'How did she even slip the note? I'm sure she didn't so much as touch —' Leo thought, his eyes widening in surprise.
The realization unsettled him. He had been hyper-aware of his surroundings, trained to notice even the smallest details, and yet, the note had appeared in his hand undetected.
His mind retraced the exchange—
The instructor's sharp gaze lingering on him for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary, the deliberate way she had walked past without breaking stride...
But no matter how hard he tried to recall, he couldn't pinpoint any obvious movent, no subtle shift or sleight of hand that could explain it.
Yet, sohow, she had planted the note on him without his knowledge.
'She's skilled,' Leo admitted, suppressing a frown. If she could slip sothing into his palm this easily, she could just as effortlessly have planted a dagger between his ribs.
A chill ran through him. 'I'm too weak.'
The thought sat heavy in his chest. For all his instincts and reflexes, he had been completely outmaneuvered.
'Who was she?' He tried to recall her na but failed.
She had never introduced herself, nor had he managed to glimpse her na tag.
Yet, her appearance was etched into his mory with perfect clarity.
She was tall for a woman, at least 5'10, with an athletic fra sculpted from years of combat training. Her jet-black hair was cut just above her shoulders, neatly tucked behind her ears.
High cheekbones and a sharp jawline gave her a striking, almost severe look, while her light olive skin was smooth and unblemished—unusual, considering the brutal nature of military life.
There was nothing overly distinctive about her—no visible scars, no features that imdiately stood out. And yet, sothing about her presence made her impossible to ignore.
Leo exhaled sharply, pushing the thoughts aside.
'If she's an instructor here, I'll see her again soon enough.'
For now, it was best to focus on what was in front of him.
A quick glance around showed the other recruits already preoccupied with finding their rooms, too absorbed in their own concerns to notice him lingering.
Realizing he had been standing still for too long, Leo turned toward the soft board displaying the dormitory assignnts and scanned the list quickly.
Leo Skyshard – Room 316.
morizing the number, he turned away and made his way toward his room.
His fingers curled slightly around the note in his palm.
As soon as he was alone, he planned to finally read it.
*************
(Dormitory 316)
The first-year housing within the Rodova Military Academy was simple yet elegant.
There was no excess luxury, no unnecessary embellishnts—just an efficient, well-designed space ant to accommodate students without distractions.
As Leo stepped inside, the door slid shut behind him with a soft click. The room was spacious enough for a single occupant, neither too large nor too cramped. The walls were a muted gray, the flooring sleek and well-polished, reflecting the academy's minimalist, military design.
Against the far wall sat a sturdy bed, neatly made with crisp black sheets and a firm mattress. Adjacent to it was a small but functional desk, its surface bare except for a built-in terminal—likely ant for accessing academy resources and coursework.
To the left, a tall wardrobe stood, its doors slightly ajar to reveal space for the storage of academy-issued uniforms and personal belongings. A separate compartnt seed designated for weapons storage, reinforcing the reality that this was not a typical school dormitory.
At the back of the room, a private bathroom was tucked neatly into the layout. A quick glance inside revealed a sleek shower, a simple sink, and a mirror mounted above it—efficient and to the point, just like everything else in the academy.
Leo set his belongings down on the desk and exhaled slowly. The tension from the day's trials still lingered in his muscles, but now, for the first ti, he was truly alone.
His gaze shifted to the note still clutched in his palm, as without wasting another second, he pulled out the small piece of paper, unfolded it, and began to read.
"First of all, congratulations on making it into the Rodova Military Academy. I am certain that the entrance test was no easy feat, especially considering how you have forgotten most of your abilities."
Leo's frown deepened.
He didn't care for flattery. Whoever had written this letter knew exactly what had happened to him—knew that his mory loss wasn't natural, but intentional. And yet, they spoke as though it were so minor inconvenience.
The words felt hollow. Calculated.
"However, I had faith that you would pull through, for you are what one could describe as a 'generational talent.'"
Leo exhaled sharply through his nose. He hated this type of praise, the kind that felt more like manipulation than admiration.
Generational talent? That ant nothing to him. If he truly was such a prodigy, then why had he felt so lost in the entrance test? Why did every fight leave him doubting his own instincts?
The letter continued, and as his eyes moved down the page, his discomfort only grew.
"Tomorrow, you will undergo aptitude testing, during which your background will be assessed. It is then that you will co to appreciate the loss of your mory."
Leo's grip on the paper tightened slightly.
So, his past was sothing dangerous? Sothing that couldn't withstand scrutiny?
"morize the symbol I have drawn at the bottom of this note and present it to the instructor at the appropriate ti. Do not ask questions. Just do it."
His gaze flicked to the bottom of the page.
A symbol was etched there—intricate yet unfamiliar. It resembled an interwoven set of geotric lines, forming a crest-like emblem.
Leo felt no good vibes from this.
Every instinct told him that whoever wrote this was toying with him, feeding him just enough information to keep him on a leash.
"I know you are eager to regain your mories, but now is not the correct ti for you to recall them.
Your mories will be returned to you when the ti is right. For now, your focus should be on performing well within the academy."
Leo's jaw clenched as anger slowly bubbled up inside him.
His fingers curled, the edges of the note crinkling under his grip.
Soone was controlling him. Deciding what he could and couldn't know, dangling his own past in front of him like bait.
He hated it.
And yet...
He knew he had no other choice but to comply with the manipulator's whims for now.
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