Kana rose early, determined to follow the student council president’s instructions. The morning sun had already crept over the horizon by the time she left the academy grounds. The slum district was nearly an hour’s walk away.

  “Want to come with me?” she asked as she laced her boots. Hoping Suri would agree this time, “I’m headed to the slums.”

  Suri, still half-asleep, mumbled from her pillow. “No thanks. I have plans with Rin later. That’s your duty, Kana—I’m not changing my mind.”

  Kana had tried. She’d invited Boris, Suri, even a few other classmates to help with the charity task. But the moment she mentioned the slum district, every excuse imaginable surfaced. Rin and Suri had some business to do. The boys suddenly remembered they had training or assignments. Even Boris, who’d never backed down from a dungeon fight, turned sheepish.

  So she walked alone.

  As she entered the district, Kana felt her senses kick into overdrive. [High Awareness] sharpened everything—sights, sounds, smells. For the first time, she thought upgrading the [Awareness] might be a mistake.

  The stench of rot and unwashed bodies struck her like a wall. Her nose twitched. She caught snippets of hushed conversations behind crates and tattered curtains—stolen goods, missing girls, payment due. Her feet slowed. Beggars lined the streets like they’d grown from the cracked stone, more than she remembered from the night passage. There were still merchants, though many of their wares reeked of something illicit.

  She pinched her nose and pressed on.

  The Rayfin Inn was small and rough-looking, but clearly popular. A half-naked man with arms the size of tree trunks stood behind the counter. His eyes went straight to her uniform.

  “Academy, right? Come in.”

  Kana stepped forward, offering the sealed scroll.

  “Fast one, aren’t you?” the man said with a grin, already snapping the wax seal open. “I’m Gord. I run this place.”

  “Kana. First-year,” she replied.

  Gord chuckled and shook her hand with a strength that made her fingers tingle. “Since you’re new, listen up. We’ve got things prepped, but once we start—per agreement with Light—eh, the principal—we can’t help. You’re on your own from then.”

  Kana nodded. She’d expected as much.

  At Gord’s signal, several men emerged from the back and started setting up the food stall. The frame came together quickly, solid and worn, like it had been assembled many times before. A large pot clanked down with a heavy thud, steam already rising from inside. In the middle of the road though she doubted some carriage would pass by.

  This wasn’t just charity. It was a ritual. Efficient. Rehearsed. And yet—every eye outside the inn still watched her like she didn’t belong.

  ……

  The food was ready.

  Steam billowed from the massive pot, rising like a signal in the morning. Kana stood beside the makeshift stall, hands slightly trembling. Gord’s men had stepped back, giving her space. The responsibility was hers now.

  At first, children approached—hesitant, barefoot, some no older than seven or eight. Kana smiled gently, ladling the soup into chipped wooden bowls. They smiled back. The scent of hot broth drifted in the slum’s fetid air like a small blessing.

  “Thank you.” It was a word she didn’t know that could give warmth.

  Then the adults came.

  One or two, at first. Watching. Waiting. Then more. They pushed in fast, rough and impatient. Kana tried to calm them, voice firm but kind. “Please, this is for the children.”

  They didn’t listen. Too hungry to mind her.

  A man shoved forward, knocking a boy off his feet. A woman yanked a bowl out of a girl’s hand. Kana stepped between them, arms outstretched, but the crowd had grown too thick—desperate hands clawing for food, for survival.

  Someone screamed.

  Kana’s heart dropped as she spotted the boy again—the same one who’d first smiled at her. He was on the ground now, trampled, motionless. Blood stained the side of his head.

  “No—!”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  She forgot the stall. Forgot the pot. Forgot everything.

  She pushed her way through the mob, dropping to her knees. “Hey, hey—can you hear me?”

  The boy didn’t respond.

  She lifted him into her arms. He was too light. His skin was too pale.

  Behind her, someone knocked into the pot. A loud clang echoed—and then a crash. The heavy pot tipped, spilling hot soup over the dirt road and the feet of those who had pushed too close. Screams followed. Chaos erupted. But Kana did not care. For once, she felt so helpless. For the second time, she regretted upgrading her now [High Awareness] as if she could feel the pain of everyone around. Be it an adult or a kid.

  Kana stared blankly at the wreckage, people shouting, food wasted, children crying.

