"Is school still closed today?"
Elara Queen murmured to herself as she noticed the main road leading to the school was still blocked by government forces.
She kept walking — slow steps, half-lidded eyes, earphones still in her ears. Several soldiers were busy inspecting the rubble by the roadside; nearby, a group of men in white coats stood together, talking in serious tones.
"Wait."Elara stopped. A soldier had raised his hand to signal her to halt.
"Where are you heading?" he asked in a semi-formal tone.
Elara couldn't hear him clearly through the music, but she could guess the meaning. She pointed toward the school building barely visible through the dust.
The soldier turned, sighed, and said, "Sorry, miss. Your school's still closed today."
"Tch… what a waste of getting up early," Elara muttered under her breath before nodding and turning to leave. Her steps were slow, unhurried.
"Lieutenant!"
The sharp tone made Elara glance back slightly. From the corner of her eye, she saw a tall woman in full uniform — stern-faced, hair neatly combed. Aeria Voss.
She was speaking to an ordinary soldier.
"Captain wants you back at headquarters. All operations here are to be stopped," the soldier said.
Aeria frowned. "Why the sudden order?"
"I'm not sure, ma'am. The command came directly from above."
Aeria's expression clearly showed her dissatisfaction. Her eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for a reason. But then her gaze froze — fixed on a girl in a school uniform who had just turned into a narrow alley.
"Her…?" Aeria muttered softly.
Without hesitation, she strode quickly after her.
But when she reached the alley — it was empty.
Only a thin mist remained, and the metallic scent of burnt iron lingered in the air.
"What…?" Aeria whispered. The girl — Elara Queen — had vanished.
------
"What was with that soldier earlier… why did she suddenly rush toward me?" Elara mumbled to herself, smirking slightly.
The neighborhood was still silent. Nearly a week had passed since the Origin attack, yet most residents refused to return to their homes.
"Is the school still closed?" her father's deep voice broke the stillness.
"Yes," Elara replied dully.
"I've told you many times — you need a communicator."
"I don't like it. Too noisy."
"It doesn't make noise all the time. It even has a silent mode, you know?"
Elara sighed, sitting on the front steps. Victor Sergei, her father, stood beside her, gazing at the debris and dust still covering the area. He drew in a deep breath, then coughed lightly.
"The air here's filthy," he muttered. "Once we move, everything will be different."
Elara smiled faintly. "I can't wait either, Dad."
Victor chuckled. "Haha… Don't worry about that. I just need a bit more time."
As they spoke, a woman in military uniform appeared in the distance, walking slowly toward them.
Victor frowned. "Who's that?"
Elara turned slightly, recognizing her. "Oh, that soldier from earlier."
"She seems to be heading this way."
"I think she's looking for me."
"For you? Why?"
"No idea, Dad."
Moments later, the woman stopped in front of them.
"Good morning," said Aeria Voss, her voice calm yet firm. Her gaze flickered briefly toward Elara. "Finally found you."
"Yes, good morning," Victor replied politely.
"I'm Lieutenant Aeria Voss from the Southern Haven Super Force."
"I'm Victor Sergei, and this is my daughter, Elara," he said with a nod. "How can I help you, Lieutenant?"
Aeria looked around, pretending to inspect the surroundings. "It seems most of the residents haven't returned yet."
"Yes, perhaps they're still afraid," Victor answered with a calm smile.
Aeria gave a small nod. "Judging by your daughter's uniform… she's a student at Valdora High School, correct?"
"Haha, yes. She didn't even realize school's still closed today."
"But…" Aeria's voice softened, her eyes now fixed squarely on Elara.
"But what, ma'am?" Victor asked gently, his tone still calm.
"I feel like I've seen your daughter before."
"Probably just coincidence," Victor replied quickly.
"During the incident the other day," Aeria continued, "I saw someone — someone who looked exactly like your daughter — on the school rooftop. Right before the monster suddenly died."
Victor turned slowly toward Elara. "On the rooftop?" he said, feigning confusion. "Was that a crime, ma'am?"
Aeria flinched slightly at his composed response. "Oh, no, of course not. I was just worried about her safety at the time. After she disappeared, things got… strange."
Victor smiled faintly, though his eyes dimmed — hiding something. "My daughter's just an ordinary girl, Lieutenant. She's scared even of small creatures, let alone monsters."
Aeria's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Has your daughter ever undergone an energy test?"
