As sothing eventful was unfolding in the Land of Origin, sothing equally significant was taking place back in Aurora.
Right now, in one of the academy's buildings, three students sat before a familiar figure: Michael, Rynne, and another of their classmates.
In front of them sat Director Arven.
They were in his office, and Michael had to admit, the director wasn't only colorful in identity but also in his surroundings.
The room looked less like an office and more like a chaotic blend of everything imaginable. Papers, books, and half-open files lay stacked in uneven piles on every available surface.
The walls were painted in mismatched tones, pale blue on one side and crimson on the other, as if the painter had lost interest halfway through. Several unfrad paintings hung crookedly, and none seed to belong together; one was a portrait of a noblewoman, another a landscape of a barren desert, and another looked like a child's ssy attempt at abstract art.
The curtains were bright yellow, their edges frayed, clashing violently with the dark green carpet that looked like it had seen better centuries. A small lamp on the desk flickered weakly, its light barely holding steady as it cast long, twitching shadows across the walls.
A large stuffed chair sat behind the desk, its fabric torn at the corners, revealing patches of cotton. And sitting in it was Director Arven himself.
The man was seated cross-legged on a cushioned chair, dressed in his usual flamboyant manner. His dyed hair, a striking mix of blue and violet, glimred under the dim light.
"Director Arven," Rynne began cautiously, "may I ask why we were summoned?"
Arven lifted his gaze, eyes sparkling with mischief as a slow smile tugged at his lips. "Summoned? Such a grim word, dear Rynne. Let's call it invited for a chat."
Michael's brow twitched slightly.
A few minutes ago, he had received a notification on his Edgeband, a short, crisp ssage summoning him to the director's office.
He didn't have anything against Director Arven personally, but there was sothing about the man that always made his skin crawl.
Only heaven knew how relieved he was when he realized he wasn't the only one summoned. But that relief didn't last long. Seeing who else had been called, Michael imdiately understood that this wasn't so casual eting.
Seated beside him were the other top students of Year One: Rynne, who ranked second, her short silver hair glinting under the weak light of the desk lamp, and another boy he didn't recognize, whose nervous fidgeting made him seem out of place among the two. The only thing that linked them was that all three occupied the top positions in their year.
Which ant this eting wasn't simple.
Director Arven's office only reinforced that uneasy feeling. It looked less like an office and more like a madman's collection room.
Arven's smile lingered, but the eyes he used to look at them were wrong.
Michael felt it at once. Rynne did too; her posture tightened by a hair. The director's gaze kept returning to the two of them as if the third student were a shadow on the wall.
The boy at third tried to sit straighter, but Arven did not spare him a second glance.
"Usually," Arven said at last, tapping a fingertip against a stack of crooked folders, "this sort of thing would be handled by the principal
or the vice principal." He sighed, staring at the ceiling like it offended him. "But they flew off to a God knows where, and now I am the one babysitting an entire academy."
On the topic of the principal, Michael found himself quite interested.
After all, the principal wasn't just any figurehead; he was the single most powerful individual in the academy.
Yet for all his supposed power and prestige, Michael had never actually t him.
What made the situation even stranger was that the principal himself had scheduled a private eting with him weeks ago and then
vanished.
Michael couldn't help but speak out this ti.
"Director Arven," he began, keeping his tone polite, "you ntioned the principal and vice principal left. Do you happen to know where they went? Or when they'll be back?"
"Hmm... you're curious about our dear headmaster, are you?" Michael didn't answer imdiately, though inwardly he sighed. To be honest, it wasn't that he was eager to et the man. He just wanted to get it over with. Every few days, he found himself wondering when that long-delayed eting would finally happen, only to feel that dull anxiety creep up again when there was still no news.
He wanted the matter settled, nothing more.
Arven chuckled softly, resting his chin on his hand. "Ah, Michael," he said, drawing out the na like he was savoring it. "I would love to tell you where the principal went. Truly, I would. But unfortunately..." He spread his hands with exaggerated helplessness. "Rules. You know
how it is."
