The four of them walked side by side through the lantern‑lit courtyard, the evening air cool and heavy with the scent of rain. Their footsteps echoed against the marble tiles, blending with the distant chatter of students preparing for the next day.
Ron stretched his arms behind his head, his voice casual but tinged with amusement. "Zack, you're lucky. Tomorrow's the party."
Zack's face transformed instantly. His golden eyes widened, his grin split across his face, pure happiness written in every line. He almost bounced on his heels, the exhaustion of the day forgotten.
Keal tilted his head, his voice calm but curious. "What is the party?"
Seya answered with a shrug, her tone relaxed, almost dismissive. "Oh, it's just a party that happens every semester. All students and teachers can attend, though half usually choose not to."
Zack's grin faltered into a tense expression. He turned sharply to her, his voice incredulous. "Did you just say just?"
Still tense, he spun toward Keal, his smirk returning with mischief. "It's one of the top three places to pick up girls. One — the brothel, which got destroyed. Two — the party. And three — the streets, where I can use my status."
Keal's crimson eyes narrowed, his thoughts heavy. God help this boy… the only thing he thinks of is women. His disappointment weighed on him, his gaze lowering. Can't he think of how to rid us of the Koran clan? How to win a succession battle?
Lost in thought, Keal's expression hardened, his silence louder than words.
Ron noticed, his brow furrowing. "Ohh… what is it?"
Keal shook his head, his voice low, almost detached. "It's nothing. I'll be going."
"Keal," he said, voice dripping with playful curiosity, "there's something I want to ask you."
Keal's crimson eyes shifted toward him, calm and unreadable. "Oh? What is it?"
Zack leaned closer, grin widening, his tone deliberately loud enough for Ron and Seya to hear. "Are you… a virgin?"
The words hung in the air like a spark waiting to ignite.
Ron immediately burst into laughter, doubling over, his voice echoing down the corridor. "Oh gods, Zack! You really went there!"
Keal's expression didn't change. His gaze remained steady, his posture unshaken, though a faint shadow crossed his face. He exhaled slowly, as if the question itself was beneath him. "…That's none of your concern." His voice was calm, but carried a weight that silenced the laughter for a moment.
Seya's golden eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a half‑smile. She crossed her arms, her fiery hair catching the lantern light. "Zack, you're unbelievable. Always thinking with your lower brain. Is that really what matters to you?"
Zack shrugged, unbothered, his grin refusing to fade. "Hey, I'm just curious! Besides, the party tomorrow is the perfect place to find out who's still pure and who's not."
Ron, still chuckling, nudged Zack with his elbow. "You're lucky Keal didn't knock you out for that one."
By the way," he said, his tone calm but firm, "I am fourteen. I would obviously still be one."
The words landed with quiet finality, cutting through Zack's grin like a blade.
Zack blinked, his smirk faltering for the first time. He scratched the back of his head, awkward laughter bubbling up. "Well… yeah, I guess that makes sense."
Ron burst into laughter again, unable to contain himself. "Zack, you're unbelievable. Asking a fourteen‑year‑old that? Gods, you're hopeless!"
Seya's golden eyes narrowed, her fiery hair catching the glow of the lanterns. She crossed her arms, her voice sharp and commanding. "Zack, sometimes I wonder if you even think before you speak. Keal's right — he's young, but he's already more composed than you'll ever be."
Zack's grin returned in full force, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned toward Keal. "Although you're young," he said, voice brimming with excitement, "you've got to come to the party. You need to see how it's done!"
Ron immediately chuckled, shaking his head. "Here we go again. Zack teaching lessons no one asked for."
Keal's crimson eyes flickered, his expression calm but tinged with quiet disapproval. He straightened his posture, his voice steady. "I don't think I need to learn that from you."
Zack waved his hand dramatically, ignoring the seriousness in Keal's tone. "Trust me, Keal. It's not about books or battles — it's about experience. The party is where you learn the real Academy life."
Seya crossed her arms, her golden eyes narrowing, her fiery hair catching the lantern light. "Zack, you're ridiculous. Keal's fourteen. He doesn't need your nonsense. He needs focus."
Zack smirked, unbothered, his voice playful. "Focus? Please. Even warriors need to relax. And besides, Keal's gotta see the world outside his statue routine."
Ron nudged Keal with a grin. "Don't worry. You'll see tomorrow. Zack's 'lessons' are more comedy than wisdom."
The group continued walking, lanterns flickering above, their laughter and tension weaving together. Zack's grin burned like a flame, Keal's silence weighed like stone, Seya's sharp presence cut through the air, and Ron's humor kept the balance.
The morning bells tolled across the Academy, their solemn chime reverberating through marble corridors and gilded arches. In the first‑year lecture hall, fifty students sat in orderly rows, their voices a low hum of anticipation. The air smelled faintly of parchment and polished wood, the sunlight spilling through tall windows and painting golden streaks across the desks.
At the front stood Mr. Tompson, a stern figure with graying temples and a gaze sharp enough to silence the restless. Beside him, the doors creaked open.
Keal stepped inside.
Sunlight spilled across his white hair, turning it into a silver crown. His crimson eyes swept the room with calm authority, his posture straight, his steps deliberate. The murmurs faded into silence as though the air itself acknowledged his arrival.
Mr. Tompson gestured toward him, his voice resonant. "Class, we have a late student joining us today. He will be part of this year's cohort."
Keal inclined his head, his voice steady, carrying quiet gravity. "Hello, everyone. I am Keal. It would be an honor to be with you today."
The class responded in unison, their greeting echoing through the hall. Some leaned forward, intrigued by his presence, while others shrank back, intimidated by the weight he carried.
"Keal," he intoned, gesturing with a sharp motion of his hand, "go and sit beside Geo."
Keal found the tone peculiar — commanding, almost clipped — but he merely shrugged inwardly and brushed it aside. With deliberate steps, he moved toward the back of the hall where a solitary boy sat.
Geo was hunched over a large book, its spine cracked and pages worn from use. His brown hair fell untidily over round spectacles, and though he was roughly the same height as fourteen‑year‑old Keal, his posture made him appear smaller, withdrawn. He was the only student with empty space around him, seated alone at the farthest bench.
Keal understood immediately. His clothes were plain, frayed at the edges, a stark contrast to the polished uniforms of the noble children. The Academy was built for the elite, but Keal recalled that a handful of scholarship students were admitted each year. Geo was clearly one of them.
Sliding into the seat, Keal turned to his side and forced a small smile. "Hi," he murmured, his voice soft but steady.
Geo's head tilted, his eyes widening behind the round lenses. It was obvious no one spoke to him often. His isolation was written in the silence around him, in the way the other students avoided his desk. Yet, for the first time, someone had reached out.
Geo's lips curved into a hesitant smile. "Hi," he replied, his tone quiet but warm, as though the single word carried more weight than any lecture.
For a moment, the heavy veil of loneliness lifted from his shoulders.
At the front, Mr. Tompson resumed the lesson, his voice resonant as he paced before the class. The students scribbled notes, their quills scratching against parchment, but at the back, Keal and Geo shared a quiet exchange — a spark of connection in a hall built on hierarchy and distance