"She has," Victor answered firmly. "That's why we're here now."
Aeria fell silent. That answer cut off any further questioning. Her expression shifted — from confident to conflicted.
"In that case… I apologize for the intrusion," she said quietly.
Victor nodded, still smiling. "It's all right, Lieutenant. I understand you're just doing your duty."
Aeria bowed slightly before turning to leave.
----
The sound of clashing steel echoed through the hall, followed by flashes of light as two swords collided in rapid motion.
Two third-year students — Mirabel and Aisan Drank — faced each other, tension balanced between them.
Mirabel's movements were graceful, every swing of her sword flowing with the rhythm of the Twelve Styles of the Phoenix Blade — a combat art passed down from her father, one of the legendary warriors of Southern Haven's early era.
But Aisan Drank was not easily defeated. His movements were firm, powerful, and unyielding — each of Mirabel's attacks met with the heavy strikes of the Thunder Sword Technique, a family style renowned for its lightning-based energy.
Outside the arena, rows of students who had finished training gathered, mesmerized by the duel between the two heirs of noble families.
"I've always wanted to learn martial arts," said Lucia Rains, eyes wide in awe. "Every time I see them fight, I feel jealous."
"But your power's already on par with theirs," replied Valance quietly.
Lucia shook her head. "I only rely on my innate Strength ability — no form, no technique."
"Everyone's like that. What matters is who's stronger, not who looks better."
Lucia smirked. "You're wrong, Valance. When strength and martial skill combine… the result is perfection."
In the arena, the clash grew more intense. Aisan blocked one of Mirabel's horizontal slashes and stepped back slightly, panting as sweat dripped from his chin.
"Enough, Mirabel!" he shouted suddenly. "I'm sick of this! I'll end it now!"
Mirabel smiled faintly, keeping her sword raised. "Go ahead — if you can."
Aisan leapt into the air — lightning energy flaring around him. His sword trembled, crackling with electric arcs that crawled across the floor.
But suddenly, his vision blurred. In an instant, the arena vanished — replaced by hundreds of Primal creatures charging toward him. His breath caught. His body trembled.
"No…"
He gripped his sword tighter. Lightning surged uncontrollably.
Mirabel stepped back, sensing something was wrong.
"Aisan! Hey, don't take it so seriously!" shouted Lucia from the sidelines. "It's just training!"
But Aisan didn't seem to hear. His body was engulfed in blinding blue light — the aura of thunder burning through the air.
"Arghhhh—!!"
His scream burst with a wave of energy. The floor cracked; the air vibrated. Students screamed and scattered.
Then suddenly—
"Enough!"
The commanding voice thundered from the main entrance. In an instant, Aisan's energy stopped — as if crushed by an invisible wall. His body slammed onto the floor, sword clattering away.
Silence followed. The air still hummed with residual power.
Through the smoke, Captain Solaris entered — eyes sharp, fixed on Aisan.
The third-year students who had fled now gathered again, watching in tense silence. Only the sound of Solaris's boots echoed on the training hall floor.
"Are you all right, Aisan?" Mirabel asked, rushing to help him up.
"Don't worry… I'm fine," Aisan muttered, embarrassed. "I'm sorry…"
"It's all right," Mirabel replied softly.
Captain Solaris stopped before them — eyes stern, voice controlled.
"Aisan Drank," he said, "you're Maya Haller's younger brother. You have great power and battlefield experience. So tell me — how did you lose control?"
Aisan said nothing. He stood straight, saluted, eyes downcast. Mirabel beside him also stood at attention, silent.
Solaris exhaled slowly, then turned toward the assembled students.
Their faces — young, pale, sweating. Gone was the spirit they had once shown during training. Only fear lingered behind their determination.
"Are you all afraid?" his voice rang out, deep and heavy.
No one answered.
"I'll ask again," his tone grew louder. "Are you all afraid?"
Moments passed before Aisan raised his head. "Yes, Captain. We're afraid."
Solaris looked straight at him. "Why?"
Aisan took a shaky breath. "Because I've fought them before. I know their power. To bring down even one Primal… costs us many lives."
Solaris nodded slowly. "True. Primals rank just below the Origin. In groups, they're deadly. But this time, we're not acting blindly. We have strategy, support, and I'm confident this operation will succeed."
Aisan bit his lip. "I believe that too, Captain. But victory always demands a price. And some of us… might become part of that price."
The words hung in the air. No one spoke.