  Then—

  khh—ghk!

  The boy in her arms coughed.

  Kana gasped, held him tighter. Her legs moved on instinct. She bolted down the street, the sound of angry shouting and rain pelting the stones chasing her steps.

  Rain.

  The skies cracked open, and a heavy downpour began, sudden and wild. It drenched the world in gray, slicking Kana’s hair to her cheeks, hiding the tears she couldn’t hold back anymore. If she was not there, would chaos have happened?

  She ran. Through muddy streets, past shopkeepers dragging their wares out of the wet, past beggars ducking under stalls—toward the Academy, toward the one person who might know what to do.

  Elle with her class, [Priest]

  Kana reached the Academy gates. The guards let her through, too shocked by her soaked uniform and pale face to question her, not to mention the bloody kid she was carrying. She stumbled across the courtyard and stumbled into the wooden shed near the training field, still clutching the child in her arms like he was made of glass.

  She whispered something—over and over. The words blurred in the sound of falling rain.

  Students passed by under the canopy and covered walks. They saw her. Most said nothing. A few whispered.

  …..

  Kana stepped inside, soaked and shivering, the weight of the bloodied child in her arms pressing down harder than the heavy pour of rain outside. Her boots left muddy prints on the polished wooden floor of the Student Council room.

  Conversations died.

  Half the council members were already present—first and second-years mostly. Leo stood near the corner, mid-discussion, but even he stopped, eyes narrowing as they all turned to her.

  Kana didn’t speak at first. She didn’t need to.

  Blood dripped from the boy’s fingers.

  “Save—” Kana tried, her voice cracked, too dry.

  Elle was already moving.

  The president bolted from her seat, papers scattering behind her. She knelt before Kana without a word, arms out, taking the child as if he'd always belonged in her hands.

  “What happened?” she asked, her voice low but sharp with urgency.

  Kana’s throat tightened. “I don’t know. They were… too hungry. I couldn’t stop them.”

  Elle didn’t ask for more. Her gaze dropped to the boy, her lips already moving.

  “[Full Heal],” she whispered.

  A soft, glow spread from her hands, green and warm, like sunlight. The boy’s bruises faded. The blood on his temple vanished into skin newly knit. His breathing steadied. The tremble in his fingers eased.

  Kana stared at her, mouth slightly open. She looked at Elle’s face—pale, breathing heavy. That spell had drained her.

  “Almost lost him…” Elle muttered, voice shaking. “But you made it in time.”

  She gently adjusted the child in her arms and turned to the others. “Take him to the ward. Now.”

  Two council members moved without hesitation.

  Kana didn’t follow.

  She stood in the doorway, rainwater still dripping from her student uniform, her hands shaking with more than cold. Her eyes didn’t leave Elle.

  “It gets worse every year,” Elle said softly, almost to herself.

  Then louder: “Get her a towel. And someone bring tea. Kana, sit. You did what you could.”

  Kana didn’t sit. Not yet.

  Because she could not understand the guilt.

  Leo brought her a towel. He could hardly believe that one day he would see Kana so vulnerable.

  ….

  Leo approached her quietly, the towel folded in his hands like an offering.

  He'd seen Kana before—loud, defiant, sometimes reckless. The kind of girl who seemed to brush off the world’s weight with a smirk and a challenge. But now, standing there dripping with water, arms slack and eyes lost in some place he couldn’t see, she looked… breakable.

  He hated that word. Breakable.

  “I didn’t think…” Leo started, then paused. What could he say? That he never thought she’d look like this? That someone like her, sharp and just as cold at times, could be so vulnerable?

  He gently draped the towel over her shoulders.

  Kana didn’t move at first.

  Then she blinked, eyes slowly focusing on him.

  “Oh,” she murmured, barely audible. “Thanks.”

  “You okay?” he asked, though it felt like a stupid question.

  She looked down at her hands, still stained faintly with blood. “I don’t know.”

  Leo stood beside her in silence. He didn’t try to offer hollow comfort or platitudes. He just stayed. The rain still pelted the academy’s windows in heavy bursts.

  But here in this quiet council room, something had changed.

  Kana, the girl who always stood her ground, had been shaken.

  And Leo—for the first time—understood just how thin the line was between strength and weakness.