Chelle Pint was not strong on her own. She knew it well enough. Her dueling record was average.. But with her friends—nobles, each one with a skill polished and dangerous—they became something else entirely. Together, they had placed in the top five of last year’s annual tournament. And that had been only their second year. This year, they were certain they could take the crown.

  Unless these… strangers ruined it.

  First-years, from some backwater village, yet somehow drawing all the attention. Whispered about in the corridors. Watched by professors. Praised. Golden Badge holder.

  That must not happen. Fear would put them back in their place. Which was why Chelle Pint and her circle now waited in one of the academy’s shadowed alleys, moonlight spilling like a blade across the stones.

  The trap was set.

  [Confuse Transmission]

  The skill worked perfectly. Suri, walking alone toward the dormitories, slowed at the faint, distant cry. A woman’s voice. A call for help.

  She hesitated—only for a breath—before turning into the alley.

  [Nullify Zone]

  The air shifted. Lines of faint glyphs bled across the cobbles, then vanished, leaving only a strange stillness. Suri stiffened as the invisible cage snapped into place.

  Illusionless. Skill-stripped.

  Without her tricks, she was just another helpless girl.

  …..

  When Suri stepped into the target zone of their trap, the air itself seemed to tighten.

  The alley stretched narrow and dark, lanterns nowhere to be found. Shadows clung to the walls like watching figures. She hesitated for a breath, then forced herself forward. The faint cry still rang in her ears—Help… Help…—but now all she could hear was the echo of her own footsteps.

  Then came movement.

  Two melee fighters launched themselves out of the dark, their blades glinting under the winter moon. Blunt swords, but carried with trained strength. Enough to bruise bone, enough to leave scars.

  “What are you doing?” Suri’s voice snapped like a whip in the silence.

  They didn’t answer. One raised his sword high, skill flaring across the weapon in a sudden shimmer. The strike came down fast—too fast.

  Suri jumped back. Her foot slid against the cobblestone, her breath catching. Her usual bright smile—the one that made people underestimate her, the one that irritated her enemies—was gone.

  Coldness replaced it.

  The fighters hesitated. That face—her expressionless, unreadable mask—unnerved them more than any smile could.

  “She can’t use her skills!” one of them shouted, desperate to banish his own hesitation.

  The others steadied. The shout gave them courage. They charged, unleashing every skill they had, the alley filling with the clash of steel and the hiss of mana-empowered swings.

  Suri’s hand slipped into a hidden pocket. Fingers brushed the familiar hilt of her dagger, and she drew it free. Moonlight kissed its edge.

  One of the watching nobles nearly snorted. “A dagger? She’s not even a proper melee fighter.”

  Then steel rang against steel.

  The world blurred. Suri’s dagger flashed in tight, precise arcs, each motion instinctive, unerring. She blocked one sword, then another, sparks scattering like fireflies. A third strike grazed her sleeve, tearing through the fabric.

  Suri froze. She looked down at the torn cloth, then slowly raised her gaze. Her voice was soft, too soft. “This was one of my favorites.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  And then everything collapsed for them.

  She moved forward like a shadow come alive, the dagger weaving as if it already knew where their blows would land. Her free hand snapped into a fist, and she punched. The impact didn’t just stagger the fighter—it threw him back as though a wall of force had struck him.

  “What the hell—” another stammered, before her dagger disarmed him with a flick. Her fist followed, slamming into his ribs. He folded, air blasting from his lungs.

  One of them tried to run. Suri was faster.

  “You have a pretty face, so—” she said, catching her by the collar. The sentence broke off as her fist buried into her stomach. She dropped, gasping for air.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The alley fell quiet except for groans.

  Suri stood in the center of it all, breathing hard. The dagger trembled faintly in her grip, not from fear—but from something she hadn’t admitted yet.

  Her eyes lowered to her hands. Kana was right, she realized, a whisper meant for no one. “My level’s too high, just as Kana told me.”

  And for the first time, a shiver of unease slid through her.

  ….

  Chelle Pint woke to the sound of a grunt from the next bed. The ceiling above her was white stone, carved smooth, and traced with faint glowing lines of healing runes. Not her dorm ceiling.

  The Healing Ward.

  Her chest tightened.

  “You’re awake,” a soft voice said. One of the ward attendants stood at her side, setting down a tray of herbs. “Suri found you last night by accident and brought you here.”

  Suri.

  Chelle’s throat went dry. Not the professors. Not the guards. Her.

  Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she forced her expression still. If the attendants noticed her grimace, they didn’t comment.