Solaris closed his eyes briefly, controlling his emotions. When he opened them again, his tone had softened — no longer a commander's voice, but one of understanding.
"Be honest with me," he said. "Do you all wish to continue… or withdraw?"
Aisan lowered his head again. So did Mirabel. The rest stayed silent — each battling the answer they couldn't bring themselves to say.
Solaris looked around, reading their silence better than words.
Finally, he nodded slowly. "All right," he said quietly. "I understand."
--
Only one day remained before the large-scale operation to reclaim Northern Fortress.
This time, the government of Southern Haven was not acting alone. They had signed official contracts with several private organizations possessing their own combat units. Thousands of Nova-ranked superhumans would be deployed; and to strengthen the operation, five Omega-level supers had been listed — Captain Solaris, Jeremy Hunt, Maya Haller, Tom Redlands, and Akasa Lambert. Their names were written in the official report like the nation's ultimate weapons.
From the academy, another report was sent: twenty third-year students, all Nova-ranked, would be deployed as logistical and tactical support. Assigned to the rear lines — supposedly away from danger. Yet anxiety was clear on their young faces, including Mirabel and Aisan Drank, now listed alongside real soldiers.
In the final hours, dissent arose — not from the people, nor from grieving families, but from the one officer who had always embodied discipline and moral conscience in war: Captain Solaris.
Inside the Southern Haven Presidential Office, cold white-blue lights flickered above a long table. The walls projected a holographic map of the Northern Fortress, blinking with red markers.
Captain Solaris stood tall in the center, dressed in full black uniform, cap in hand. His expression was calm, but his eyes carried an unusual weight — concern uncharacteristic of a commander.
"Mr. President," he began quietly yet firmly, "I cannot accept this order if it involves deploying the Novacrest Academy students."
President Albert Hayes turned from the end of the table, fingers interlaced. "Captain Solaris, I understand your concern. But I cannot withdraw the order."
"Why not?" Solaris's voice rose slightly. "You're the President of Southern Haven. If you believe this decision is wrong, you have the power to stop it."
The President exhaled slowly. "You don't understand, Solaris. Even as President, this decision was made collectively by the defense cabinet. It's not mine alone. All factors — political, economic, and social — were considered."
Solaris clenched his jaw, holding back anger. "They're still students, Mr. President. Not soldiers. They're the generation meant to replace us. But if they're sent unprepared, what will be left for Southern Haven's future?"
Albert Hayes rose slowly, looking at the blinking map. "Why object now, Solaris? Why not during the planning meeting last week?"
"Because I saw them with my own eyes yesterday," Solaris replied. "Those young faces — terrified, restless, stripped of confidence. If they're sent like that, they'll die before they even fight."
"Haven't we placed them in the rear lines?" the President replied dryly. "They won't face direct combat."
"Front or rear makes no difference, Mr. President!" Solaris slammed his palm on the table. "We'll be facing thousands of Nova-class Primals. When the front line falls, the rear becomes the last wall. Who will protect them then?"
Silence filled the room, broken only by the hum of the air system.
Finally, Albert Hayes spoke softly. "If I rescind the order, it would disgrace their families. In Southern Haven, every superhuman who dies in duty is honored. Their names are immortalized, and their families are granted status within the city. That honor means more to them than fear."
Solaris met his gaze coldly. "Honor bought with your own child's life isn't honor, Mr. President. It's cruelty disguised as respect."
Albert Hayes smiled faintly, though his eyes were empty. "Sometimes, Captain, we must make decisions others can't understand."
Solaris drew a deep breath. "Or perhaps we simply choose not to understand — because we're too afraid to lose political support."
The atmosphere turned heavy. Neither spoke again.
At last, Solaris said, "If this order stands, then I request at least two Omega veteran teams be assigned to protect those students. Don't let them become bait on the battlefield."
The President shook his head. "Everything's already set, Captain. Front, middle, and rear formations are fixed. But you know as well as I do — when the real battle begins, no line ever holds."
Solaris stood silently for a moment. Then he bowed slightly, turned, and left without another word.
As the automatic doors closed behind him, President Albert Hayes stared at the glowing map — the red mark over Northern Fortress pulsing endlessly.
That night, at Novacrest Academy's dormitory, the third-year students gathered for their final briefing. Ther
e were no cheers, no cries of courage as the government hoped.
Only silence — and the sound of hearts beating between fear and resignation.