The city had rooms for everything.

  Rooms for wealth.

  Rooms for pleasure.

  Rooms for safety.

  This one didn’t pretend.

  -----

  Ji-Min Lee sat on the edge of a narrow cot and tried to decide what shape her life had become.

  The walls were a pale gray that refused to be warm.

  No windows.

  No clock.

  Even the light felt regulated—bright enough to keep her awake, soft enough to keep her from calling it torture.

  Her hands rested in her lap, palms up.

  Still.

  Disciplined.

  If anyone watched through the one-way panel, they would see the same calm she had worn through lectures, through drills, through every moment she’d needed people to underestimate her.

  Inside, she kept running into the same problem.

  She couldn’t find her corruption.

  She’d felt it for days like a second circulation—quiet and wrong and necessary.

  Now there was only the clean, familiar shape of her blue mana.

  It responded when she breathed.

  It obeyed.

  It didn’t feel like victory.

  It felt like something had been stolen from inside her mouth.

  She closed her eyes and replayed the moment again, because she didn’t have anything else to do.

  Heat.

  Pressure.

  Aiden Blackthorn’s red mana, sharp and controlled and definitely not tier 0.

  And then the other thing.

  Not red.

  Not anything the academy had names for.

  A blade made out of intent that resembled corruption but of a kind she had never seen or learnt about.

  A wrongness that slipped through rules like the rules had been optional all along.

  She remembered the look in his eyes right before it happened.

  Not triumph.

  Not hatred.

  Fear.

  Like he’d chosen a door he didn’t know how to close.

  Then the obscene intimacy.

  Something inside her that wasn’t hers being pulled out through the smallest possible gap.

  The taste of cold metal.

  Her breath catching.

  And then—

  Nothing.

  Her hand drifted to her throat.

  The skin there was unmarked.

  Her body had been examined anyway.

  She knew it had.

  They’d taken samples.

  They’d asked questions.

  They’d watched her with the kind of interest you reserved for a specimen that might become a weapon.

  A contract suspicion, they’d said.

  Inferni.

  As if that word explained everything.

  She had signed, she should still feel it.

  If she had been chosen, she would still taste it.

  Instead she felt clean.

  Not the clean of innocence.

  The clean of a surface wiped down too thoroughly.

  Like someone wanted no fingerprints left.

  She opened her eyes and stared at the blank wall.

  What are you?

  Aiden.

  Not the boy people whispered about.

  Not the Blackthorn name.

  Not the useful disaster everyone expected.

  The thing under his mana.

  The way it moved like it recognized her.

  The way it fed.

  The way it took.

  If he could remove corruption without harming the body…

  Then he wasn’t just dangerous.

  He was a game changer.

  The kind that people killed.

  Ji-Min swallowed.

  For the first time since they put her in this room, doubt scraped at her discipline.

  Not about her cause.

  About her assumptions.

  Had she been chasing power… while standing next to something that treated power like food?

  She pressed her fingertips together.

  Breathed.

  Kept her face calm.

  Because if anyone opened the door, she needed to look like the story they wanted.

  A neat criminal.

  A convenient monster.

  Not a girl trying to figure out whether she’d been saved.

  Or harvested.

  -----

  The academy didn’t announce the arrest.

  It didn’t need to.

  It lived on word to mouth.

  In corridors that seemed wider when people didn’t want to walk near you.

  Aiden sat through class like he was doing penance.

  The room was full.

  The instructor talked.

  Notes were taken.

  Mana theory turned into equations and neat diagrams, as if the world could be solved if you used the right symbols.

  Across the aisle, Joon-Ho Park stared at him.

  Not openly.

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  Not with theatrics.

  Just… steadily.

  White mana emanated under Joon’s skin like clean glass.

  Nadia Petrov sat to Joon’s left, posture straight, eyes forward. She didn’t look at Aiden often.

  When she did, it was brief.

  A check.

  Min-Jun and Seong-Hyun were behind them.

  Aiden could feel their attention the way you felt a camera lens.

  He kept his own expression blank.

  He kept his hands from shaking.

  He told himself that if he acted normal, the story would have nothing to latch onto.

  When the lecture ended, Team A waited for him in the corridor.

