Night fell over Silverbrook Academy quietly, but the silence felt wrong.
Too still.
Too heavy.
Too watchful.
Leon finished washing up after the intense combat drills. His ribs still ached faintly where the staff had struck him, but the pain faded every minute—his body adapting faster than normal. He hadn't eaten dinner, but hunger didn't matter. Strength mattered.
He reached his dorm room and opened the door.
Damian was sitting cross-legged on Leon's bed with a bundle of bandages, herbs, and three books labeled:
— "How Not to Die in Combat (Beginner Edition)"
— "Surviving Hostile Social Encounters"
— "My Friend is Not Human, What Now?"
Damian looked up. "Leon! You're late. Again. And bruised! Again!"
Leon walked past him toward the desk.
Damian rushed behind. "Sit down, I'll bandage you! Or cry. Probably both."
Leon sat.
Damian carefully wrapped bandages around Leon's ribcage. "You fought two upper-years today… Two! Do you know what normal first-years do at this time of year? They practice walking in a straight line while channeling mana."
Leon didn't reply.
Damian sighed dramatically. "You don't even complain. That's the scary part."
Leon stood. "I'm fine."
"You're NOT fine," Damian huffed. "Your back is bruised, your arms are swollen, and your soul is definitely cracked!"
Leon opened his status panel silently.
Mana Blade (Refined) — Beginner+
Proficiency: 51%
He could feel the improvement—mana flowing cleaner, sharper.
Damian peeked over his shoulder. "Your skill is leveling faster than a weed in spring…"
Leon closed the panel.
Before Damian could continue nagging, a soft metallic sound echoed from outside the window.
Both froze.
Damian whispered, "Leon… did you hear that?"
Leon didn't answer. He walked to the window and slid it open.
Nothing.
Only the courtyard below, empty and dark.
But Leon felt it—
a shift in the air.
A presence that didn't belong.
Footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Slow.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Damian clung to Leon's sleeve. "Who… who is that…?"
Leon didn't speak.
The doorknob rattled.
Damian squeaked, "LEON THERE IS A KILLER—"
The door opened.
Not a killer.
But a stranger.
A tall boy stepped inside without permission, wearing the red-trimmed uniform of a Year Three student. His dark hair was messy, his jaw slightly bruised, and his eyes—sharp and cold—locked instantly on Leon.
Damian fainted against the bed.
Leon stared at the newcomer. "Who are you?"
The boy ignored the question and shut the door quietly behind him.
"You're Leon Gray."
Not a question.
Leon didn't deny it.
The boy walked closer, stopping only a few feet away. His aura was heavy—not like Aaron's sharp hostility, but more… controlled. Deliberate.
"My name is Torrin Vale," he said. "Aaron Vale's older brother."
Leon remained expressionless.
Torrin added, "Level 19. Duelist class."
Damian, half-conscious, whimpered, "N-nineteen…?"
Torrin studied Leon carefully.
"You humiliated two of my yearmates today. Word reached the upper dorms." His tone was calm, but something beneath it simmered.
Leon asked, "Do you want revenge?"
Torrin's lips twitched. "If I wanted revenge, you would already be bleeding."
Damian squeaked, "I vote for the peaceful option!"
Torrin ignored him.
"I came for something else," he said quietly. "A warning."
Leon's eyes narrowed slightly.
Torrin continued, "Aaron challenged you earlier. You shouldn't take it lightly. He's not like other students. He doesn't fight clean. And he hates being overshadowed."
Leon remained silent.
Torrin approached another step, expression darkening.
"You don't understand what you've stirred, EX-rank. The Royal Envoy, the Rift incident, your training with Varron… All of it made you a target."
Damian whimpered. "I TOLD HIM THIS…"
Torrin looked Leon straight in the eyes.
"Aaron plans to break you during next week's assessment."
Leon's voice was calm. "He can try."
Torrin exhaled sharply. "You're either brave, stupid, or insane."
He looked away for a moment, then added quietly, "I'm not on your side. But I don't want my brother expelled for crippling a first-year. And trust me—he will try."
Leon watched him without blinking.
Torrin continued, voice low and tense, "Upper-years are already planning interference. Some want to test you. Others want to eliminate you before you grow."
Damian shouted, "WHY ARE WE STILL HERE?! LET'S MOVE TO A FARM!"
Torrin took out a folded parchment from inside his coat.
"This," he tossed on the desk, "is the upper-year assessment roster. Your name is handwritten at the bottom. That means someone from the administration added you manually."
Hale wouldn't do that.
Neither would Varron.
Which meant…
Someone in the academy's higher ranks was watching him.
Torrin leaned closer. "You're not just fighting upper-years. You're walking into a trap."
Leon finally spoke. "Why warn me?"
Torrin's eyes softened for a split second—barely noticeable.
"You remind me of someone I failed to protect."
He turned to leave.
But before he opened the door, he added:
"Don't die next week. It'll make the academy too quiet."
Then he left the room without another word.
The moment the door shut, Damian grabbed Leon's shoulders.
"LEON!! WE ARE DOOMED! WE ARE A TARGET! WE NEED TO RUN! PACK YOUR BAGS, WE'RE MOVING TO ANOTHER KINGDOM!"
Leon calmly removed Damian's hands.
"Stop."
"STOP?! WE'RE GOING TO DIE!"
Leon shook his head. "We won't."
Damian buried his face in his hands. "You say that every day…"
Leon opened the parchment Torrin had left.
The roster listed upper-year participants:
Level 10
Level 13
Level 15
Level 16
Level 17
Level 18
Level 19
And at the bottom, handwritten:
Leon Gray — Level 2
Category: Special Evaluation
Damian screamed again.
Leon folded the parchment neatly and set it on the desk.
His eyes sharpened.
Varron's training.
The Envoy's warning.
Aaron's hostility.
Torrin's visit.
Everything was pointing to one truth:
This assessment was a battlefield.
Leon gripped his dagger.
A faint pulse of Luck flowed through his hand—warm, steady, reassuring.
He wasn't afraid.
He wasn't overwhelmed.
He was ready.
This world wanted to challenge him?
Then he would answer.