“Congratulations on earning your gold badge,” Principal Light said, his tone pleasant, though his eyes studied her too closely.

  Suri shifted uncomfortably in her chair, tapping her fingers against her leg. “Uhm… thank you.”

  Principal Light adjusted his spectacles and pulled a stack of documents from the side of his desk. He checked them thoroughly until he found the one with her name. “Now, you didn’t mention much about your ability during our last meeting.” His brow furrowed slightly as he traced a line with his finger. “The last note I have here simply says you’re capable of producing… some sort of blob illusion.”

  Suri winced.

  “But,” Light continued, his tone brightening, “I’ve personally seen your little bird.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “That’s not the work of a blob. It requires creativity, control, and a surprising degree of complexity. Your ability, as I suspected, isn’t a straightforward spell. It’s a customization type. Meaning,” he said, tapping his quill against the paper, “the skill itself only defines the framework. Everything else depends entirely on the user. Very interesting.”

  Suri felt her chest tighten. She tried to keep her face neutral, but her lips twitched into the faintest of smiles.

  “And according to this,” Light went on, “your illusions aren’t just visual. They can see. Scout. Function as extensions of your senses but limited to seeing.” He tilted his head, studying her carefully. “Have I missed anything, Miss Suri of the Saltrain Village?”

  She hesitated, then forced a polite smile. “No, Principal Light. You’ve got it right.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell us about this before?”

  Her eyes darted to the floor, then back to him. “I only discovered it this month.”

  Light watched her for a long moment, quill poised over the page. Then he chuckled softly. “Of course. I believe in the word of our brave hero.” He dipped his quill again. “Now… can you show me the biggest illusion you’re capable of?”

  Suri straightened. “You wouldn’t be able to see all of it. It’s taller and wider than this room.”

  “Hmm.” Light tapped the side of his cheek, then shook his head. “No need, then. If it exceeds the size of my office, I’ve no reason to question your claim. I now have a rough idea.. of your capabilities.”

  He wrote briskly, ink scratching across parchment, then muttered half to himself: “… I don’t think this talent belongs in copper class.”

  Suri rose quietly, offered a nod, and left the room.

  The door clicked shut behind her.

  Principal Light leaned back in his chair, a slow grin spreading across his face as he turned toward the window. His eyes reflected the morning sun on the glass. “Ah… unknown classes. Unknown potential. It really is the most exciting to discover. I didn’t know such an absurd class existed.”

  …..

  When the weekend arrived, Kana paid a visit to the orphanage building—though it wasn’t only her. Boris insisted on coming, and Suri claimed she had no plans anyway. Leo tagged along as well, with Todd.

  The carriage of House Stark carried them westward. The road rolled past, cobblestones giving way to packed earth, then narrowing as the city thinned. It wasn’t far—half an hour at most—but the change in atmosphere was noticeable. The western edge of the capital was quieter, more solemn, with occasionally taverns and market stalls. Most who came this way traveled for a different purpose: the great cemetery lay at the edge of the city like a bookend of stone markers, a place of pilgrimage for the grieving.

  The orphanage sat just before that final stretch of road.

  “Before I forget—” Leo leaned forward, pulling a scroll from the side compartment of the carriage. He held it out toward Kana with a grin. “Here’s your proof of approval.”

  Kana took it quickly, her movements almost too fast to hide her excitement. She unfurled the scroll, and her red eyes flicked across the page until they landed on the seal pressed into the bottom. The royal crest of King J.

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  Her breath caught, just for a moment. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Suri reached across the bench and patted her on the head, smirking. “Good for you. You’re officially a big shot now.”

  Kana squinted sideways at her, then tucked the scroll carefully against her chest as though afraid the wind might snatch it away though it went directly to her [Inventory].

  The carriage slowed, then rocked to a halt. Boris ducked out first, struggling to squeeze his broad frame through the doorway. The ground seemed to shake when he landed, boots crunching against the gravel path.

  Kana stepped out behind him. The wind brushed her hair back, and she paused, her eyes scanning the open hills before settling on the house.

  It was larger than she had imagined. A two-story structure of high-quality timber, its lower walls reinforced with stone blocks that promised durability against weather and time. The roof was steep, shingled in dark wood, and the front yard spread wide and open, with enough space for children to run freely. Behind the house stretched another wide yard, and from here she could already picture swings, gardens, maybe even training dummies if she was allowed.

  Suri crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Huh. It actually looks… cozy. I was expecting something gloomier, honestly.”

  Boris grunted in agreement. “Plenty of space. The kids will enjoy their stay here.”

  Todd climbed down after Leo, brushing dust from his sleeves. “Have you decided on the name yet?”

  Kana blinked. “Does it need a name?”

  Todd looked at her like she’d just asked whether bread needed flour. “It is one of the requirements to be approved as an institution and receive benefits from the crown.”

  Kana frowned in thought. Then, without hesitation, she said, “The Saltrain Orphanage.”

  The words hung in the air, carrying weight beyond their simplicity. Boris nodded once, firmly. Suri gave a small approving hum, for once without teasing.

  Todd scribbled it down on a parchment he carried, then looked up. “That will do.”

  Kana stared at the house a moment longer. She couldn’t explain it, but as the name settled, the place already felt less like a building and more like a promise.

  ….

  Valdis’s hands clenched at his sides as the cheers rang in his ears. The image burned into him: two girls, commoners, standing proudly on the stage with golden badges gleaming on their chests. Gold. Recognition. And a promising future.

  It should have been his.

  Instead, he sat at the feast surrounded by laughter and the scent of roasted meat, his plate untouched. The clamor of commoner voices only deepened his disgust. He hadn’t earned a single badge—not one mark of honor. Every laugh, every congratulation tossed at those two girls felt like a blade twisting deeper into his chest.

  They were ascending. He was not.

  No. He would not allow it.

  That night, cloak pulled tight, he moved through the winding alleys until the lanterns gave way to shadows. His hood covered his face, though the silence of his steps was loud enough to echo in his mind. Down, deeper, past crumbling stone and forgotten stairwells until the air grew damp and the light thinned to nothing but faint torches clinging to the walls.

  The underground temple waited.

  He entered the chamber, its floor carved with sigils that pulsed faintly, breathing like the lungs of something alive. He dropped to one knee, bowing before the altar of twisted stone.

  “Why are they still alive?” His voice cracked with rage.

  The reply came, rasping from the darkness like old parchment tearing. Ancient and cruel. “We need more time. The targets… they are stronger than the price you paid.”

  Valdis’s frown deepened. Stronger? The words pierced him like ice. He thought back to the kidnappers—the ones whose reputation had frozen him in fear. And yet… those girls had resisted. They had endured. They had won.

  That was why they wore gold.

  A bitter taste filled his mouth. For the first time, he understood. Their badges weren’t luck or favoritism. They had earned them.

  “But a deal is a deal,” The voice growled. “A promise is a promise.”

  “Do not fear,” the voice whispered, echoing from every corner of the chamber. “It happened before. Many times. We never fail to complete. That I assure you.”

  Valdis’s throat tightened. The underground temple was infamous for its record: once marked, no one survived. Not kings, not generals, not nameless wanderers hiding in the deepest reaches of the continent. Their word was a death sentence.

  So why… why did they struggle now, with first-year students?

  He wanted to scream, to let his fury tear through the ancient chamber. Instead, he forced it down, swallowing the bile of failure and fear.

  “You had better not,” he whispered, though his voice trembled.

  The torches flickered, and the stone sigils seemed to pulse in laughter.