  Arjun leaned against the wall like he belonged there.

  Elena’s tablet was already in her hand.

  Hye-Rin stood a little apart, watching the flow of students like she could read intention in footstep rhythm.

  Caleb Thorn’s gaze flicked once toward Team B.

  Then back to Aiden.

  “Okay,” Arjun said quietly, “either you got adopted by a ghost, or Park’s trying to set you on fire with his eyes.”

  Aiden’s mouth felt too dry.

  “He thinks I had something to do with Ji-Min,” Aiden said.

  The words came out flat.

  Like an explanation should be.

  Elena’s stylus paused.

  Hye-Rin’s smile didn’t appear.

  Caleb didn’t react, but his shoulders went a fraction tighter.

  Arjun let out a slow breath. “And did you?”

  Aiden’s pulse kicked.

  “No,” he said.

  It was true.

  It just wasn’t complete.

  “I thought she was suspicious when she was sat next to me in corruption studies,” he admitted, because lies that were too clean were the easiest to catch. “I thought she was hiding something. Then she got arrested. That’s it.”

  Elena looked up. “Park doesn’t believe ‘that’s it.’”

  “I know,” Aiden said.

  Hye-Rin tilted her head. “And Team B looks like a tightened fist.”

  Caleb’s voice was quiet. “They’re being watched.”

  Aiden’s stomach turned.

  So am I.

  Arjun shifted, lowering his voice further. “Speaking of being watched, Sunday.”

  Aiden blinked. “What about Sunday?”

  Elena answered, brisk. “Mock portal outing. Evaluation format. Team competition.”

  Hye-Rin’s eyes glittered with something that wasn’t amusement. “And idol boy with the superpowers has it out for us.”

  “They have a new teammate,” Arjun added, a cocky grin tugging at his mouth. “We’ll win.”

  Aiden’s chest tightened.

  A mock outing.

  A performance.

  A public measurement.

  With Joon watching him like a hawk.

  “Just don’t get eliminated by Joon,” Arjun said, his grin back in place. “We’ll handle the rest and then come bail you out. No worries.”

  Aiden didn’t trust that grin.

  Holding out wasn’t a joke when the other guy’s mana was white.

  In a one-on-one, they didn’t just hit hard, they shone. They outlasted. They found the crack you didn’t know you’d left.

  And Joon was already formidable enough without the added antagonism.

  -----

  On a half-day, Aiden left campus again.

  Not because he was brave.

  Because he couldn’t breathe under fluorescent light and borrowed air. The School reminded him of being on a submarine, but he couldn’t remember when he’d been on one in his previous life.

  The club he met Moore in was unchanged.

  Glass.

  Quiet security.

  That citrus-and-money smell that made him wonder why luxury always seemed to come with a scent.

  The hostess recognized him.

  Not personally.

  By category.

  She glanced at his school crest, his face, the way he carried himself like he expected a price.

  “Gym floor?” she asked.

  Aiden hesitated.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  He didn’t know if the family had accounts here.

  He didn’t know if Cillian had made the place aware of him.

  But the door still opened.

  The hallway still swallowed sound.

  The gym looked empty at first, rows of machines under cool lights, untouched mats, the quiet hum of ventilation.

  In the back was what he’d come for: a warded casting bay with a one-way observation panel set into the wall, standard for liability and discretion.

  No cameras.

  Aiden stood alone and let his red mana rise.

  Not much.

  Not a flare.

  A controlled thread.

  Heat shaped into a line.

  Then into a wedge.

  Then into a brace.

  He moved through drills the way he always did—repetition as religion.

  Breathe.

  Anchor.

  Shape.

  Release.

  Again.

  His hands stopped shaking.

  His thoughts didn’t.

  The corruption sat under it all like an animal that had learned his scent.

  Patient.

  Eager.

  He didn’t touch it.

  He could feel it pressing up anyway.

  A suggestion.

  Help.

  Control.

  Aiden ground his teeth.

  Real control, he told himself.

  Not the kind that came with hunger.

  He pushed his red mana harder.

  The air warmed.

  The room’s wards hummed as they adjusted.

  He didn’t notice the door open.

  He didn’t notice the soft step in the hallway.

