Leonhardt noticed it during the break.
The shift was subtle. Chairs scraping back. Small groups forming with instinctive precision. Conversations resumed, but not around him.
Not intentionally excluding him. That would have required effort.
Instead, they curved away.
Two students from a mid-tier noble house stood a few steps ahead, speaking in low voices. Leonhardt passed close enough to hear fragments.
"not sure where he fits."
"He doesn't."
A pause.
"That's worse."
Leonhardt continued walking, expression unchanged.
Near the tall windows, a pair of noblewomen sat with open notebooks, their conversation halting when he approached. One of them glanced up, eyes flicking to his insignia, then to his face.
Recognition sparked. Then confusion.
He inclined his head politely and moved past.
Behind him, the conversation did not resume immediately.
Leonhardt stopped near a column, resting one shoulder lightly against the stone. From here, he could observe without appearing to do so.
No one approached him.
No one challenged him either.
That was the pattern.
In the academy, attention usually came in two forms. Interest or hostility. Allies or rivals. Even indifference was normally loud, performative.
What surrounded Leonhardt now was quieter than that.
Assessment.
He had not aligned himself with anyone. He had not displayed talent worth coveting or weakness worth exploiting. He had survived an event that should have eliminated him, then receded without explanation.
To a room full of future politicians, that was unsettling.
A male student from a lesser house hesitated nearby, clearly debating whether to speak. He took a step closer, then stopped.
Leonhardt turned his head slightly.
"Yes?"
The student straightened reflexively. "Ah. I was just wondering. You're Virellion, right?"
"Yes."
"You didn't answer the question earlier," the student said, attempting casual tone. "In class."
Leonhardt waited.
The student cleared his throat. "I thought you might have an opinion."
"I did," Leonhardt replied.
"And?"
Leonhardt looked at him. Really looked.
The student held the gaze for only a second before shifting his weight. There was no challenge in his posture. Just uncertainty.
"I didn't think it was necessary to share," Leonhardt said.
The answer landed awkwardly.
The student laughed once, unsure. "Right. Of course. Just thought I'd ask."
He stepped back, already disengaging. "See you."
Leonhardt inclined his head.
As the student retreated, Leonhardt felt the invisible ledger update.
Not hostile. Not friendly.
Categorized as unknown.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the break. Students returned to their seats. The lecture resumed.
This time, Leonhardt felt eyes on him. Not many. Not constant.
Enough.
He kept his posture neutral. His attention forward. He answered no questions. Asked none.
By the time the class ended, the conclusion had been reached without words.
Leonhardt Virellion was not competing.
He was waiting.
And in a place where ambition was currency, waiting without explanation was a statement in itself.
As he stood to leave, Leonhardt caught his reflection in the polished surface of the desk.
Unremarkable. Calm. Precisely where no one expected him to be.
Still without a position.
Still unassigned.
The break fractured the lecture hall into smaller, quieter territories.
Leonhardt remained seated for a moment after most students stood, letting the movement thin around him. Chairs scraped back. Conversations resumed in lowered tones. Groups formed with a precision that came from long practice.
No one moved toward him.
That was not unusual. What felt different was how deliberately the space around him stayed open.
He stood and made his way toward the windows, footsteps measured. As he passed between rows, fragments of conversation surfaced and vanished.
"can't tell what he wants."
"Does he even want anything?"
Leonhardt stopped near the windows and rested his hand lightly against the stone sill. Outside, the academy courtyard lay calm. Students crossed paths below, laughter drifting upward in short bursts.
Behind him, voices adjusted when they realized he was close.
Not silenced. Redirected.
Two male students stood several paces away, speaking just softly enough to maintain plausible deniability.
"He's not incompetent," one said. "That's clear."
"Then why hasn't he aligned himself?"
A pause.
"Maybe he's waiting for an offer."
Leonhardt turned slightly, enough to signal awareness without confrontation.
The voices ceased.
He did not look at them. He did not need to.
This was how absence worked. It invited speculation. It forced others to supply meaning where none was given.
A student from a lesser noble house approached, posture cautious. He stopped at a polite distance.
"Virellion," he said. Not unfriendly. Not warm.
Leonhardt inclined his head. "Yes?"
"You didn't answer the instructor earlier," the student said. "About precedent."
"I heard the question."
"And you disagreed?"
Leonhardt considered him. The student held himself stiffly, as if prepared for resistance that never came.
"I didn't disagree," Leonhardt said. "I didn't add."
The student frowned. "Why not?"
Leonhardt's reply came easily. "Because the answer was sufficient."
Not impressive. Not insightful. Simply adequate.
The student blinked, then laughed once, uncertain. "Right. Of course."
He stepped back. The interaction ended without resolution.
Leonhardt watched him rejoin his group. The conversation there resumed quickly, but the student kept glancing back, as if checking whether Leonhardt had moved.
He hadn't.
When the bell rang, the room reassembled. Students returned to their seats. This time, a few glances lingered longer than before.
Leonhardt sat, hands folded, posture neutral.
He felt the evaluation settle into place.
Not ally. Not rival. Not irrelevant.
Unclassified.
And in an institution built on categorization, that was enough to make people uncomfortable.