Ohhh Arsen… ce chapitre est excellent.On sent direct le vrai début d'académie shonen, avec le poids du nom, le mépris des nobles, le premier rival, et surtout ce moment où la haine d'Aydan "bouge" sans exploser. C'est super bien dosé.
Je te traduis en anglais avec un style light novel fluide, intense, naturel, en gardant toute l'ambiance.
The Weight of a Name | 2 |
The bell rings.
A sharp sound. Metallic. Too loud for a simple wake-up call.
Nine in the morning.
I open my eyes with that unpleasant feeling of having slept too little, too poorly. The ceiling of my room is still as white as ever. Too clean. Almost aggressive. For a few seconds, I stay still, listening to the dormitory come back to life around me: hurried footsteps in the hallway, voices still half-asleep, doors slamming shut.
I get up.
I dress without thinking. The student uniform. Always the same. I run a hand through my hair, vaguely trying to tame it. I eat… or rather, I swallow something. Honestly, I couldn't even tell you what it was. My mind is already elsewhere.
The meeting is at 9:30.
Main hall.
Today, they assign us to our classes.
When I arrive, the hall is already packed. Too many people. Dozens of students. Groups laughing. Others staring at each other like dogs ready to bite. The air is thick with excitement… and something more insidious. Comparison. Judgment.
In front of us, six adults stand in a line.
One of them steps forward.
— Good morning, dear students!
Her voice is steady. Calm. Authoritative without being aggressive.
— My name is Liora de Valbraise, Deputy Headmistress of the Academy. Today, we will assign you to your respective classes.
She pauses, then shifts slightly.
— Let us begin with the introduction of your main instructors.
A man steps forward.
— Anel Torval. Homeroom teacher of Class 1A.
Nothing more. His gaze sweeps across the crowd like a blade. Serious. Icy.
Another speaks next, a crooked smile on his face.
— Hey! I'm Bran Solfer, homeroom teacher of 1B.
He seems… different. More relaxed. Too relaxed for a place like this.
— Hello everyone! I am the famous Ivar Verdan! Homeroom teacher of 1C! Delighted to meet you!
Far too much energy. Almost exhausting.
— Daren Brenn. Class 1D.
Old. Rough voice. Tired eyes.
— Hi, hi! Kaela Rask, homeroom teacher of 1E!
She smiles warmly. Almost reassuring.
— Good. Thank you, the deputy headmistress says. Now, I will call your names and your classes. Then, join your instructors.
The roll call begins.
Names flow one after another. Some echo louder than others. Noble families. Famous bloodlines. Whispers follow every important surname.
When my turn comes, I'm assigned to 1B.
Twenty-four students.
After the call, we follow our teacher to our classroom. My throat feels a little tight, but it's fine. Nothing unbearable.
I enter the room.
By instinct, I go to the back. Right side. Near the window. I like seeing the outside. It gives the illusion of an escape.
— Welcome again! Bran says, clapping his hands. Let me introduce myself properly: Bran Solfer. And this year, and the next two, I'll be your homeroom teacher. I hope we'll get along.
He smiles.
— There are twenty-four of you. We'll start with introductions. First row, on the left… and we'll end with you.
He points at me.
I say nothing.
The first student stands.
— Tharys de Pyroval.
Then it continues.
— Calen d'Ambrecrête.— Iska de Rougelys.— Serah de Vireflam.— Oryn de Braiselune.— Maelis de Rougelys.— Rhaen de Solfyr.— Brask Helor.— Celya Norv.— Kaïros de Solbrûle.— Vaelis d'Ignemont.— Selene de Braisecœur.
When Brask and Celya speak, laughter bursts out.
— Hah!
Oryn.
— Seriously? Commoners here? How much money did you steal to get in?
A few snickers follow. Not everyone. But enough for it to sting.
Bran sighs.
— Calm down. Continue.
The introductions resume. I'm not really listening anymore.
Then it's my turn.
I stand. Slowly.
— Aydan Arin.
Silence.
Real silence.
I feel the stares. Some shocked. Others amused. A few nobles openly laugh.
— Oh, interesting… someone murmurs.
Bran blinks, surprised.
— Well… what news. An Arin among us. Our future valiant Warrior, perhaps?
I sit back down without answering.
The whispers don't stop.
Arin…The blood of warriors…What's so special about him?
I briefly cover my face.
It's awkward.
I don't understand. Why does this name cause this?
The class ends quickly. Schedules are handed out. Theory in the morning. Practice in the afternoon. Curfew at midnight.
Noon.
The bell rings.
Cafeteria.
It's enormous. Overflowing with students. Thankfully, signs prevent you from getting lost. After a few minutes, I grab a tray. Food is free. At least that.
I sit alone.
I eat quietly.
Then a shadow stops in front of me.
— Hey, fake noble.
Oryn.
I keep eating.
— He's talking to you, idiot, Rhaen adds.
I don't react.
Oryn slams the table.
The sound echoes. The entire cafeteria falls silent.
— When I call you, you answer.
I stand. Slowly. Calmly.
— What do you want.
He bursts out laughing.
— Look at him. Acting tough because mister is a "future valiant warrior."
I stare at him.
— You talk a lot.
His smile vanishes.
— Shut your mouth, you little piece of shit. You're nothing but a fake noble. You don't deserve to be here.
I tilt my head slightly.
— At least I wasn't rejected by my own.
His hand ignites.
Fire crackles.
— I still have a family alive. Unlike you.
Total silence.
Something shifts inside me.
Pressure. Heat. Images. Voices.
I look at him.
He steps back.
Stumbles.
For a second, everything feels… heavy.
Then I release it.
— Leave me alone.
He straightens up, pale.
— I'll remember this, Arin. Watch yourself.
They walk away.
I sit back down.
I finish eating as if nothing happened.
Later, outside on campus, someone approaches.
— Hey! Nice to meet you.
He extends a hand.
— Brask Helor.
I shake it.
— Nice to meet you too.
He smiles, almost too enthusiastic.
— What you did to Oryn… that was incredible.
— I didn't do anything.
— Exactly. That's what's crazy.
He hesitates.
— Do you really come from a warrior bloodline?
— Maybe.
He looks at me with admiration.
— Want to train with me?
I smile slightly.
— Are you challenging me?
— You could say that.
We walk together toward the training building. We talk. A lot. A strange connection. Simple.
— Why do they make fun of you? I ask.
— Commoner. Nothing more.
He pauses.
— My parents sacrificed everything so I could be here.
— Your dream?
— To become a respected warrior.
He looks at me.
— And you? What's your dream?
I stop.
— Survive… then we'll see.
— …Ah.
He doesn't smile anymore.
— But I'm glad I met you.
He smiles again.
The training hall rises before us.
I feel my heart beating faster.
This was only the beginning.
And I had no intention of backing down.