering chrome. The air was thick with power, a potent, almost oppressive hum that Jake felt deep in his gut. A single, colossal desk of dark, veined stone dominated the center, behind which sat a man who seemed to embody the very essence of Nightfall's power. He was older, his face etched with lines of immense responsibility and cunning, but his eyes, sharp and piercing, held a glacial light that spoke of a power Jake couldn't even begin to quantify. This was the Headmaster, and his grade was not publicly known, but Jake intuitively knew he was beyond SSS, possibly an XX or XXX, a being whose will could reshape minor realities.
The Headmaster didn't look up immediately from the glowing data-slate he held, his fingers dancing across its surface with impossible speed, manipulating complex schematics and pulsating energy signatures. When he finally did, his gaze, heavy and direct, settled on Jake, bypassing the servants entirely as if they were mere furniture. There was no disdain in his eyes, no S-grade mockery, but a cold, clinical appraisal. And, subtly, infinitesimally, Jake detected a flicker of Dr. Aris's earlier fear, amplified a thousandfold, buried beneath layers of iron control. It was the fear of the truly unknown, the genuinely uncontrollable.
"Jake Aris," the Headmaster's voice was a low rumble, resonating with a deep, controlled power that seemed to vibrate through the very air, making the room itself hum. "I have been informed of your… unique grade. And your unprecedented admission to Nightfall." He paused, his piercing gaze boring into Jake, stripping away his defenses. "Let me be explicit. Your presence here is a calculated risk. An unprecedented variable in a system built on absolute predictability." He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, though it still filled every corner of the cavernous office with chilling clarity. "Your true nature, your variance signature, is of a kind that has not been recorded in generations. It is volatile. Unpredictable. And exceptionally dangerous. To yourself, to this academy, and to the established order of our entire world."
The Headmaster gestured vaguely towards the door they'd entered. "Outwardly, you are an F-grade. That is the truth the world, and this academy, must accept. It is your shield. Your very existence as anything more is a secret, Aris. A secret you will protect with your life. You will not engage in displays of power, you will not draw attention to yourself, and you will endure the… inconveniences of your ostensible grade. You are to be a ghost, moving unseen, learning, observing. Understand? For your sake, and for the preservation of this institution, you must remain hidden."
"I understand, Headmaster," Jake replied, his voice barely a rasp, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. The immense weight of the Headmaster's words, his chilling awareness of Jake's true potential, settled upon him like a shroud of shadows. He wasn't just a guinea pig; he was a ticking bomb, a dangerous secret that could shatter the very foundation of this power-obsessed world. The Headmaster's fear was tangible, and it both terrified and strangely emboldened Jake.
The servants then escorted Jake back through the labyrinthine halls, their route now taking them deeper into the residential wings. The grand elegance of the reception areas and main academic halls slowly gave way to simpler, though still meticulously clean, corridors. The air still hummed with power, but it felt less overwhelming here, more contained, like a powerful current channeled into smaller streams. They stopped before a heavy, reinforced door with a glowing numeral etched into its surface: '417'.
"Your quarters, Subject 723," the taller servant announced, his voice returning to its synthetic politeness, the formal address emphasizing Jake's status as property, not person. He gestured with a precise hand. "Your assigned roommate awaits. Do not cause trouble. Your belongings have already been placed inside."
With that terse instruction, delivered with the flat finality of a machine, the servants turned in unison and strode away, their polished boots clicking softly on the obsidian floor, leaving Jake utterly, completely alone before the door. He took another deep breath, the cold knot of dread in his stomach twisting tighter. He was in, yes, but at what cost? He felt like he'd traded one cage for another, albeit a much larger, shinier one.
He pushed the door open. The room was spacious, far more so than his old apartment, divided into two distinct halves by a sleek, frosted privacy screen that glowed softly. One side was already neatly arranged, a gleaming desk adorned with multiple data-slates, a holographic projector, and a small, meticulously organized collection of power-focusing crystals that shimmered with contained energy. A single, high-grade uniform was draped over the back of a chair. The other side was bare, waiting.
And then, from behind the frosted privacy screen, a figure emerged. He was a boy, perhaps a year or two older than Jake, with sharp, intelligent features and an almost arrogant swagger in his posture. His short, dark hair was impeccably styled, and his Nightfall uniform fit him perfectly, emphasizing a lean, athletic build. He held a small, glowing orb of concentrated energy in his hand, idly tossing it, a casual, almost subconscious display of his inherent power.
"Well, well, the F-grade finally shows up," the boy sneered, his eyes, the color of polished jade, raking over Jake's worn clothes with undisguised contempt, lingering on the threadbare fabric as if it offended him personally. He tossed the glowing orb idly from hand to hand, a subtle show of force. "I'm Aryan. And just so we're absolutely clear, I'm a B-grade from the Northern Enclave. Second-year. And I don't tolerate weakness or disruptions in my space. Understand?" He took a slow, deliberate step closer, his gaze hardening, the glowing orb in his hand pulsing brighter, casting an unsettling flicker across his features. "You're new blood, freshman. And you're nothing but a nuisance in my territory. Don't forget it. Or I'll make sure you regret it."
Jake met his gaze, the words 'Dark Knight' echoing in his mind, a defiant, dark counterpoint to Aryan's bright, contained power. The prejudice was immediate, overwhelming, and utterly infuriating. He was a target, a pariah, even within his own dorm, within the confines of his supposed sanctuary. But as Aryan's power flared, a deeper, colder energy stirred within Jake, the first tremor of the abyssal strength that lay dormant, yet ravenous, beneath his skin. This wasn't just a roommate trying to assert dominance. This was his first true, intimate test. And the darkness within him yearned for a chance to fight back.