was sitting in my room, on the bed, staring at the statistics board hanging in front of me:
Name: Rion Taylor
Rank: F
Strength: F–
Talent: ?
Speed: F-
Agility: F-
Endurance: G
Intelligence: F
Magic: –F
Anya: F
Skills:
Calm Analysis — allows the user to stay calm in stressful situations.
Abilities: (Altaria Threads [D]) — enables the user to control invisible threads resembling spiritual strings.
Style: Rank B: Ghost Step Style, relying on absolute speed and deadly attacks.
I stared at the statistics board again, unable to find any explanation for what I saw.
"How…? My agility increased?"
I said quietly, as if making sure I was reading the numbers correctly.
"And even my rank… became F+?"
My face tightened. I hadn't trained enough for such a change to happen.
Could it be because I learned a new style…?
I closed the board slowly, yet curiosity and unease swirled in my mind like a whirlwind.
I opened the door quietly and slipped into the corridor, where students' voices filled the quiet: laughter, discussions about training, quick footsteps, and the aroma of food wafting from the cafeteria.
Along the hallway, I passed the digital payment boards spread at the entrances to the cafeteria and other facilities.
At Amber Academy, everything was paid for with points, not money.
Achievement Points were the real currency in the academy.
Points could be earned by passing tests, completing certain tasks, or simply upon entering the academy for the first time.
Any student could check their balance directly via their student card, and swiping the card on the device would deduct points automatically for any service or food they chose.
I reached the cafeteria gate and swiped my card on the digital panel.
A soft sound confirmed the card was accepted, and I was allowed to enter.
I could see the numbers change, my points slightly decreasing… I had about a thousand points.
I stood in line and chose a simple meal since I didn't want to waste too many points.
But the moment I tasted the first bite…
"…Delicious."
The words slipped out without thinking.
The flavor was deep, the temperature perfect, the spices balanced flawlessly.
It wasn't just ordinary food… it was a carefully prepared dish, as if the academy wanted students to feel the value of every point they spent.
Then I noticed movement in the corner.
When I looked over, I saw a boy standing in front of me with some friends, a strange smile dripping with mockery.
The boy leaned back slightly, as if evaluating every movement of mine.
Then he said in a loud voice, clear to everyone around:
"Isn't that… Rion Taylor?"
He let out a short laugh, then added:
"Looks so ridiculous… look at the way he's eating?"
His friends chuckled quietly, some whispered among themselves, others smiled while looking directly at me.
One of them pointed at my seat and the way I held the fork, saying sarcastically:
"Look at him… trying to eat like a noble, but it's hilarious."
The main boy started imitating the way I flipped my food with exaggerated movements, then said mockingly:
"Do you really think anyone will take you seriously while eating like that?"
Others laughed, some gestured toward my hands and whispered:
"Look at how he lifts the fork… it's like a comedy show."
Even those who didn't participate directly would glance over occasionally, smiling or whispering with their neighbor, while the boy continued his sarcastic remarks.
Even the smallest movements of mine, like raising the fork or turning a bite on the plate, triggered small comments and stifled laughter.
The students around me smiled and whispered together, repeating some of the remarks in a way that made the situation extremely awkward.
But I didn't really care about what they were doing; I was focused only on my food.
---
Then he said mockingly:
"I'm really pitying your sister… if I were your brother, I wouldn't have tolerated your presence for even a second."
When I heard his words, I felt a sharp pang in my chest, as if the air around my heart had frozen for a moment.
All the memories and self-blame piled up at once. I slowly raised my head, my eyes fixed on him, my voice low and cold:
"Take back your words."
"Take back your words."
The boy smiled mockingly, trying to underestimate me, but I didn't move.
I looked at him with eyes that carried the echo of the pain and sorrow I felt for my brother, and I quietly threatened:
"Take back your words… or you'll understand the consequences."
I moved lightly and used Altaria's threads.
One of the threads grabbed his arm, then I pulled it off its place as if it were just a doll.
He screamed loudly, but I didn't care, and I said quietly:
"Take back your words."
Then the threads turned toward his neck, wrapping around it gradually, pressing slowly, a feeling of symbolic suffocation, as if the air itself had grown heavier with each breath.
Every attempt to move made the threads tighten more; every wrong move pushed him closer to a point he didn't know what would happen.
He trembled, his voice cut off, his hand shaking as he tried to escape, but the threads tightened further, reminding him of their cruelty and my anger.
Every breath became a struggle, and every moment of silence weighed heavily on his chest, until it seemed the whole place was watching him, and the shadows themselves intersected with the threads, increasing the dread of the moment.
I remained still, like an unconquerable dark shadow, my face expressionless, my eyes alone saying: "Any wrong word… and you'll regret it."
Finally, after a long moment of heavy silence, I loosened the threads slowly and stepped back, leaving the boy trembling, drenched in sweat and fear, the feeling of humiliation etched on his face.
The students who witnessed the scene couldn't speak at first, then some of them stepped forward hesitantly, their faces pale, their voices trembling:
"Uh… sorry… we… we didn't mean… we… we apologize…"
I didn't hear what they said. I walked out of the cafeteria, heading toward my room.