Julian stared at the rankings board mounted on the far wall of the Argent Sentinels’ common room, its enchanted display flickering with cold, rciless numbers. His jaw was clenched so tight that the muscles along his neck burned, and a dull ache spread through his molars where he’d ground them together.
1. Onyx Hounds - 947 points
2. Argent Sentinels - 601 points
3. Scarlet Phantoms - 589 points
4. Cobalt Vipers - 523 points
5. Verdant Strikers - 412 points
They’d dropped.
From first place to second in the span of a single month, their seven-year dynasty crumbling like sand castles before the inexorable tide.
All because of him.
That street rat. That walking disaster. That fucking nobody with his ridiculous baseball bat and his insufferable, shit-eating grin plastered across every corridor.
"Julian."
The voice ca from the doorway, cutting through his spiralling thoughts like a knife through silk.
He turned sharply, the motion stiff with tension, to find Professor Anya Petrova standing in the threshold. She was frad by the afternoon light spilling in from the hallway, her silver-blonde hair pulled back in her trademark severe bun that made her sharp features look even more angular and austere. She wore her usual white suit, immaculate and tailored to military perfection, but her pale blue eyes—normally cold and analytical—carried sothing else today. Sothing harder. Sharper. More dangerous.
"Professor," he managed, forcing his voice to sound steady despite the acid churning in his stomach.
"Walk with ."
It wasn’t a request. It was never a request when Professor Petrova used that particular tone, the one that brooked no argunt and tolerated no hesitation.
He followed her down the pristine, marble-tiled hallways of the Sentinel dormitory, his expensive leather shoes clicking in ti with her asured, deliberate stride. They passed trophy cases filled with glittering awards from previous tournants, their brass plates engraved with the nas of champions long since graduated. They passed frad photographs of distinguished alumni who’d gone on to join the most elite guilds in Valoria, their smiling faces frozen in monts of triumph. They passed everything that represented what the Argent Sentinels were supposed to be, what they had always been.
Perfect. Dominant. Inevitable.
Untouchable.
Professor Petrova led him to her private office at the end of the corridor, a space Julian had only entered twice before—once when he’d first been accepted into the guild, and once after his catastrophic failure at the VHC Gala. She opened the heavy oak door with a soft push, then stepped aside to let him enter first before closing it behind them with a soft, final click that sounded oddly ominous in the sudden silence.
"Sit," she commanded, gesturing toward one of the leather chairs positioned in front of her large, ticulously organized desk.
He sat, his posture rigid, his hands folded carefully in his lap to hide the slight tremor in his fingers.
Professor Petrova remained standing for a long mont, her hands clasped behind her back in a military at-ease position. She moved to the window first, gazing out at the Academy grounds below, where students were scattered across the lawns between classes. The silence stretched, deliberate and oppressive, until Julian felt his pulse hamring in his ears.
Finally, she turned to face him.
"We need to discuss the current state of affairs," she said, her voice level and calm, but with an undercurrent of sothing cold enough to freeze blood.
"I know we dropped in the rankings," Julian started, desperate to preempt whatever lecture was coming, "but I’ve already started working on a new training regin, and if we focus our efforts on the upcoming—"
"This isn’t about rankings," she cut him off, her tone as sharp and clean as a scalpel’s edge.
Julian’s mouth snapped shut.
"This is about the systematic dismantling of everything I’ve built over the past seven years," Professor Petrova continued, her pale eyes boring into him with the intensity of a laser. "This is about the slow-motion collapse of the most prestigious guild at New Vein Academy, and the complete and utter failure of its leadership to stop it."
Julian felt his face flush hot. "Professor, I—"
"In the span of two months," she interrupted again, holding up one perfectly manicured finger, "we have lost Kenjiro Kobayashi to the Cobalt Vipers." A second finger. "Lost Monica Von Astrom to the Onyx Hounds." A third. "Lost Celeste Vance—the President’s sister, the single most valuable recruit in the entire first-year class—also to the Onyx Hounds."
She let her hand drop, and the sound of it slapping lightly against her thigh seed deafening in the quiet office.
"Three of our most promising recruits," she said, her voice now dangerously soft, "gone. Poached. Stolen from under my nose by a guild that was supposed to be a dumping ground for failures and misfits."
"Kobayashi made his own choice to transfer," Julian protested weakly. "We can’t force people to stay if they—"
"They all made choices," Professor Petrova said, moving at last from the window to circle around behind her desk. She didn’t sit imdiately, instead standing there with her hands braced on the polished wood surface, leaning forward slightly. "And every single one of those choices pointed them in the sa direction. Toward the sa person."
She paused, letting the na hang unspoken in the air between them.
Julian’s hands clenched into fists.
"Satori Nakano," she finally said, her tone flat and clinical, like she was discussing a particularly virulent disease.
The na settled over the room like poison gas.
Professor Petrova finally sat, lowering herself into her high-backed chair with the careful, controlled movents of soone choosing exactly how to position every muscle, every word, every breath for maximum impact.
"I’ve reviewed his file extensively," she continued, folding her hands on the desk in front of her. "His entrance exam scores. His combat trial footage. His Gate clearance records. His performance yesterday during the sparring match against Reyna Cabana." She tilted her head slightly, studying him. "This is a boy who manifested his Aspect late. Who had no discernible power six months ago. Who was, by all official docuntation, a Zero."
"And now he’s ranked first in our entire year," Julian finished bitterly, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
"Precisely." Professor Petrova’s fingers drumd once, twice, against the polished surface of her desk—a rare tell of agitation from a woman who prided herself on absolute control. "Tell , Julian. In all your study of Aspect theory and Hunter history, how does soone go from Zero to hero in the span of half a year?"
Julian swallowed hard. "Training? Dedication? Maybe he’s just... naturally gifted once his power finally manifested?"
"Or perhaps," she said, her voice dropping to sothing quieter and infinitely more dangerous, "he’s deceiving everyone around him."
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