Morning came quietly.

  Ethan stirred awake in the dim dormitory light, the first rays of sun barely filtering through the curtains. It was earlier than usual, and the gentle rhythm of his roommates’ breathing filled the silence. Careful not to wake them, he slipped out of bed and moved with practiced stealth, collecting his uniform and heading to the bathroom for a shower.

  The water was cold, but it helped clear his mind.

  After dressing, he made his way to the cafeteria. The early hour meant it was nearly empty, and the kitchen staff was still finishing setup. One of the aunties behind the counter gave him a warm smile and handed him a tray.

  “Thank you,” Ethan said with a polite nod.

  He wasn’t especially hungry, so he kept it simple—a ham and cheese sandwich and a few pieces of fruit. Finding an empty table by the window, he sat down and lifted the sandwich.

  Then a heavy hand cmped down on his shoulder.

  Ethan froze.

  “Let’s go to the infirmary.”

  He knew that voice. Deep, commanding, unmistakable.

  Principal Garrick Thorne.

  His grip wasn’t cruel, but it was unyielding. Ethan quietly set the sandwich down and stood.

  Five minutes ter, he found himself seated in the infirmary, opposite the Principal and Professor Professor Alric. The room felt colder than usual.

  “Do you have what I asked for?” Garrick asked without preamble.

  “It’s here,” Professor Alric said, showing a small gss vial filled with pale, shimmering liquid.

  Garrick turned his attention back to Ethan, his expression grim. “Listen carefully.”

  Ethan sat up straighter.

  “There are things in this world we can overlook—and things we absolutely can’t.” His voice was level, but there was steel beneath the surface. “A demon’s eye is in the ‘absolutely can’t’ category. I know your case is… unique. But that doesn’t change the reality.”

  He folded his arms behind his back, posture rigid as a statue.

  “If word got out, it wouldn’t just be you. Your family, your friends, even half this academy’s staff could end up on a noose. The world doesn’t care whether you’re guilty or not. You’re marked. And if they see that eye, they won’t ask questions.”

  Ethan swallowed hard.

  “I was lenient because you’re still a boy,” Garrick continued. “But if I’d seen that eye on one of my teachers? I’d have drawn my bde before a single word was spoken. Understood?”

  “Y-Yes, sir.”

  The Principal gave a short nod. “Now. Regarding your case. I’ve sent an urgent letter to the royal court. I’ve expined the full situation. Whether you’re allowed to keep the eye will be their decision.”

  “What if they say no?” Ethan asked, voice low.

  “Then it’s over,” Garrick said pinly. “You’ll have to repce it. If you’re lucky, they might fund a new impnt, or issue some form of pardon—like a royal seal or enchanted clearance. But you’ll likely be summoned for an audience.”

  “And I should… not mention anything about Dark Magic, right?”

  Garrick’s smile was grim.

  “Ah, that’s the fun part,” he said. “If you do… you’ll be tortured until you confess who taught you. Then you’ll be branded with a sve mark and bound by a magical contract to serve a royal heir until the day you die. Or worse.”

  Ethan stared at him, pale.

  “Can they force me to confess?”

  “No. Not unless you give them reason to suspect. As far as they’re concerned, you’re an unfortunate student who received a demonic eye by accident. Act like it.”

  “I see… When will the audience happen?”

  Garrick shrugged. “Do I look like a royal to you? I don’t know. But when the time comes, you’ll be notified a day or two in advance… probably.”

  A beat passed.

  “So, what’s the potion for?” Ethan asked, eyeing the vial.

  “That,” Garrick said, already turning toward the door, “I’ll let Professor Alric expin. I’ve got work to do.”

  He paused at the doorway and gave Ethan one st look.

  “You might find this unfair. Maybe even cruel. But one day, when you’re older and burdened with real responsibilities, you’ll understand.”

  With that, he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

  Ethan turned to Professor Alric.

  “So?” he asked, voice dry as he slumped into a chair.