  He didn’t notice the second presence in the room.

  Aiden kept moving.

  On the other side of the one-way panel, Nadia Petrov—Team B, green mana—stood with a keycard in her hand.

  Not a guest.

  A member.

  Her family’s money showed in the ease of her posture, in the way the staff in the corridor had nodded without asking her name.

  European old money, repackaged for Seoul.

  She watched Aiden’s casting with a hunter’s stillness.

  No smile.

  No judgment.

  Just assessment.

  Because she had seen him on campus.

  And now she was seeing him here.

  Alone.

  Nadia’s gaze narrowed by a fraction.

  Aiden’s red mana snapped into a clean shape and held.

  For a moment he looked almost normal.

  Almost safe.

  Stronger than he’d let on at the academy.

  Cleaner, too—control layered over heat like he’d been practicing for years.

  So why did Joon think he was involved?

  With Ji-Min, with any of it.

  This was the “suspicious” outing.

  So far it looked like discipline and solitude.

  Boring.

  For now.

  The last brace of red mana held.

  Then Aiden let it dissolve and exhaled.

  In the one-way panel’s dark reflection, a second figure resolved behind him.

  He went still.

  When he turned, Nadia was already wearing a big smile.

  “Don’t stop on my account,” she said.

  Aiden’s confusion came sharp and immediate. How had she gotten that close without him noticing?

  How long had she been there?

  “Nadia, right?” he said.

  He glanced at the keycard in her hand, the ease of her posture.

  “Figures you also come here.”

  “This doesn’t seem your usual,” Nadia said, eyes flicking over the scuffed mats and the disciplined heat still fading from the air. “From what I’ve heard, you’re the type who spends loud.”

  Her smile sharpened.

  “Very nouveau riche behavior for a boy with an old name.”

  Aiden’s expression barely shifted.

  “People change,” he said.

  He held her gaze.

  “Did you follow me?”

  Nadia didn’t blink.

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  “Why?” Aiden asked.

  Nadia’s smile didn’t falter, but something cooler moved underneath it.

  “Because Joon thinks you’re suspicious.”

  Aiden’s brow tightened. “And you’re telling me because…?”

  She shrugged, elegant and unapologetic.

  “Because we Euros should stick together.”

  Her gaze flicked away for a heartbeat, toward the corridor beyond the glass.

  “And because the Korean boys here keep treating me like background noise. Like I’m decoration with a fancy name.”

  She looked back at him, smile still bright, eyes less so.

  “It’s starting to grind on me.”

  Aiden tilted his head, his voice dry. “And from what you know of me? You expect me to be better?”

  Nadia’s smile widened, a touch of mischief returning. “Well, yes. Your sad puppy seeking redemption act is quite endearing.”

  Aiden’s lips twitched, but he didn’t rise to the bait. She then asked, “So what do you know about Ji?”

  “Only that she was suspicious in corruption studies,” Aiden said, his tone neutral but firm.

  Nadia raised an eyebrow. “You were suspicious. Looking so uncomfortable next to her, staring at her like you didn’t want to, but couldn’t help it.”

  Her smile turned sly. “You prefer it when they don’t want you?”

  Aiden’s expression hardened, his red mana filling his eyes in anger. “I had nothing to do with her arrest.”

  Nadia waved a hand, dismissing his anger. “Yes, yes. Boring.”

  She leaned against the wall, her tone turning casual. “Next Wednesday, after we’ve bashed our heads in over the weekend, let’s meet up here for a drink. Discuss the event.”

  Aiden, still questioning what the hell was going on, hesitated before replying. “Sure.”

  Nadia pushed off the wall, her smile lingering. “See you around.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked out, leaving Aiden standing there, still trying to piece together the conversation.

  He shook his head and headed to the gym showers. The hot water did little to clear his thoughts, but at least it washed away the sweat and tension from his drills.

  By the time he returned to the academy, the sun was still in the sky but beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the courtyard. He barely made it past the main entrance when a sharp voice called out behind him.

  “Blackthorn.”

  Aiden turned to see Professor Yun-Ah Seo, her expression unreadable but her tone leaving no room for argument. “Follow me to my office.”

  The corridor fell silent as students turned to watch. Whispers started almost immediately.