  Her thoughts churned. They couldn’t report it. Not the ambush, not the humiliation. Not that she had lost. The others—those nobles she’d trusted—were likely in the same state, patched up in nearby beds, wrapped in silence.

  Suri hadn’t spoken a word. She could have turned them in. She could have paraded their shame before the academy. Yet she hadn’t.

  Why?

  What did she want?

  The question burrowed deep, more suffocating than her wounds.

  ….

  The days of the week blurred together, each colder than the last. Frost clung stubbornly to the academy’s windows, and students huddled beneath cloaks and scarves as though the air itself were a living enemy. By the weekend, Kana found herself in an open wagon bound for the orphanage—with more company than usual.

  The wagon creaked under the added weight.

  “Shouldn’t you have rented something bigger?” Shaun muttered through chattering teeth. The fourth-year rubbed his gloved hands together, shoulders hunched. “A closed wagon, at least. We’re going to get a frostbite at this rate.”

  “I agree,” Suri said, tugging her coat tighter. “This thing is going to split in half before we even reach the gates.”

  Elle York only laughed, her breath puffing white. “I don’t mind. This is different. New. It almost feels… fun.”

  Kana leaned back, her red eyes unreadable as the frost nipped at her lashes. “We can afford breaking this wagon,” she said evenly, “but not the expensive ones.”

  No one argued with that.

  The road wound down toward the orphanage, snow crunching beneath the wheels. When the building finally came into view, the air shifted. The orphanage rose from the frost like a fortress—its once humble walls sheathed in layers of shimmering wards. The surface glimmered faintly, like moonlight caught in crystal.

  Mot whistled low. The fourth-year’s gaze flicked over the structure, sharp as a blade. “This is an orphanage?” he asked. “Not a royal stronghold?”

  Kana caught the slight narrowing of his eyes. She could feel it, then—the dense weave of mana stitched into every corner of the barrier. Good.

  The children rushed out first, laughter breaking the stillness of the yard. But their steps slowed as they noticed the strangers, their wide eyes darting between faces.

  “They’re from the student council,” Kana explained, voice softening as Lily emerged from the doorway. “They’re here to inspect the progress.”

  Jorge, a third-year, strode forward with casual arrogance. His hand brushed the air near the gate. And then—light. A faint, invisible wall flared to life, rejecting him with a pulse that reverberated up his arm. He stumbled, blinking.

  The yard went quiet.

  Kana’s lips curved slightly. “Looks like the barrier works fine.”

  Jorge glared, rubbing his wrist. “You did that on purpose. Didn’t you?”

  Kana didn’t answer. Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled free a small, black stone. Its surface was dull, almost ordinary, until she held it up—then shadows seemed to pool around it, hungry and waiting.

  “If you want to enter,” Kana said, her tone calm but carrying an edge. “You’ll need to give it something. Mana, or blood.”

  All of them injected their mana so they could enter.

  …..

  It was a cold night when the Brack family gathered. Frost crawled across the windows, the fire snapping in protest against the chill. On paper, they were nothing more than the lowest of nobles—barons by title alone. But that was how they preferred it. In the shadows, the Bracks thrived. A higher station would have only drawn eyes to the illegal dealings woven into the foundation of their house.

  “Valdis,” Ara said, her voice smooth, carrying through the long dining table like a blade slipping free of its sheath.

  Her nephew stiffened. “Yes, Aunt?” He forced a smile, though his hand tightened around his silverware.

  “You know anything about Kana, Boris, and Suri?” Ara asked, never looking away from him. “I’ve heard they’re from your academy.”

  The boy almost choked on his drink. He grabbed a napkin quickly, dabbing at his lips to cover his hesitation. “Yes… yes. They’re first-years. Copper class.”

  “Copper class?” Ara’s tone sharpened, dismissive. “So they’re the weakest, then.”

  Valdis swallowed. His mind screamed for caution, but his mouth betrayed him. “No, actually… Kana and Suri received golden badges.”

  The fork slipped from Ara’s fingers, clattering against her plate. Her eyes widened—a rare crack in her calm posture. As a graduate of the academy, she knew what that meant. Golden badges weren’t honors; they were declarations. Promises of brilliance… in the future.

  Ara leaned back in her chair, the candlelight flickering across her features. “This is going to be more troublesome than I thought.”

  Valdis’s skin prickled. “W-what are you planning, Aunt?”

  Her gaze cut to him like steel. “Did you just question me?”

  The air went still.

  Valdis dropped his eyes instantly, fingers tightening around his fork until his knuckles went white. “No… of course not.” He shoved another bite of food into his mouth, forcing himself to chew, to act normal.

  But every bite tasted of ash.