While Shiro's chaotic first day at Shikai Academy came to a close, Lucien Valehart's was just beginning-and it unfolded under a far more critical gaze.
The grand gates of the academy swung open not merely to admit students, but to herald his arrival. Lucien did not walk-he claimed the path before him. With every step, a wave of silence spread ahead. First-year students instinctively moved aside, clearing a path as though making way for royalty. He didn't give much as glance at any of them; they were unworthy of his attention. From a distance, older students whispered among themselves.
Student 1: That's him.
Student 2: Lucien Valehart… of the Five Noble Families.
Student 3: Without that name, he'd be just another student.
Unfazed, Lucien strode directly toward the A-Class hall on the second floor. The air here was different-thick with the scent of old money, polished mahogany, and unspoken ambition. The moment he stepped inside, conversations faltered and eyes turned his way. He claimed a window seat in the front row without a word, his posture rigid, his expression one of practiced, icy superiority. He belonged here. This was his world.
Once he was seated, the murmurs began again, softer this time, laced with awe and envy.
Student 1: That's a Valehart…
Student 2: I've heard stories, but seeing him in person…
Student 3: They say he aced every entrance test without even trying.
A stern-faced professor entered and launched into a lecture on mana theory and the philosophical foundations of Art Styles. Lucien listened with only half an ear-these were principles he'd mastered years ago. His attention drifted out the window, scanning the academy grounds below.
Teachers moved between buildings. Older students lounged arrogantly in the courtyards. Commoners hurried by with nervous energy.
Then-a flash of white.
Lucien's breath caught. His distracted gaze sharpened instantly.
There he was. Shiro.
The commoner. The nobody. The boy with no name, no Art Style, and no respect. He was darting across the courtyard like something feral-and just like during their interrupted duel, he wasn't even carrying a katana. Lucien's lip curled. Then he noticed the girl with blazing crimson hair chasing him. They skidded to a halt, exchanged words, and then bolted off in another direction.
They were a circus act. A joke. An insult to the natural order.
And here Lucien sat, trapped in a gilded classroom, forced to listen to dry lectures while that… that anomaly… defied every rule without consequence.
Something in Lucien's mind snapped.
It felt like a fresh humiliation. Shiro wasn't even carrying his weapon-as if Lucien wasn't worth the effort.
Lucien (under his breath): This… this creature follows no rules, respects no tradition… and still commands my attention. The attention of a Valehart.
His hand clenched on the desk, knuckles bleaching white. The air around him grew hazy with heat. A wisp of smoke curled from his fingertips before he ruthlessly suppressed his mana. He would not lose control. Not here.
But the image was seared into his mind: Shiro, free and untouchable, while he-Lucien Valehart, scion of fire and conquest-was reduced to a spectator.
(He had no idea Shiro and the girl were just hopelessly lost.)
The rest of the lesson passed in a blur. The professor's words meant nothing.
When the bell finally rang, Lucien rose calmly, gathering his belongings with deliberate slowness. Outwardly, he was composed. But a dangerous aura radiated from him-cold and lethal.
As he stepped into the hallway, a voice lanced through the noise from behind him.
???: Well, well, well…
It was a girl's voice-light, melodic, and layered with mocking amusement.
???: …if it isn't the great Lucien Valehart.
Lucien froze. No one dare to spoke a valehart like that. No one.
Slowly with a cold controlled fury that made the other student step back Lucien turned around