The Hunters College rose like a cathedral built for war.
White stone and black mana-reinforced steel intertwined in elegant, almost reverent architecture. Towers arched toward the sky, engraved with ancient sigils meant to stabilize reality itself when dungeon breaks tore at the world's seams. Wide training grounds spread out in disciplined symmetry, each section separated by barriers that shimmered faintly even in their dormant state.
This was not a place for civilians.
This was where people learned how not to die.
Lunaria Vale stood at the entrance gates, hands folded neatly in front of him, moonlight hair falling straight and free down his back. He wore his hunter clothing now—not the folded promise of it, but the living thing. The fabric rested against him as if it had always belonged there, pale pink mana threads catching the morning light in subtle glimmers.
He inhaled softly.
"…It's very big," he murmured.
[This institution is designed to prepare hunters for large-scale dungeon breaks.]
"I see," Lunaria replied politely. "It's… intimidating."
[You are not intimidated. Your heart rate indicates curiosity.]
"…Oh," he said, surprised. "That's good."
The gates opened.
The sound was deep and resonant, echoing across the courtyard.
And then—
Everything stopped.
Students crossing the grounds slowed mid-step. Conversations faltered. Instructors paused in their stride. A wave moved through the college, invisible but undeniable, like a sudden shift in pressure before a storm.
Lunaria stepped inside.
He did not stride.
He did not announce himself.
He simply walked.
Yet the world bent around that motion.
Whispers began almost immediately.
"Who is that…?"
"Is he new?"
"Those eyes—"
"Is he… a guy?"
Lunaria kept his gaze lowered, lashes casting soft shadows against his cheeks. Attention always made him feel as though he were intruding on something he hadn't meant to touch.
[Multiple heart rate anomalies detected.]
"…Anomalies?" he whispered.
[Yes.]
"That sounds… unhealthy."
[Correct.]
He took another step.
Students stared openly now. Not with crude hunger. Not with disrespect. But with something more dangerous—fascination, admiration, a quiet, destabilizing pull that unsettled their posture and fractured their focus.
Men forgot what they were saying.
Forgot what they were holding.
Forgot why they were walking in the first place.
Lunaria's presence did not demand attention.
It invited surrender.
He reached the central courtyard, where first-year and transfer hunters were gathering. An instructor stood at the front, clipboard in hand, voice raised.
"All new Frontiers—line up!"
The instructor's voice faltered.
He cleared his throat.
"…Please."
Lunaria moved to the indicated line and stood still, posture immaculate. His long hair swayed gently before settling against his back. He clasped his hands together, fingers interlaced delicately.
The man beside him—broad-shouldered, clearly trained—stared straight ahead with the rigid stillness of someone fighting an internal battle.
The man on the other side swallowed hard.
The instructor blinked several times before finally finding his voice again. "Welcome to Hunters College. You are here because dungeon breaks are increasing in frequency and severity. You will be trained to face them."
His gaze drifted, unbidden, back to Lunaria.
"…All of you will be pushed beyond your limits."
Lunaria nodded politely.
"I'll do my best," he whispered, though no one had asked him directly.
[Lower your expectations.]
"…I won't," he replied softly.
They were assigned dorms, schedules, and assessment tags. Lunaria accepted his materials with both hands, bowing slightly to each staff member who addressed him.
The effect only worsened.
By the time orientation ended, his name had spread through the college like a whispered prayer.
Lunaria Vale.
The F-rank Frontier.
The one who danced through monsters.
The one who made S-ranks stop.
He was escorted to his first practical assessment—a basic mobility and mana-control test conducted in the lower training halls. As he walked, eyes followed him. Some averted their gaze quickly, embarrassed by the intensity of their own reactions. Others watched openly, drawn by something they could not explain.
[Attention level is exceeding safe social parameters.]
"…I'm sorry," Lunaria whispered instinctively.
[You have done nothing wrong.]
"That's kind of you to say."
The training hall was vast, with layered platforms and adjustable gravity fields. Students gathered along the edges, murmuring softly. Lunaria stood at the starting mark, hair tied loosely with a simple cord.
An instructor gestured. "Begin when ready."
Lunaria hesitated.
Then he untied the cord.
His hair fell freely, straight and shining, brushing his waist as it settled. A ripple went through the observers—not sound, but sensation. Breath caught. Spines straightened. Focus sharpened painfully.
He stepped forward.
He moved as if the world had learned its shape from him.
Each step was light, precise, unhurried. He navigated obstacles not by force, but by flow—sliding under barriers, pivoting mid-step, turning his body sideways at just the right angle. His movements were refined, elegant, unmistakably feminine, like a dance practiced in secret and perfected in solitude.
Mana responded to him without resistance.
He did not command it.
He invited it.
When he reached the end point, he stopped gracefully and bowed.
Silence filled the hall.
Then—
"…Again," the instructor said hoarsely. "Do it again."
Lunaria blinked. "Of course."
[Your performance has destabilized morale.]
"…Is that bad?"
[It is… notable.]
He repeated the course, this time faster.
When he finished, the instructor lowered the clipboard slowly.
"…F-rank," the man said. "You will be placed in advanced observation training."
Murmurs exploded.
"That's not possible."
"He's not even awakened long—"
"Did you see that—?"
Lunaria bowed again. "Thank you very much."
He exited the hall quietly, heart beating a little faster now—not from fear, but from the strange weight of being seen.
Outside, the air felt cooler.
Four figures stood waiting near the colonnade.
S-ranked.
Noctis leaned casually against a pillar, silver eyes bright with interest. Caelum stood straight, hands behind his back, gaze analytical. Riven watched Lunaria like a blade watching its reflection. Ash smiled openly, unapologetically delighted.
"Well," Ash said. "You broke the college in under an hour."
Lunaria flushed faintly. "I—I didn't mean to."
Noctis stepped closer, voice low. "You never do."
Lunaria's fingers curled slightly at his sides.
"…Am I causing trouble?"
[They are the ones destabilizing.]
"That doesn't answer my question," he whispered.
Caelum spoke gently. "You're changing the environment just by existing here."
Riven's eyes darkened. "Men are dangerous when they want what they don't understand."
Lunaria tilted his head. "Then… I'll try to be clearer."
Ash laughed. "You're impossible."
Noctis's gaze softened, something protective flickering beneath the surface. "Stay close to us."
"…Alright," Lunaria agreed without hesitation.
[Proximity to S-ranks increases survival probability.]
"That's good," he said sincerely.
They walked together through the grounds, and the effect intensified. Students watched from a distance, conversations dying as the group passed. Lunaria remained unaware of the full impact—of the way men straightened unconsciously, of the way hearts raced, of the way thoughts fractured and reformed around him.
He only knew that the college felt… loud.
Not in sound.
In emotion.
They reached the dormitory wing. Lunaria was assigned a private room due to monitoring status. Inside, it was simple—bed, desk, window overlooking the training grounds.
He set his bag down carefully.
"…This is nice," he murmured.
[You will be safer here.]
He sat on the bed and smoothed the fabric beneath his hands.
"…I hope I can become strong enough," he said softly. "To protect people. To dance through things that want to hurt me."
[You already are.]
He smiled faintly, cheeks warming.
Outside his window, the Hunters College buzzed with restrained energy.
Men who had trained for years found their concentration fractured.
Instructors found their authority tested by distraction.
And at the center of it all—
Lunaria Vale, sitting quietly on his bed, unaware that the college had learned something vital the moment he stepped inside.
That softness could be lethal.
That elegance could undo discipline.
And that when the next dungeon break came—
Everyone would look for the boy with moonlight hair and a ribbon he removed only when it was time to dance.