We arrived at the front of the principal’s office. The hallway was unnervingly quiet, the only sounds being the dull thuds of our footsteps and the soft thrum of mana-powered lanterns affixed to the stone walls. Two guards stood flanking the door—tall, armored, unmoving. Their eyes followed our movents, not with suspicion, but with the indifference of n used to violence being just another part of the day.
Leonardo, who had been trailing behind us silently the entire walk, suddenly stepped forward. He passed between Fia and with brisk, practiced strides—like a man trying to reassert his place after being humbled.
He approached the guards and exchanged a few low words with them. One of the guards nodded and rapped his knuckles twice against the large wooden door, the sound echoing like thunder in the stillness of the corridor.
"Sir," the guard called out. "Your son, Leonardo, brought two students who said they’re being called by you."
A beat of silence followed.
Then the principal’s voice echoed from within the room—deep, composed, almost too calm. "Let them enter."
The guards moved in unison, opening the heavy door with a firm pull. Warm light spilled from the room, golden and flickering like firelight, contrasting the colder tones of the hallway. The scent of aged parchnt and ink greeted us like a quiet warning.
As we stepped inside, I caught my first full glimpse of the room.
The principal sat behind a wide mahogany desk, nearly drowning in piles of docunts, open books, and sealed envelopes. Quills floated midair beside him, scribbling automatically across parchnt, powered by subtle streams of mana. Despite the clutter, his posture was elegant—an iron spine wrapped in velvet. His uniform was black with crimson lining, gold accents catching the light with every small movent.
He looked up.
"You’re Will, right?" the principal asked, eyes locking onto mine with an unreadable expression.
"Yes," I answered, trying to keep my voice even despite the pulse beginning to rise in my throat.
His gaze flicked to my side. "And what are you doing here, Fia?"
"I ca here to assist him," Fia replied with a calm poise, one hand resting lightly on my shoulder. "He’s still not in perfect condition, as you can see."
The principal’s eyes lingered on her for a mont longer, the corners of his lips twitching slightly.
"I didn’t expect you to be close to a first-year."
"It’s a long story," she replied with the kind of ease that masked history—one that didn’t need retelling, not now.
"Sorry for derailing the conversation," the principal said, waving one hand as the floating quills paused mid-sentence. "Let’s get to the reason why I called you here."
He reached down and opened one of the drawers of his desk.
There was sothing surreal about the way his fingers moved—slow, deliberate. The drawer slid open with a soft creak, and from it, he pulled out a small, dark pouch. Without ceremony, he tossed it toward .
I caught it on instinct.
It was heavier than expected. The weight of tal clinked softly within the thick fabric—coinage.
I stared down at the pouch in my hands, and my stomach twisted.
"What is this, Principal?" I asked, though I already had a guess—and I didn’t like it.
"A compensation," he said plainly, folding his hands together atop his desk. "For what happened to you. As the principal of this institution, it’s my responsibility to protect every student under my care. Unfortunately..." He paused, allowing the silence to fill with implication. "I failed to do that in your case."
His voice was asured, but there was no warmth in it. It was like being read an apology from a script.
"I hope you’ll take it and consider it an apology from ," he added.
There it was.
I pulled open the pouch and tilted it just enough to peek inside. Ten gold coins glimred up at —clean, heavy, pure. Enough money to fund a student’s in a month. Enough to buy weapons or books, even. Enough to shut soone up.
Was this supposed to ease my pain?
Was this paynt for my silence?
I looked at him—this man who held power over the lives of hundreds of students. His expression hadn’t changed. It was still that sa unreadable calm, like a mask carved from marble. No regret. No guilt. Just calculated action.
"I..." The words almost caught in my throat. "I understand your position, Principal. But this—this isn’t sothing that can be solved with gold."
His eyes didn’t blink. "Perhaps not. But it is sothing I can offer imdiately. Consider it a gesture."
Gesture. That word echoed in my head like a sneer.
Fia said nothing beside , but I could feel her attention sharpen. She was watching everything. The pouch. The principal. . Her hand on my shoulder tightened slightly, as if reminding I wasn’t alone.
I clenched the pouch in my hand, the coins digging into my palm through the fabric.
What would happen if I threw it back at him?
Would it change anything?
Or would it just make look ungrateful in a place where influence ruled above all?
"Principal, you don’t need to apologize for it," I said, forcing my voice into sothing calr than what I felt. I clenched the pouch of gold a little tighter, its weight still heavy in my palm. "These things... sotis really happen."