  “No need to sit, this’ll be quick,” Professor Alric replied, waving him off.

  Ethan stood again, eyebrows raised.

  “This,” Professor Alric said, holding up the vial, “is a modified version of a rare eye-dye potion. One drop, and your demon eye will look completely normal. Human. I adjusted the formu to match your other eye's color.”

  Ethan’s shoulders sank slightly. “Is it permanent?”

  “Of course not,” Professor Alric scoffed. “One drop sts about a day. Apply it every morning—or at night if you prefer. Look at the lid—it’s got a tiny hole. Just turn it over your eye and wait for the drop.”

  Ethan took the vial and nodded.“Got it. Don’t drink it. One drop a day.”

  “Good.” Professor Alric narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t just cosmetic. It’s your safety net. If someone catches you without it…”

  “I know.” Ethan’s fingers tightened around the vial. “Couldn’t you have given me this from the start?”

  “And waste the fun?” Professor Alric said, smirking. Then he waved a hand. “Kidding—mostly. Back in my day, using demon parts was a symbol of strength. It meant you conquered your enemy and made their power yours. That practice is mostly lost now… and seeing all this, I get why. Sorry, kid. I did it with good intentions.”

  “Sorry here as well. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful,” Ethan replied with a sigh. “It’s just… this eye’s been nothing but a headache.”

  “Well, that and half your field of vision back, right?”

  “…True.” Ethan managed a tired smile. “Sorry again.”

  “Stop that,” Professor Alric grumbled, waving him off. “You should be thanking me instead!”

  Ethan chuckled. “Got it. Thanks as always, Professor. Have a nice day.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Go on, get to css before someone else starts asking questions.”

  Ancient History css had crawled by with all the energy of a funeral march. Professor Liora's monotone voice droned endlessly as she outlined the geopolitical ndscape of the ancient world—a time when human empires dominated and the other races were either forced into uneasy alliances or ensved, until the outbreak of the Demon Lord War. The subject itself was fascinating, but Liora's delivery sucked every drop of life from it. Ethan found himself wishing he could study the material in his room instead—at least there he wouldn't be lulled into a trance.

  After the long, painful session ended, students were given a short break for lunch before the next css: Common Language, taught by Professor Renald Quince.

  Professor Quince was a man in his te thirties, always sharp in posture, with hazel-green eyes usually hidden behind slim reading gsses. His curly, shoulder-length dark brown hair was often in schorly disarray, and his passion for literature bordered on obsession. Each css, he left the students a metaphor or riddle to solve—those who succeeded earned 0.5 bonus points to apply toward any test. Ethan had quietly racked up 2.5 so far, aiming to save a full 10 for the final exam just for fun.

  Today was no exception.

  Sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the lecture hall as students trickled back in, some still sore from the morning’s training, others whispering about the Monster Ecology trial. Then the door creaked open.

  Professor Quince strode in, his long ste-blue coat swaying like a curtain in a breeze. He pced his satchel on the desk, adjusted his cuffs, and scanned the room with an expression of quiet scrutiny.

  “Before we begin today’s lesson,” he said, voice clear and deliberate, “a brief reminder. Today is the final day to register for the inter-academy tournament against the Royal Academy.”

  A few students straightened in their seats, murmurs rippling across the room.

  “If you’re already part of a registered team—excellent,” Quince continued. “But if you are not, I strongly recommend joining the singles bracket. It’s more than a contest of strength. It’s a chance to evaluate yourself, observe others, and most importantly—grow.”

  He allowed a small, knowing smile. “And for those of you motivated by practical matters: the top three participants in the singles tournament will earn academy credits. These can be exchanged for private lessons, rare materials, or even skill books from the restricted section of the library.”

  His tone hardened just slightly. “Don't let fear of failure stop you. You're not here to watch from the sidelines. You're here to push beyond your limits.”

  With that, he turned to the board and began writing the day’s lesson in long, fluid strokes.

  Ethan leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, mulling over the announcement. He wasn’t on a team—and forming one now was pointless. But singles... that was doable.

