The trio let out a heavy sigh as snow drifted down from the sky, faint flakes catching the midday sun. The world should have felt calm, peaceful—but each flake only reminded them of the silence that waited at the academy tomorrow.

  Boris held the reins of the carriage, his broad shoulders hunched as though bracing for a blow. At the back, Suri rested her head on Kana’s shoulder, her breathing slow, her exhausted from the recent battle.

  Wor-en hadn’t said a word about punishment. He didn’t need to. The principal would decide, and that thought alone made them dread setting foot on academy grounds again.

  “What do the academy rules say about us?” Boris finally broke the silence, his tone far too casual.

  Kana’s lips tightened. “Expulsion. Permanently. Once you’re banned, you never come back.”

  “Wonderful.” Boris slapped his knee. “Guess I’ll write my will tonight. My Da is going to kill me soon..”

  Kana winced. “Right… my mother will probably kill me too.”

  Suri yawned, muffled against Kana’s shoulder. “I feel bad for you both. My mom will probably try to kill me too, but heal me afterwards.”

  Boris blinked. “That’s… worse. Definitely worse.”

  Their laughter came brittle, but it was laughter all the same.

  Boris’s laughter faded almost as quickly as it came. He rubbed the back of his neck, then turned toward Kana, voice low but edged with a restless energy.

  “Kana,” he said, “which skill should I choose here?”

  “Right,” Kana blinked, “You’re level twenty.”

  ….

  By the time the wagon rolled up to the orphanage, Kana wasn’t sure how she felt. Relief? Dread? Both tangled together. The place had changed since she last saw it—it looked less like a home, more like a fortress. Stone walls braced, windows shuttered, watch points raised. Safety demanded it, but the sight still unsettled her.

  Children swarmed the carriage, their small hands reaching, their voices bright with giggles. Snacks and laughter spilled across the courtyard, a balm against the weight that pressed on Kana’s chest.

  Inside, warmth radiated from the small chimney, filling the air with warmth against the coldness.

  “Mother,” Kana said, already thumbing through one of Lily’s old collections, eyes avoiding her mother’s steady gaze, “next week, the student council might come here. For a visit.”

  “Ah, that’s right.” Lily’s tone was casual, but her glance lingered. “This orphanage was originally a project from your school, wasn’t it?”

  Kana hesitated, fingers tightening around the book’s worn spine. “Yes… something like that.”

  ……

  The morning of the first day of the week dawned gray and cold, frost biting the edges of the academy courtyard. The trio walked shoulder to shoulder, but none of them spoke. Their breath curled in the air, and though the visit to the orphanage had lifted their spirits for a time, the weight of returning pressed on them anew.

  The training field was already alive with motion—shouts, sparring, steel ringing on steel. Yet as the three stepped into view, conversations faltered. Eyes followed them.

  Rin and Yuri were the first to break through the crowd.

  “You three look like you spent the night wrestling nightmares,” Rin said, her brow raised.

  Suri’s lips curled faintly, though her tone was dry. “It might’ve been worse than that.”

  Yuri smirked, hands behind her back. “Trouble sticks to them like shadows. Always has.”

  Boris brightened at that, almost proud. “How did you know?”

  A heavy arm draped across his shoulders—Adam, towering as ever, chuckling. “Because you’re known for it.”

  “More than that,” Roy added as he stepped forward. “Rumors are flying. About you three.”

  Kana’s curiosity sharpened despite herself. “Rumors?”

  Roy nodded, lowering his voice as if the words themselves were dangerous. “That you sneak out of the dorms. Leave the academy grounds in the dead of night.” He paused, letting the silence stretch. “Some say you’ve even gone beyond the walls. Without permission.”

  Andel joined in, voice quieter still. “That came from one of the more reliable sources. Not the usual gossip.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  For the first time, Suri’s smile slipped. She forced another onto her lips, brittle. “We’ll be fine… right?”

  “Rumors are only rumors,” Leo said as he strolled up, an easy grin in place. “Until proven true.”

  The circle around them hadn’t loosened. If anything, more students had slowed their drills to listen. Whispers chased each other through the air, and though no accusations were spoken aloud, the trio felt the weight of every glance.

  …

  Wor-en walked the field with the other professors and summoners, his cloak stirring in the wind as he inspected the lines of students. His body bore no sign of the injuries from the dungeon—his gait was strong, his posture steady. Yet when his eyes swept across the trio, they halted. Just for a breath.

  That single pause was enough. Kana stiffened. Suri’s illusions flickered faintly before she pulled them back under control, showing something to her classmates. Boris shifted his weight, suddenly restless. But Wor-en said nothing. He merely turned away, resuming his pace as if nothing had happened.

