Mira: (Sighing deeply) That infuriating guy… Even after all these years apart, this is how he treats me? Some things never change.
She finished the last of her meal and rose gracefully from the table, pausing for a moment as her silver braid slipped over her shoulder. Her expression was a mix of amusement and irritation-classic Lucien had once again managed to get under her skin without even trying.
Mira: Mmmm… I didn't even ask which class he was assigned to. Not that he would've told me anyway. (She stretched her arms languidly, a slight smirk playing on her lips) Well, he's undoubtedly in Long-Range Class A. Would the great Lucien Valehart accept anything less?
With a soft shake of her head, she turned to leave the canteen-but something movement near the entrance caught her eye.
Mira: Hm? What's this?
A girl with brilliantly crimson hair was darting between tables, a look of frantic determination on her face.
Mira: Why is she running around like the world's about to end?
Intrigued, Mira lingered near the doorway, watching as the girl skidded to a halt in front of the food counter, ordered two meat buns, and all but threw coins at the server before hurrying to an empty table. She sat, but didn't eat-instead, she seemed to be… waiting.
Mira: Oh ho? What's this about? (she murmured, leaning subtly against the wall) Two buns? One for her… and one for…?
Time passed. The girl tapped her fingers impatiently, scanning the room every few seconds. Then, abruptly, she shot to her feet, a new energy in her posture. Mira's eyes narrowed.
Mira: Okay, back to action.
Her gaze sharpened, tracking the girl's line of sight. And then she saw it-a flash of white hair near the courtyard entrance.
Mira: White. Long hair… She paused, (a slow smile spreading across her face) Ohhh… Oh ho ho… Isn't that the interesting fellow who fought Lucien?
Everything clicked into place. The frantic energy, the second bun, the way the girl's entire demeanor shifted the moment he appeared.
Mira: Ohhhhhh… I see how it is. (A sly, almost fond smile touched her lips. She chuckled softly) Well then… Good luck, girl. You're going to need it.
Shaking her head in amusement, Mira finally turned and left, the scene filed away for future reference.
Meanwhile-Lucien
Lucien moved through the halls like a winter breeze-cold, sharp, and leaving silence in his wake. Students instinctively cleared a path, their conversations hushing as he passed. He acknowledged no one. His mind was a churning sea of irritation and pride, and the face of that infuriating white-haired commoner was at the center of it all.
Lucien: (His thoughts a low, furious burn) That piece of shit… I was willing to let the insult of that farce of a duel pass. But if he dares show his face in front of me again… He didn't finish the thought. He didn't need to. The heat building in his chest said enough. I truly hope our paths never cross again.
He shouldered past a group of dithering students without a word of apology and entered the next classroom. Without hesitation, he claimed the seat at the front row, beside the window. This spot offered a view of the academy grounds-and a constant, aggravating reminder of the freedom others had while he was trapped in this gilded cage of expectation.
Lucien wasn't always outwardly arrogant, but when his pride was wounded, it festered. Right now, it was a raw, open wound.
He found himself scanning the courtyards and pathways below, his golden eyes sharp. A part of him was watching for a glimpse of white, though he'd never admit it.
The rest of the class filed in, the rustle of bags and hushed whispers filling the room. Lucien ignored them all. His attention only shifted when the professor entered-a tall, severe-looking man with an air of unquestionable authority.
Professor: Is everyone present? Good. Let us begin.
He didn't introduce himself. He didn't need to. His presence commanded attention. He slowly made his way to his desk at the front before turning to face them, his gaze sweeping over the room like a hawk's.
Professor: Before we begin, answer this: What kind of class do you believe this to be?
A confused silence settled over the students. It seemed a foolish, obvious question.
Student 1: (Tentatively) Umm… Long-Range Class?
The professor's response was not unkind, but it was utterly condescending. He pulled his chair out and sat, crossing one leg over the other and folding his arms. The picture of casual superiority.
Professor: Wrong. This is Class A. It is irrelevant whether we focus on long or short-range combat. That is not what defines this room. Can anyone tell me why there are two class divisions for each combat type?
A female student near the middle raised her hand.
Student 2: To make it easier to teach students of similar skill levels?
Professor: (His voice boomed, not with anger, but with absolute dismissal) Wrong again. He stood, his movements slow and deliberate. It is because there are two types of people in this world. He began to pace. The first are the smart, the noble, and the strong. Those born to lead. The second are the common, the weak, and the foolish. Those born to serve.
He walked to the door and closed it with a soft, final click, shutting them off from the outside world. He turned, pointing a single finger toward the ceiling.
Professor: You are in A-Class. You stand above all others in this academy. You are the pinnacle of humanity. And because you stand at the pinnacle… (His eyes hardened, scanning each of their faces in turn) …you cannot lose. You cannot be weak. You cannot be fooled. And you cannot die.
He moved slowly to the very center of the room, a grim specter delivering a dark truth.
Professor: If any one of you cannot follow these rules-if you break them-you will consider yourself a dead animal. Worthless to this world. Do not presume your death would hold meaning.(He brought a finger to his lips, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper) If you cannot even maintain your pride as a student in A-Class, then the very act of keeping you alive is a crime.
The room was utterly still. The professor's words hung in the air, heavy and absolute. This was no welcome speech; it was a warning. A creed.
He walked back to the door, opened it a fraction as if to mock the notion of escape, then returned to his seat.
Professor: Are there any questions?
The silence was profound. Not a single student dared to speak.
Professor: Good. If there are no questions, we will begin the first true lesson of your first day at Shikai Academy.
Lucien: (A slow, dark smile touched his lips as he thought) Ha… This man is insane. And it's perfect.
Finally, he felt a sense of belonging. This harsh, uncompromising ideology mirrored the world as he knew it-a world of order, power, and absolute hierarchy. This was a language he understood.