  “Did he do anything?”

  “Is it about Ji-Min?”

  “Maybe he’s finally getting expelled.”

  Aiden ignored them, falling into step behind the professor, his mind racing with possibilities.

  -----

  Professor Seo’s office smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and ink.

  She didn’t offer him a seat at first.

  She closed the door, took two steps to her desk, and placed a folder down with the kind of precision that made it feel like a verdict.

  Aiden stood where she’d left him.

  Hands loose at his sides.

  Jaw tight.

  Professor Yun-Ah Seo looked at him for a long moment, as if deciding which version of him she was speaking to: the scholarship student with an infamous crest, or the rumor that had grown teeth.

  Then she said, calm as a scalpel, “What’s your plan?”

  Aiden’s throat tightened.

  Plan?.

  Professor Seo’s gaze didn’t soften.

  She gestured once—sharp, economical—toward the chair opposite her desk.

  Only when he sat did she sit.

  She didn’t open the folder.

  “This Sunday,” she continued, “Team A’s red will be expected to lead from the front.”

  Aiden’s eyes flicked up.

  Red.

  Front.

  The words hit like a tether.

  “You understand what that means in a portal outing,” she said.

  Aiden held her gaze. “It means I take the pressure.”

  “You’re expected to be the silent leader,” Professor Seo corrected. “Headstrong. Unyielding.”

  She paused.

  Just long enough for him to feel the weight of the academy’s attention compress around his ribs.

  “And on the other end,” she said, “it’s usually a red.”

  Aiden’s stomach tightened.

  She knew.

  She was setting the board out loud so he couldn’t pretend he didn’t recognize it.

  “This time,” Professor Seo said, her voice still even, “it’s Park.”

  Joon.

  White mana.

  Endurance like a curse.

  And a grudge sharpened by whatever story had reached him first.

  Professor Seo folded her hands on the desk.

  “So,” she said again, softer now only because she didn’t need volume to dominate a room, “what is your plan?”

  Aiden hesitated.

  He could lie.

  Say he’d overwhelm.

  Say he’d win quickly.

  Say he’d do something dramatic enough to make people forget Ji-Min’s name when they looked at him.

  But lying to Professor Seo felt like lying to a mirror that could report him.

  He breathed in.

  Once.

  Controlled.

  Then he said, carefully, “I trust my team to deal with the others.”

  Professor Seo’s eyes narrowed by a fraction.

  He forced himself to finish the thought.

  “So I just have to hold out.”

  The silence that followed wasn’t empty.

  It was measured.

  Professor Seo studied him as if assessing whether that answer was strategy… or confession.

  At last she leaned back a touch.

  Not approving.

  Not condemning.

  Just acknowledging.

  “Holding out is not the same as hiding,” she said.

  Aiden’s pulse kicked, sharp.

  “I’m not hiding,” he lied, because the truth was complicated and hungry.

  Professor Seo’s gaze didn’t move. “Then you will demonstrate that. Cleanly.”

  She tapped the folder once without opening it.

  “No incidents,” she said.

  Two words.

  A boundary.

  An implied threat.

  “Yes, Professor,” Aiden said.

  “Good.”

  She stood, signaling the end as efficiently as she’d begun.

  When Aiden rose, she added, almost conversational, “Park isn’t your only problem on Sunday. You’re in a team, so start acting like it.”

  Aiden kept his face neutral.

  But inside, his thoughts ran in a tight circle.

  Not that simple.

  Because Joon was just the opponent.

  The academy was the audience.

  And whatever lived under Aiden’s red mana was the thing that would take any opening it could get.

  He reached for the door.

  Behind him, Professor Seo said, almost casually, “Ji-Min Lee is still alive.”

  Aiden’s hand stopped on the handle.

  “That’s not all,” she continued. Her voice stayed even, controlled—professional. “She’s stable. And she’s uncorrupted.”

  The words hit like a strike to the sternum.

  Uncorrupted.

  He forced his shoulders to move. Forced his face to rearrange itself into something believable as he turned.

  Professor Seo was watching him the way she watched a sparring ring: not for the obvious, but for the tells.

  “Did you know that, Blackthorn?”

  Well fuck.