The next morning, Seoul Hunter Academy was loud with the rhythm of ordinary life — laughter echoing down the corridors, mana sparks humming through the training halls, and gossip flying faster than spells.
Lee Shin walked through the hallway, but the world felt heavier, slower.
Every step seemed to echo with the memory of last night — the girl, the ring fragment, and the whisper that still haunted his mind.
"The ring will change you… just like it did them."
He flexed his fingers, feeling the faint warmth beneath the glove. It hadn't stopped pulsing since dawn.
A sharp voice cut through his thoughts.
"Move, D-class."
Shin turned slightly. His half-brother, Lee Hyun-Seok, leaned against the wall, smirking. His uniform was crisp, his rank badge glinting with the golden mark of Class A.
"Still dragging yourself through those bottom classes?" Hyun-Seok sneered, flanked by two of his followers. "Guess Father's charity didn't help you after all."
Shin met his gaze calmly. "It's funny, hearing that from someone who barely passed the midterm—by cheating."
The smirk slipped just a fraction. "Watch your mouth."
Shin shrugged. "Or what? You'll hit me again? Go ahead. It wouldn't be the first time."
A flicker of anger crossed Hyun-Seok's eyes, but he didn't move. They were in public now—too many eyes, too many whispers.
Instead, he leaned closer. "Just remember, no matter how hard you crawl, you'll never catch up. You're an embarrassment to the Lee name. Father knows it. Everyone does."
Shin's expression didn't change, but the air around him seemed to still.
The ring beneath his glove pulsed once—steady, quiet. Controlled.
"Then I'll change the meaning of that name," he said softly, and walked past.
Hyun-Seok's fist tightened, but he didn't follow. Not yet.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of lectures and sparring exercises.
But Shin's mind was elsewhere — on the ring, on the whispers, and on how far behind he truly was.
Every other student in Class D was improving faster than he was. Their mana circuits were stable, their weapons refined. His body, though stronger than before, was still rebuilding after years of weakness.
But something had shifted since that fight with Ji-Hoon. The ring wasn't just reacting anymore — it was listening.
When he trained, it synced with his breathing, his heart, his mana. Every time his blade moved, the ring glowed faintly, correcting his stance, guiding his rhythm. It was as though another fighter—older, wiser—was teaching him in silence.
That night, after training, Instructor Rho approached him at the edge of the arena.
"You've improved," Rho said, arms folded. "Your movements—cleaner. Mana control—stable. But there's something else." His eyes narrowed. "You're holding back."
Shin didn't deny it. "Maybe."
Rho studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Good. Hold it as long as you can. Power that grows too fast consumes the one who wields it."
The instructor turned away, his coat brushing against the wind.
"Don't let your talent kill you, Lee Shin."
A few days later, the academy announced it officially.
"First-Year Class Competition — D-Class vs. C-Class."
"Top-performing teams will have the chance to challenge higher classes for rank promotion."
The announcement spread like wildfire.
For Class D, it was either a miracle or suicide.
For Shin, it was opportunity.
He stood in the hallway as students gathered around the notice board, reading the details.
Team-based combat trials. Real mana combat. No restrictions.
Victory meant advancement. Defeat meant humiliation — again.
Ji-Hoon groaned beside him. "We're doomed. We can't beat C-class—half their students are practically sponsored by guilds."
Shin's lips twitched. "Then we make them underestimate us."
Ji-Hoon blinked. "What?"
Shin turned, eyes glinting faintly. "If they expect us to lose, they'll drop their guard. That's when we strike."
That night, he trained harder than ever.
His blade sliced through the air in clean, deliberate arcs. Sweat rolled down his neck, his breath steady. Every swing, every movement was perfect — no wasted energy.
The ring pulsed in rhythm, almost alive.
He could feel the mana inside him flowing smoother now — less resistance, more precision. His circuits were adapting to it, evolving.
Then, as he drove his blade into a practice dummy, the world around him flickered.
For a heartbeat, he wasn't in the training dome anymore.
He stood in a dark void, crimson light spiraling upward. Floating symbols circled him — the same runes as on the ring, glowing faintly.
A voice—familiar, ancient—whispered through the silence.
"The bearer of Resolve walks the path of ruin… or rebirth."
The air crackled with pressure.
Shin dropped to one knee, clutching his hand. The ring's light had grown unbearable.
"When the others awaken, your choice will shape the world."
"Others?" he gasped. "You mean—the other rings?"
But the light faded before he could speak again.
He opened his eyes.
The training room was empty, silent, the faint scent of ozone lingering in the air. The dummy before him was scorched through the chest—completely split in half.
He stared at the damage, stunned. "That… wasn't me. Was it?"
The ring had gone quiet again, its glow dimming beneath his glove.
Shin sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow. Whatever the ring was planning, it wasn't done testing him yet.
The next morning, whispers filled the academy again.
"Hey, did you hear? Class D's Lee Shin broke the mana gauge during training."
"No way. He's an E-ranker."
"That's what I'm saying! The device just… exploded!"
Shin ignored the gossip as he passed through the hall.
But he could feel the stares.
Some curious. Some envious.
And one—watchful.
From the far corner of the hall, a girl with chestnut hair tied neatly behind her ear studied him. Her uniform bore the insignia of Class A. Her eyes—cold, analytical—followed his every movement.
Interesting… she thought. A D-class student who hides mana that dense?
Her name was Eun Ha-Yoon—the prodigy of Class A.
And from that moment, her curiosity became something else entirely.
That night, as Shin stood beneath the moonlight outside the dorms, his reflection stared back from a puddle—eyes sharper, posture firmer.
He wasn't the same weak boy anymore.
The path ahead was dangerous. But for the first time since his rebirth, Lee Shin smiled—not in sorrow, but in anticipation.
"Class D won't stay at the bottom forever."
The ring pulsed softly, as if agreeing.
And far above, in the academy tower, a hidden relic glowed faintly in response—another fragment stirring awake.
A prodigy Eun Ha-Yoon.