It was a lie. A convenient one. But it was what he wanted to hear.
"I’m glad to hear that," he replied, smiling with all the warmth of an extinguished fire. The expression barely reached his eyes. It was the smile of a man who knew how to polish his image—not how to feel guilt.
"But by the way," I said, lifting my head, my tone shifting ever so slightly, "I have sothing to tell you, Principal."
His eyebrows raised, curiosity flickering behind his half-moon glasses. "Oh? What is it?"
From the corner of my eye, I saw Leonardo stiffen. He was still standing in the corner of the room like a wall decoration trying to stay relevant. His gaze t mine briefly, and in that instant, I could read the silent plea in his eyes.
Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t push it.
But I wasn’t going to stay quiet. Not now.
"You see," I began, "during that night in the fighting ground, so of my friends ca to rescue —Raiden, Tyiyn, Tork, and Chris. They entered the place, not to participate, but to get out."
The principal didn’t flinch. His fingers resud drumming against the desk, steady, indifferent.
"There was also a girl with —another victim. Her na’s Crestia. Maybe you caught her too," I added, watching his reaction closely.
He tilted his head slightly, as if to say, And?
I took a breath. "I heard that all the people caught in that event are going to be sent to the battlefield. But my friends... they’re innocent. They only ca to help. Can you please... free them?"
For the first ti, the room shifted.
Fia stayed quiet at my side, listening closely, her arms crossed. Leonardo looked visibly uncomfortable. But it was the principal I watched most carefully.
He leaned back in his chair, resting his elbow on the armrest and placing his hand against his chin in thought. A heavy pause stretched between us—silence, sharp and unnatural, filled with unspoken answers.
He wasn’t shocked. He wasn’t even mildly surprised. He already knew.
Finally, he spoke, voice calm, too calm.
"I’m sorry, Will. But if I do that, it would cause a problem."
My stomach dropped.
"What problem?" I asked, my tone tightening.
He waved his hand vaguely over the stack of docunts on his desk. "I’m currently busy preparing for the swordsmanship tournant. It’s scheduled in two weeks, and my schedule is already a disaster. A request like yours... it would need to be formally investigated. Witnesses. Reports. Reviews of footage, if there is any."
He spoke with the chanical rhythm of a man who had done this speech before—cutting hope with a bureaucrat’s smile.
"We’re already short on manpower. So I apologize, but I can’t process your request."
I could barely believe what I was hearing. "Then... can you do it after the swordsmanship tournant?"
He didn’t hesitate. "Hmm, that’s impossible," he replied, still stroking his chin. "They’re scheduled to be sent to the battlefield imdiately after the tournant ends."
The words hit like a physical blow. A quiet fury began building in my chest—cold and slow, but consuming.
"They’re innocent," I said, fighting to keep my voice from trembling. "I’m telling you—they only ca to save . Can’t you do sothing?"
The principal’s fingers finally stopped moving. His face, up until now unreadable, twisted slightly. Not with anger—but with inconvenience.
"I feel sorry," he said, his voice sharpening just a notch. "But I’m really, really busy."
There it was.
I stared at him.
This man, this so-called leader of the academy. Sitting behind his polished desk, drowning in paperwork, flipping people’s fates like pages in a ledger. He didn’t care. Not about the victims. Not about the justice he claid to uphold. Not about the truth.
I felt the rage clawing at my throat.
"Why don’t you just free them?" I said. The frustration finally bled into my voice. "I told you—they’re innocent!"
Silence.
His eyes t mine, steady. Cold.
But I wasn’t backing down.
I had bled in that underground pit. Fought until I couldn’t feel my legs. Watched my friends risk everything for .
And now, they were being sent to die on a battlefield while this man couldn’t even lift a finger?
I tightened my grip on the crutch with one hand, and on the coin pouch with the other. It felt dirtier now. Heavy. Poisoned.
"Are you ordering ?" the principal said, his tone sharp, brittle like glass ready to shatter. His gaze sharpened, eyes locking onto with sothing more dangerous than irritation—authority challenged.
I froze for half a second, my fists tightening, the pouch of gold still tucked in one palm like a curse.
"That’s not it," I said quickly, voice raised but not aggressive. "I’m just saying... why can’t you do it? They didn’t do anything wrong, and now they’re going to be sent to the battlefield. Think about it—doesn’t that sound unfair to you?"
His brow twitched. That smug mask he’d worn so confidently began to slip.
