The guy at the head of the table, the one whose presence made the air feel heavier with every breath, folded his hands.
"I trust," he said, voice calm yet sharp as an unsheathed blade, "that you two know why you are here."
Elion and William both nodded, though only Elion managed to keep his chin from trembling.
"Good." The upper-year didn't elaborate.
He simply tilted his head.
The third-year dark elf to his right, clad in red, picked up a folder and flicked it open.
His voice was smooth but merciless. "Sequence of events," he began, "based on the report submitted by Celeste, and corroborated by Liora."
Elion caught Liora giving him a thumbs-up with the hand not holding the lollipop.
Celeste merely sat back, expression void of interest, leg crossed over the other.
The dark elf continued reading. "Elion Nova was ambushed by William Dawncrest and his affiliates. The aggressors provoked, insulted, and utilized underhanded combat methods during what they claimed was a 'sparring demonstration.' Evidence suggests it was premeditated."
William's jaw clenched.
Celeste didn't even glance his way.
"When the fight escalated," the dark elf said, "William Dawncrest employed techniques outside the boundary of allowed acts for first-year sparring. Elion Nova defended himself while maintaining restraint… even while his attackers acted with cowardice."
William's face twisted.
Elion froze.
Cowardice?
He hadn't expected them to actually call it that.
The upper-year human finally leaned back, arms crossed loosely, eyes half-lidded.
"Judgment," he announced.
William's breath hitched.
"William Dawncrest, the blame for this incident falls squarely on you. Your lackeys will receive punishment notices soon. You will inform them personally that disciplinary actions are already being drafted."
William stared at the table like he wanted to set it on fire with his glare.
Then he looked at Elion. If hate were a weapon, Elion would have been a corpse.
"Understood," William forced out through gritted teeth. The upper-year ignored his tone completely.
"Elion Nova," he said, turning his gaze to him next, "you demonstrated commendable composure under provocation. Especially in the face of what was, effectively, an ambush. That is noted."
Elion blinked.
Praise?
From someone this influential?
Now that he did not see coming.
Before he could even react, the upper-year raised a hand dismissively, "You may go."
William spun on his heel instantly, storming toward the door before he exploded in front of the wrong audience.
Elion exhaled and turned to leave— "Not you, Elion Nova."
He stopped mid-step. A cold ripple crawled down his spine.
William paused at the doorway for just a fraction of a second, eyes flicking back as if to enjoy the sudden panic on Elion's face — then left.
The door shut behind him with a soft click.
Elion swallowed.
What else could there be…? he wondered, turning back slowly.
Four sets of eyes remained on him.
But it was the upper-year, the human with the black-threaded uniform and king-like aura, whose stare pinned him in place like a spear through the chest.
"Elion Nova," he said calmly. "We have something else to discuss."
The tall, dark-elf third year with the red uniform, flipped to the next page. His eyes moved slowly, each line he read feeling like a knife being dragged across Elion's nerves.
"Elion Nova," he recited, "eighteen years old. Talentless peasant. Origin: Resden, population three hundred and forty-two. Status assessment: below average mana capacity, negligible combat talent. Currently Level 8."
Elion's jaw tightened.
Cedric continued, tone almost bored. "Work ethic: commendable. Academic performance: steady. Social environment: hostile. Repeatedly targeted by William Dawncrest and peers. Displays resilience to bullying… though sometimes 'overly confrontational.'"
Overly?
He nearly snorted.
His shoulders grew stiffer with every humiliating sentence, but his face remained neutral. Cold. Controlled.
Then Cedric's voice changed.
"However… the dungeon excursion two weeks ago." Elion felt the air shift.
Cedric lifted the paper slightly, as if weighing whether what he saw on the page matched what stood before him.
"Subject's physical attributes show… 'drastic' change."
The word hung like a blade over Elion's neck.
Cedric's red eyes flicked from the paper to Elion. Then down. Then back up.
Even from where he stood, Elion's enhanced sight let him read the profile clearly:
Lean build.Short frame.. 5'6 at most.
His throat tightened.
He was 6 feet now. A full head taller than he had been. Broader. Sharper.
He looks like a different species compared to his academy picture.
The upper-year, the one with the single black phoenix crest, finally spoke, voice smooth but dangerous.
"Cedric. Define 'drastic.'"
Cedric tapped the page. "Almost a month ago, his assessment recorded him at level 8. Five foot six. Now look at him. Does he look five foot six?"
All four of them turned their eyes on Elion.
Not dramatically. Not even maliciously.
But to Elion, it felt like being dissected alive.
"And what he did to those six students," Cedric added. "No level 8 is capable of that. Not even most of the second years can do that."
Liora finally stopped sucking her lollipop. Celeste's crimson eyes narrowed a fraction.
The upper-year laced his fingers together.
"So," he said softly. "Tell us, Elion Nova—" Elion's pulse thudded. "—are you even the same person? Is the Elion who entered that dungeon the same Elion who left it?"
The pressure in the room snapped like a whip.
Elion felt it crash onto his shoulders, crushing, suffocating, cold as the void. His breath came short.
Five times heavier.
Ten times heavier.
They wanted him to crack.
They wanted answers.
They wanted him to kneel.
His mind whispered—
Calm down. Breathe. Don't fold. Don't break.
Elion inhaled, slow and steady, forcing air past the invisible weight crushing his chest.
His back straightened.
His heart slowed.
And when he lifted his head, his silver eyes were like blades.