  The silence stretched over them like a blade held in the air, waiting to fall.

  The day crawled forward. Training drills. The same lectures. The same sparring. Yet the trio could hardly focus. Every clash of steel seemed louder, every command from an instructor sharper. Even in the afternoon class, the hours dripped past like drops of water before an execution.

  And then, when the final lesson ended and the students began to scatter, Wor-en was there.

  He stood in the doorway, gaze steady, each one of them froze.

  “Principal Light has made his decision,” Wor-en said, his tone too calm, too even. His eyes lingered on them as if measuring each breath they took. “The three of you… are to report to his office.”

  The words struck harder than any blow. Around them, students slowed, whispers beginning again. Some stared with wide-eyed curiosity, others with satisfaction—as if they’d expected this.

  Suri forced a smile, though it wavered at the edges. Boris swallowed hard. Kana’s hand clenched against her side.

  Their steps toward Principal Light’s office already felt like a march to judgment.

  ….

  Flowel’s teeth ground together as he stalked through the noble district, every step echoing his humiliation. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but those academy brats were sharper, faster—deadlier—than he’d thought. Especially the girl named Suri, who had the ability to command the mana itself. A poison for his mana strings.

  He halted at the gates of a mansion draped in banners of silver and green. The guard lowered his halberd, gaze sharp. “Who goes there?”

  Flowel’s answer was silence. A thread of wire slithered between his fingers, glinting in the torchlight. One flick, one pull—and the guard crumpled, clutching his gut with a strangled cry. Flowel stepped over him without a glance.

  The security was lax. Too lax. As if it was on purpose. Because the woman who lived here didn’t need guards. Even Flowel, with all his tricks, doubted he could defeat her in a fair fight. The thought made sweat bead at the back of his neck.

  The mansion’s door yielded easily.

  Inside, a family sat mid-meal. No screams. No panic. Only the clatter of silverware and the soft tearing of bread. Their stillness pressed on him heavier than any blade. Only one figure acknowledged him—a woman, lounging in her chair, a goblet of wine balanced elegantly between her fingers. Her eyes flicked toward him, cool and disinterested, as though he were nothing more than a stain on her carpet.

  “Well,” she drawled, lips curling in amusement. “Why does something so… unwelcome walk into my home?”

  “I need your help,” Flowel rasped. The fury in his voice felt small against the weight of her gaze.

  She laughed, a sound light as silk but sharp as glass. “And why, would I lift a finger for someone so… ugly like you?”

  Flowel’s jaw tightened. “I know who they are.”

  The laughter stilled. The family’s cutlery scraped, slow and deliberate, but no one looked up. Her smile faltered just enough to show she’d heard.

  “They’re more capable than I thought,” he said, voice low, every word deliberate. “Small fries won’t cut it. But if you help me… you’ll gain credit.”

  “Credit?” she repeated, swirling her wine. Crimson liquid caught the firelight, gleaming like fresh blood. “Hardly enough to tempt me.”

  “Scar.” Flowel leaned closer, eyes hard, “Will give you a compliment for sure.”

  At that, her eyes sharpened. Mockery drained away, replaced by something colder—interest. The crackle of the fireplace filled the silence, loud as thunder.

  “Scar will notice me, you say?” She placed the goblet on the table. The sound of crystal against wood echoed like a verdict. Then she rose, fluid and deliberate, gesturing toward a shadowed corridor.

  “Come. Let us speak inside.”

  Behind her, the rest of the family continued to eat, every bite unnervingly calm. Not a single glance followed them. As though this—intrusion, threats, alliances—was nothing more than another course in the meal.

  Flowel’s grin never reached his eyes. Inside, though, he was savoring the quiet satisfaction of a man holding the blade no one else could see. Secrets—that was his true weapon. And in this game, he was the only one in the organization who carried them.

  He knew each top executive’s weakness. Every flaw tucked beneath their polished veneers, every hidden wound they tried to keep buried. That knowledge gave him power. Control.

  All except one.

  Scar.

  The name alone burned in his thoughts, heavy as iron. Scar was untouchable—or so everyone believed. Flowel had no doubt that if he stood close enough, if he could just meet him once, his dungeon item would activate. One condition, one moment, and even Scar would no longer be beyond his reach.

  And that was all he needed.

  Ara Brack would be his key. With her backing—after he recovered the lost coin—doors would open. Scar’s attention would turn, and Flowel would finally step into the circle where others trembled to even speak his name.

  He flexed his fingers, feeling the thread bite against his skin, a reminder of what was to come.

  One meeting. One condition.

  That was all it would take. To make him his first and last, [Living Puppet].