Michael frowned slightly. "Rules?"
He was mildly disappointed, though not surprised. Still, before he could let that feeling settle, Arven's grin widened, his voice lowering.
"However, if you were to do one small thing for , I might be
tempted to break a rule or two."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "A favor?"
"Nothing dreadful," Arven said quickly. "rely a task. A simple one,
for soone of your talents. You do it, and I'll tell you everything about our elusive principal."
Michael's answer ca faster than the director probably expected.
"No."
Arven blinked. "That was quick."
What Michael wanted to say but couldn't was that if it were another
instructor, he might have hesitated for two seconds before refusing, as he preferred not to owe anyone over sothing unnecessary.
The atmosphere in the room grew strange after that.
For a brief mont, no one spoke. Director Arven's grin remained fixed, though his eyes narrowed just slightly.
Michael kept his expression neutral, though inwardly he could feel the tension thickening. He didn't regret his answer, but there was no denying that the air had taken on a heavier, almost suffocating tone.
Fortunately, Rynne broke it.
"Director," she said suddenly, keeping her voice polite, "why exactly were we called here?"
The question seed to draw Arven's attention away from Michael. His eerie smile softened into sothing resembling genuine delight, though that only made him seem more unnerving.
"Ah, yes, that," Arven said, snapping his fingers.
"Ah, yes, that," he repeated, snapping his fingers again as if he had just
rembered why they were there in the first place. "You see, my dear students, the year is drawing to a close. Which ans a new one is
about to begin."
"And as you may or may not know, the academy always grants a short
holiday during this period. A ti for students to rest, return ho, see their families, and all that sentintal nonsense."
At that, Michael's expression relaxed slightly. Finally. For once, it sounded like sothing normal, sothing he could look forward to. He hadn't seen his family in months, and the idea of returning ho,
even briefly, stirred a quiet warmth in his chest.
But then, Arven kept talking.
"Unfortunately," the director continued, his tone dripping with false sympathy, "that little privilege doesn't apply to everyone."
The good feeling vanished.
Michael's brow furrowed. "aning?"
Arven grinned, showing a flash of teeth. "aning, my dear top three
students of Year One, that while the rest of your classmates enjoy their holiday, you will be going sowhere else." Rynne's eyes narrowed slightly. "Sowhere else?"
"Yes," Arven said, his voice dropping to a gleeful whisper. "To hell."
For a second, no one moved. Michael blinked. "...Excuse ?"
The director leaned back, utterly at ease, watching their expressions
with open amusent.
At first, Michael thought Arven was cursing him. His tone certainly
made it sound that way. But then he caught the faint seriousness in the man's eyes.
And that was when it clicked.
Hell wasn't a figure of speech in Aurora. It was real.
Arven, seeing the confusion ripple through the room, clapped his
hands together. "You see, top three, top four, top ten, they're all given opportunities. But there's a small difference."
He lifted a finger and wagged it playfully in the air. "Students ranked
fourth and below can choose to join the expedition. They can also refuse and go ho to their cozy little beds for the holiday." Michael could already tell where this was going, but he waited. "However," Arven continued, "for you three, it's mandatory!" The third student made a strangled noise. "Mandatory? As in, we
don't get a choice?"
"Exactly. Consider it a reward for excellence. The academy believes
that those who reach the top must also bear the heaviest burdens. Growth through pain, or sothing poetic like that."
Third place then asked another question. "And if soone, hypothetically, wanted to avoid this?"
"Ah," Arven said, pretending to think, "then that soone would need
to lower their rank. Quite a bit, actually."
He tilted his head, his voice turning almost teasing. "Drop to fourth
place or lower before the year ends, and you're free to go ho like everyone else. No questions asked."
Then, Arven's expression changed. The grin faded. His posture straightened, and when he spoke again, his voice was no longer light
or amused.
"But I'd be disappointed if that happened." The words ca out deeper.
Michael's gaze sharpened a bit.
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