There's a kind of attention that slips off quietly, like water on glass.
And then there's the kind that sticks. The kind that makes people watch. Makes them talk.
After the sparring match and the rooftop incident, I knew I had the wrong kind.
Word travels fast in schools. Even faster when power rankings are involved.
By the time I stepped through the gates the next morning, I could feel the weight of it — eyes following me, whispers trailing behind like ghosts.
"That's him."
"The loser who flipped Mira like it was nothing."
"He's hiding something. Maybe a bloodline."
"Nah, it's probably drugs. Definitely illegal."
I ignored them all. I always do.
Still, I couldn't help but think: it's getting harder to be the ghost.
And ghosts are supposed to be invisible.
Homeroom felt ten degrees hotter with the stares.
Even Mr. Crane gave me a full three-second pause before speaking.
"Cain," he said slowly, "you seem to be experiencing a statistical anomaly. Should we have you reassessed for cheating? Bribery? Possession by a more competent spirit?"
"Just a growth spurt, sir," I said, dropping into my seat.
A few students snickered.
Crane didn't push further. Smart. I think he was starting to sense the temperature shift.
You can only mock a lion for so long before it turns.
After first period, I found Aria waiting by the door.
She didn't say anything.
Just started walking.
I followed.
We ended up in the shadow of the east building, near the outdoor training fields. No one around. Only the hum of energy shields from distant sparring zones.
She turned to face me, arms crossed.
"You were followed last night."
Not a question.
"You too?" I asked, voice even.
Her eyes narrowed. "One of them was found dead. Broken neck. Clean. No evidence."
I said nothing.
She studied me.
"I checked the body. Military grip. Ex-agent by the look of it. They're not local."
Still, I said nothing.
She stepped closer, voice lowering.
"I don't know who you are, Cain. But you're not a normal student."
"I never said I was."
"That's the problem," she said. "Normal students don't draw this kind of heat."
I held her gaze. "Then stop standing next to me."
That made her pause.
A flicker — not hurt, but calculation. Then she nodded once.
"I'll handle it my way. Just stay out of mine."
Then she walked off without waiting for an answer.
I exhaled slowly and leaned against the wall.
She was right.
This world was heating up too fast.
And it was only going to get worse.
At lunch, the principal dropped the bomb.
"All students will participate in this month's Combat Simulation Rankings," he announced over the intercom. "Your performances will impact your dorm status, meal privileges, and academy recommendations."
Groans rippled through the cafeteria.
I just kept eating.
Didn't matter to me.
Until a tray slammed down across from me.
"Hey, Cain."
I looked up.
Derek Han, a D-rank fire-user with the personality of a frying pan.
He leaned forward, his grin too wide.
"You're ranked dead last. But somehow you're walking around like you're hot shit now. You fluked your last match, yeah?"
I kept chewing.
He leaned closer.
"You think you're special 'cause you flipped a girl and got carried by Aria Vale?"
Still chewing.
Then he knocked my tray off the table.
Food scattered.
Silence followed.
I swallowed my last bite and looked up.
"You done?"
He grinned wider. "Nah. You and me. After school. One-on-one combat sim. Let's see how tough the no-talent really is."
Around us, the buzz of interest grew.
People already pulling out their devices, ready to record.
I could've declined. Walked away.
But then, he said it.
"Or are you still the same loser who tried to kill himself?"
The world slowed.
I stood.
Chairs scraped behind me. Tension rolled through the cafeteria like static.
I walked right up to him, leaned close enough to see the confidence in his eyes flicker.
"I'll make you regret that."
After classes, the sim yard was packed.
The school's holographic arena shimmered into place — a circular zone surrounded by a dome of translucent energy. It simulated real damage without causing lasting injuries.
Derek Han — Fire Rank D
Eli Cain — Rank F / No Awakening
I stood at the edge, arms loose, expression unreadable.
Derek stood opposite, rolling his shoulders, flexing his fingers. Sparks crackled along his knuckles.
"Ready to burn, Cain?" he taunted.
I didn't answer.
The signal buzzed.
[Simulation Start]
He came in fast — expected.
Blazing fists, two strikes high, one low. Predictable.
I dodged sideways, barely a twitch in my stance, letting the flames scorch past me.
"Stop running!" he shouted, hurling a wave of fire across the field.
I slid under it, rolling low and springing upward with a pivoting motion.
One elbow.
Right into his chin.
Crack.
The crowd gasped.
Derek stumbled, stunned.
I stepped forward, ducked another clumsy punch, and kicked his knee — sideways.
He dropped with a shout.
Then I grabbed his collar, spun him, and slammed him into the virtual wall hard enough to rattle the arena.
The simulation system beeped. [Match Over – Winner: Eli Cain]
Silence.
Then chaos.
People shouting.
Phones out. Dozens of angles. Replays. Slow-mo footage already going viral on student networks.
I turned to the crowd and met their stares one by one.
Let them see it.
Let them wonder.
Then I walked off the field without a word.
Aria found me again later.
This time, she didn't speak immediately.
We stood on the upper balcony of the west building, looking out over the city skyline.
"You wanted to stay invisible," she finally said.
"I tried."
"You're making enemies."
"I've had worse."
"You're making people afraid."
I turned to her.
"Good."
Her expression didn't change.
But something in her eyes… did.
That night, I sat on my dorm bed, scrolling through the student message board.
My name was trending.
Eli Cain — The F-Rank Who Crushed a D
"No-Talent" Student Shows Combat Prowess — Hidden Awakening?
Secret Assassin Bloodline? Cain's Quiet Past Raises Questions
Too many eyes.
Too many questions.
I closed the screen and looked at the window.
In the reflection, for just a moment, I saw something behind me — a flicker of movement, fast and dark.
I turned.
Nothing.
But I felt it again.
I wasn't alone.
Later that night, in the surveillance control room on the school's restricted level, a man in a black uniform rewound the footage from the arena.
Paused on the moment Eli moved — so fast the system almost failed to track it.
He frowned.
"Run a scan on Cain's records," he ordered.
The assistant nearby hesitated. "Sir, his awakening log is already flagged as a zero. No special lineage."
"Check deeper. Something's not right."
"Yes, Director."
The man leaned back, watching Eli's image frozen mid-strike.
He didn't smile.
But he knew one thing for sure.
The ghost had returned.