"Isn’t it their fault," he said slowly, his voice laced with venom, "for trying to act like heroes and failing to do so?"
A beat passed.
And then sothing inside cracked.
"Isn’t it your fault," I snapped, "for allowing that fighting ground to exist in the first place!?"
I didn’t shout, not yet—but my voice was taut, strained, saturated with suppressed rage.
His lips curled slightly downward, eyes narrowing like a predator sizing up a particularly irritating prey.
Why won’t he understand?
My friends had only co to save . I had seen their fear, their desperation. They hadn’t fought for glory, only to pull soone they cared about from a nightmare. Now he wanted to throw them away because it was inconvenient?
Leonardo shifted beside the desk. His piercing gaze bore into like a blade to the side, but I didn’t care anymore. This entire place reeked of corruption and negligence—and I’d had enough.
"Are you questioning , the principal of this academy?!" Principal Morris suddenly shouted, voice reverberating through the entire room like a thunderclap.
"But this is unfair!" I shouted back, no longer bothering to restrain myself.
There was no dignity left in —only pain, frustration, and fury.
He stood now, slamming his hand down on the desk hard enough to send a few scrolls toppling. "You know," he spat, "it’s your friends’ fault for getting involved. And I don’t care even a bit about them. So leave now. And don’t ever co back here."
"Principal, can’t you do sothing about it? I’m begging you," Fia said suddenly, stepping forward with urgency in her tone.
He glared at her. "Don’t butt in. This is not your business. And even if you ask —with this brat’s attitude—I won’t do it."
His words struck like cold steel.
Just because he’s busy... he’s going to send my friends—who are innocent—to die?
Because it’s easier than investigating the truth?
"You... piece of shit!" I shouted, my throat raw with emotion. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. The frustration, the injustice, the agony that started the mont I woke up in that clinic, all boiled over in a single outburst.
Why is this happening to ?
What did I do to deserve this?
Why do the guilty walk free while the innocent are punished for trying to help?
Leonardo’s hand went to his sword.
I saw it—his fingers curling around the hilt, his stance shifting. His eyes didn’t blink.
He was really going to draw it. Again.
This guy... This idiotic knight who can’t see beyond bloodlines and honor.
He’s going to draw a weapon on when his father is the one spitting on justice?
Fine.
If that’s how you want to play—
Then I’ll give you what you’re looking for.
"Water Arrow!" I roared.
Three sharp, gleaming arrows of water burst into form in the air around , whirling forward with terrifying speed, slicing through the still air toward the principal.
"Earth Wall!" Principal Morris’s voice bellowed, deep and resonant.
A thick wall of solid earth erupted from the floor, cutting through the wooden panels and rising in front of him just in ti. My water arrows splashed against it with a hiss of evaporated energy.
Before the sound even faded, I felt it.
A cold presence. A blade.
Leonardo’s sword was already drawn, the tip resting at my throat.
His expression was not one of surprise—only focused rage. Like a trained weapon finally unsheathed.
"What do you think you’re doing?" he growled, low and lethal.
The principal’s voice rose behind him. "You brat! How dare you attack ?!"
But before either of them could do anything—
"Principal Morris! We’re really sorry!" Fia cried out, stepping between us, arms spread as if to block an incoming strike. "Please don’t punish him. He just got fired up because of what happened. Please forgive him!"
And then she bowed.
She—Fia, the top elite magician of this academy—bowed deeply.
My eyes widened. Even Leonardo looked taken aback, frozen mid-movent.
"Fia..." he murmured, like the word left a bitter taste in his mouth.
The principal’s anger lingered in the air, thick and palpable. His breath ca out slow and heavy, fists clenched at his sides. He looked from Fia... to Leonardo... and then to .
Then, at last, he sat back down in his chair.
"Fine," he said, voice cold as winter stone. "This is the first and *last* ti I’ll let it go. Take that brat outside. And don’t ever think of coming back here again. There’s no next ti."
Leonardo clicked his tongue in irritation and withdrew his sword in one sharp, fluid motion. The tension in the room didn’t break—it just shifted, like a storm that had passed without lightning, but still left the world drenched.
"Let’s go, Will," Fia said softly, walking toward with steady steps.
She didn’t wait for my reply.
She just took my wrist—firmly, like she wasn’t going to let go—and led out of the room.
I didn’t resist.
Because if I stayed a second longer, I might’ve burned that office to the ground.
User Comments
0 comments from readers