Morning came softly that day.
Mist still clung to the lower gardens of Astraea Combat Academy, turning the stone pathways pale and dreamlike beneath the early sun. Dew gathered on trimmed hedges and glimmered like scattered glass. Most students were still indoors, finishing breakfast or preparing for class.
It was the kind of quiet hour Yorio had come to appreciate.
Few people.
Few conversations.
Few chances for trouble.
He sat on a familiar stone bench beneath the ash tree near the courtyard's edge, a book open in his hands. Steam curled faintly from a paper cup of inexpensive tea resting beside him.
For a moment, it almost felt peaceful.
He turned a page slowly.
(If I wake up earlier, there are fewer people,) he thought.
(A useful strategy.)
Footsteps approached.
Fast.
Not the relaxed pace of someone wandering.
The determined stride of someone with a goal.
Yorio looked up.
A boy stood a few meters away, breathing hard as if he had run across half the campus. His hair a vivid shade of blue caught the morning light, making it almost glow against the muted colors of the courtyard.
Yorio recognized him vaguely.
(Ah. The student from that incident.)
"…Good morning." Yorio said cautiously.
The boy's eyes widened slightly, as if surprised to be acknowledged so calmly.
Then, without warning
He dropped to his knees.
The sound of impact echoed sharply across the quiet courtyard.
Yorio froze.
"…What are you doing?"
Shin pressed his hands to the ground, head bowed.
"Please accept me as your disciple!"
Silence.
Absolute, stunned silence.
A bird somewhere nearby stopped chirping.
Even the breeze seemed to hesitate.
Yorio blinked once.
Then again.
"…I'm sorry," he said slowly. "I think I misheard you."
Shin lifted his head, eyes blazing with sincerity.
"Please teach me!"
Yorio's mind raced.
Disciple?
Teach?
Him?
There had to be a misunderstanding.
He looked around instinctively, half-expecting someone else to step forward, the real target of the request.
No one did.
Only the kneeling boy remained.
"I don't think I'm qualified to be your teacher" Yorio said carefully.
"You are!" Shin insisted. "I saw it!"
"Saw what?"
"When you defeated the third-year First Rank!"
"…He slipped."
Shin's expression hardened.
"You're being humble."
"I'm being accurate."
"You don't need to hide your strength from me!"
"I'm not hiding anything."
From several meters away, behind a column partially covered in ivy, Mira Borne watched.
She had arrived early as well, intending to review notes before class.
Instead, she found herself witnessing something… extraordinary.
The boy everyone feared sat frozen while another student knelt before him like a knight pledging loyalty.
Her heart beat a little faster.
(What is happening?)
Shin leaned forward, palms pressed to the stone.
"I don't have talent," he said, voice steady despite the vulnerability of the admission. "Everyone tells me that. My mana control is poor. My technique is slow. I can't keep up with the others."
Yorio listened, uncertain how to interrupt politely.
"But you…" Shin continued, lifting his gaze, "you showed me that true strength doesn't rely on flashy skills."
Yorio opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Because he had no idea what Shin meant.
"You didn't shout," Shin said. "You didn't posture. You didn't even look angry. You just stopped him. Instantly."
Yorio remembered falling face-first into the dirt.
It had not felt dignified.
"I want that kind of strength," Shin said quietly. "Strength that protects without cruelty. Strength that doesn't need to show off."
Mira's fingers tightened slightly around her notebook.
Those words struck closer to what she herself had sensed.
Stillness.
Restraint.
Something deeper than simple power.
Yorio, meanwhile, felt like he had wandered into someone else's story by mistake.
"I really didn't do anything." he said helplessly.
Shin shook his head.
"You don't have to test me."
"I'm not testing you."
"I know disciples are supposed to prove themselves."
"That's not—"
Shin lowered his head again.
"Even if you reject me… please at least let me try."
From her hidden vantage point, Mira studied Yorio's face carefully.
Not looking for intimidation.
Looking for reaction.
What she saw was not the composed confidence of a master being petitioned.
It was pure, unfiltered confusion.
His shoulders had stiffened.
His fingers hovered awkwardly above the book as if unsure where to place them.
He looked less like a legendary prodigy…
…and more like a boy desperately trying to figure out what to do.
(He really didn't expect this.) she realized.
That made the scene strangely more compelling.
(Because if he truly possessed overwhelming power yet did not seek recognition…bThen what motivated him?)
"Please stand up," Yorio said gently. "You'll hurt your knees."
"I don't mind."
"I mind."
Shin hesitated, then slowly rose to his feet.
Up close, Yorio noticed details he hadn't before.
Bruises along the forearms.
Callouses from excessive practice.
Fatigue etched into the boy's posture.
Someone who trained harder than his body could sustain.
"…Why me?" Yorio asked quietly.
"Because you're the strongest."
"I'm not."
"Everyone says you are."
Yorio sighed internally.
(Yikes….Rumors are dangerous.)
"I can't teach martial arts," he said honestly.
Shin stared.
"…You can't teach?"
"No."
"Then how—"
Yorio almost said luck.
Decided that would sound like mockery.
"…Circumstances," he settled on.
Shin's eyes shone with renewed determination.
"Then teach me your circumstances!"
"I don't think that's transferable."
Unbeknownst to them, a few early-rising students had begun to notice the unusual scene.
Whispers spread quietly.
"That's him."
"Someone's kneeling to him."
"Is he recruiting followers?"
"Don't stare!"
Too late.
Attention gathered like mist.
Mira considered stepping forward to defuse the situation.
Then decided to observe a little longer.
Something told her this moment mattered.
Yorio closed his book slowly.
He could not accept a disciple.
He did not possess anything worth teaching.
But he also could not simply walk away from someone who looked this desperate.
"…I can't promise anything." he said carefully.
Shin leaned forward instantly.
"But—" Yorio continued, raising a hand slightly, "if you want to train… I can watch sometimes."
Shin blinked.
"…Watch?"
"Yes."
"I don't understand."
"I don't know proper techniques," Yorio explained. "But I can tell you if something looks dangerous."
From his perspective, this was the safest offer possible.
Minimal responsibility.
No false claims.
Practical assistance.
To Shin, it sounded completely different.
A master who observes silently, correcting only when necessary…
His heart pounded.
"…Thank you!" he said, bowing deeply again.
Yorio flinched slightly.
"You don't have to bow."
"I want to!"
Seeing the tension dissolve, Mira quietly withdrew before being noticed.
As she walked toward the main building, her thoughts churned.
The feared prodigy had not displayed arrogance.
Not cruelty.
Not dominance.
Just awkward kindness.
And yet that kindness had drawn someone into orbit around him.
"…He really is different," she murmured.
Behind her, morning sunlight finally burned away the last of the mist.
Back at the bench, Shin stood straighter than before, energy renewed.
"When should we start?"
"…Start what?"
"My training."
Yorio looked at the sky.
Then at his book.
Then at Shin's hopeful expression.
"…Maybe after classes." he said weakly.
"Yes!"
Shin clenched his fists with determination.
"I won't disappoint you, Master!"
"I'm not—"
Too late.
The title had already taken root.
Yorio watched the boy hurry away, practically glowing with purpose.
Silence returned to the courtyard.
He leaned back against the bench slowly.
"…How did this happen?"
No answer came.
Only the rustle of leaves overhead.
Somewhere inside the academy, bells began to ring, signaling the start of the day.
Another day of misunderstandings.
Another day of expectations he never asked for.
Another day as Astraea's supposed hidden monster.
Yorio picked up his tea, now lukewarm.
"…I just wanted a quiet life."
The academy, as always, had other plans.
To be continue