  He recalled the arena duels he had watched recently. Sure, the fighters were stronger and faster, but not by a margin he couldn’t overcome. Especially if he pyed smart. And besides, the tournament matches were short. His biggest weakness—stamina—might not even come into py.

  Most of the top-tier students would be competing in the team event anyway. That left the singles bracket wide open for underdogs.

  Okay—maybe calling them “underdogs” was unfair. But retively speaking? Yeah. He might stand a chance.

  He smirked to himself.

  It was worth a shot. At worst, he’d gain experience. At best?

  A few credits and bragging rights wouldn’t hurt.

  And best of all—win or lose, it wouldn’t cost him a single silver.

  As css ended and students began to file out, Ethan rose from his seat with one goal in mind: get to the registration hall and sign up for the singles tournament before he lost his nerve.

  He didn’t get far.

  “Ethan!”

  He turned, only to find himself surrounded by Misha, Anya, and Celica, all wearing determined expressions. He froze. “Uh... hello?”

  “Ethan, we need your help!” Anya was the first to speak, stepping closer with urgency in her voice.

  “Right! Please help us!” Misha added, her tone much softer but just as insistent.

  Ethan blinked, completely caught off guard. “Okay...? What’s going on?”

  “You’re friends with Eliza, right?” Anya asked.

  “Acquaintances,” he replied cautiously. “Why?”

  “Can you convince her to enter the tournament?”

  “I already talked to her. She said teams are a hassle.”

  “No, not the team one. The singles,” Celica crified.

  Ethan nearly staggered. The singles?! If Eliza entered, his chances of reaching the top three would crash and burn on the spot.

  He tried to keep his voice level. “...And why would I do that?”

  The three girls exchanged looks before Anya sighed dramatically. “Long story short: a couple of loudmouths from the warrior css picked a fight with us. And someone—” she gave Celica a side gnce “—said the matter should be settled in the singles tournament.”

  “I wanted to fight them myself,” Celica defended, crossing her arms. “But since I already joined a team for the party tournament, I can’t enter singles. So we thought... Eliza was our best bet.”

  Ethan nodded slowly. “Well, yeah. She’s good with both magic and daggers. But even if you lose, what’s the big deal?”

  “We might’ve also... bet our credits on it,” Celica added, folding her arms.

  Ethan frowned. “Wait—you can bet credits?”

  Misha nodded, cheeks a little red. “Yes. Credits can be traded between students. It’s allowed, as long as both parties write it in their booklets. The Academy tracks it. But if someone tries to force a trade... it’s considered extortion.”

  “And the punishment is paying back double once it’s proven,” Celica finished.

  “...Huh. Never thought credits could be gambled away.” Ethan admited.

  “It’s actually the second most common use,” Anya said.

  “What’s the first?” Ethan questioned.

  “Selling them for money.” Anya answered.

  “...Makes sense.” Ethan rubbed the back of his neck, then sighed. “Fine. I’ll try. But no promises, alright?”

  “Do this for us,” Anya grinned mischievously, “and Misha will reward you with a kiss.”

  “I will—ANNA!” Misha gasped, her face turning crimson. She whirled to her friend and began lightly smacking her arm. “Don’t say weird things!”

  “What? You wouldn’t?” Anya teased.

  “I–I–I mean... maybe I would... if he wanted...” Misha mumbled, shrinking behind her hands.

  Ethan raised an eyebrow and smirked. “From you, I’ll accept a kiss anytime, Misha. But even if you don’t, I’ll help for free.”

  “It’s not like I don’t want to, you idiot...” she muttered, turning away, her face flushed.

  “Good,” he said, leaning in with a mischievous glint. “Then here’s an advance.”

  He gave her a pyful kiss on the back of her neck.

  “Kyaa! Ethan!” Misha yelped, jumping away and covering the spot. “Stop teasing me!”

  Anya and Celica ughed, though both of them looked away with slightly pink cheeks—part embarrassment, part jealousy.

  “Bullying you is one of the perks of being your boyfriend,” Ethan quipped.

  “Ethan… you’re so—ugh!”

  “Anyway,” he said, stepping back with a grin, “I’m off. Before Misha decides to bite me again.”

  “Again!?” Anya and Celica chorused, immediately turning to Misha.

  Misha’s face somehow turned even redder. “I—I didn’t mean to! It was—!” She whimpered. “Can someone please dig me a hole right now...?”

  Ethan found her by the garden fountain, as usual. The te afternoon sun cast warm reflections over the water's surface, and for a moment, a memory flickered across his mind—the memory of that night, of her lips, and the lingering taste of stolen mana. His face flushed slightly at the thought, but he gave himself a quick mental sp and approached with as much confidence as he could muster.

  “Hello, Eliza.”

  She gnced up from the fountain, unimpressed. “Ethan.”

  “I heard you’re not interested in the singles tournament.”

  Eliza narrowed her eyes. “So they sent reinforcements.”

  “Exactly! I’m the valiant knight in shining armor,” he said, striking a mock-heroic pose. “Don’t I look the part?”

  “Piss off, wannabe squire. You can’t even ride a horse.”

  “Details,” Ethan waved off. “Anyway—can we negotiate?”

  “Negotiate? For me to go make a fool of myself in front of everyone?” she scoffed.

  “Come on, it won’t be that bad.”

  Eliza gave him a ft look. “Ethan, do you know why our Academy focuses on the team tournament every year?”

  “…Because it’s more fun?”

  She groaned. “No, you idiot. It’s because the Royal Academy sends their best to the singles tournament. Every. Single. Year.”

  “Oh…”

  “The singles bracket is a rigged game,” she said bitterly. “The winners are practically pre-decided. The rest of us? We’re just background noise. Clowns in the arena.”

  Ethan rubbed his chin. “That’s… kind of depressing.”

  “That’s why I’m not wasting my time,” she said. “So stop bothering me about it.”

  He fell silent, staring at the ripples in the water. Her words weren’t wrong. If what she said was true, then beating even one Royal student would be a miracle. Reaching the top three? Practically impossible. But not completely impossible. If a bracket split just right, maybe… just maybe, the other side wouldn’t have a Royal in it. Slim odds, sure—but not zero.

  Still, the real question wasn’t whether he believed it was possible.

  It was how to convince her.

  A grin slowly crept across his lips as the answer dawned on him.

  “What if I give you an incentive?” he asked.

  Eliza’s ear twitched almost immediately. Like she’d been waiting for those exact words.

  “Oh?” she said, doing her best to sound disinterested. “What kind of incentive?”

  “I’ll give you a bit of my mana before every match.”

  She paused, clearly trying not to look too eager. “Hmm… that does sound tempting. But what’s in it for you?”

  Ethan shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m doing someone a favor.”

  Eliza frowned slightly, reading between the lines. “I see… that girl, huh?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, whatever. That’s your problem,” she said with a sigh. “Fine. I accept.”

  “Great!” Ethan grinned and grabbed her hand. “Then let’s hurry! If we’re te, no mana for y—”

  He didn’t finish.

  Because the moment she heard the words no mana, Eliza took off like an arrow. With her hand still gripping his, she yanked him forward—and he almost tripped trying to keep up.

  “H-Hey! Wait! We still have time!” Ethan called out, half-ughing, half-panicked, as Eliza bolted forward, dragging him by the wrist.

  “No risks!” she snapped over her shoulder, not slowing for a second. “You said ‘no mana,’ and I’m not missing it!”

  “Seriously, Eliza—slow down! I don’t have your legs!” Ethan cried, stumbling after her.

  “Not my problem!” she shot back, a wicked smile curling on her lips as she gleefully yanked him along.

  And like that, Ethan was dragged—helpless and wheezing—all the way to the registration desk by a very determined, mana-hungry sadist in disguise.