The rain came down in sheets that night, washing the blood from the academy's training courts and drowning the whispers that still clung to the walls.
Sebastian Raizen stood beneath the overhang of the eastern tower, gaze fixed on the flickering wards that surrounded the Inner Sanctum. Lightning tore across the sky. For a heartbeat, his reflection appeared in the rippling mana field—a ghost in white.
Not his hair.
Not yet.
But his eyes.
Those were the eyes of someone already at war.
"You're watching him again," a voice said from behind.
Sebastian didn't turn. "He thinks clawing his way up the rankings will make a difference."
"You're not impressed?" Luna Blossomveil asked, stepping forward. The storm outlined her in silver, her silver hair dancing like threads of starlight. "Garet's doing what many couldn't. From commoner dust to twelfth place in one season."
"I'm not interested in his position," Sebastian said. "I'm interested in what he'll do after the climb stops working."
Luna raised a brow. "And you? When will you stop pretending you're still asleep?"
Sebastian's lips curled into something between amusement and regret. "When the world gives me a reason to wake up."
---
Elsewhere in the Academy, deep within the Eighth Tier District, a girl with bone-white hair and a single jagged scar down her chin trained in silence. Her fists struck the reinforced dummy with rhythmic precision—bones reinforced by mana, muscles honed through pain.
She didn't speak. She never did.
But when her instructor—a gaunt, hook-nosed noble—muttered that she'd plateaued, she turned her head, cracked her neck once, and struck the dummy so hard it burst into shards.
"Have her dossier sent to the Raizens," the instructor whispered to his attendant. "She's ready."
---
The next day, the Academy's atmosphere shifted.
Not with a roar, but a hush.
A stillness.
A kind of quiet that made the most perceptive students lift their heads and check their surroundings. There were no announcements. No alerts. But something was coming. They felt it.
At the center of this quiet, Sebastian Raizen stepped into the Inner Sanctum—finally.
His entrance was unannounced, but it may as well have been a declaration.
Every eye turned toward him.
The nobles who thought he was just a quiet Raizen. The students who saw him win once and vanish. Even the top 10, who rarely stirred unless blood was spilled, stirred now.
"Finally," Luna muttered under her breath, watching from the balcony. "Let them see what you really are."
---
Sebastian's first match wasn't scheduled.
It wasn't needed.
A tall boy from the 9th seat stepped down from the observation platform, twirling his halberd lazily. His name was Rouren Elgar. A noble, battle-tested, ranked for a reason.
"I was wondering if the ghost of the Raizens would show up again," Rouren said. "I'd hate to think all that silence was just cowardice."
Sebastian tilted his head. "You think words like that earn you a fight?"
"No," Rouren replied, pointing his halberd at Sebastian's chest. "But I think you want one."
A ripple spread through the courtyard. Wards activated. Spectators leaned in.
Then it began.
---
Rouren charged first—halberd spinning low then sweeping upward, aiming to catch Sebastian's side with sheer force.
Sebastian moved like water.
One step back. Hand up.
Clang.
The halberd froze mid-arc—caught by two fingers.
Gasps erupted.
Rouren tried to wrench it free, mana flaring.
Sebastian twisted his wrist.
Crack!
Rouren's shoulder dislocated. His own weapon slammed into his chin and sent him tumbling backwards.
It wasn't even a fight.
Sebastian walked away before the first medic arrived.
Sebastian Raizen was now active.
But more importantly…
For the first time in weeks, no one spoke of Garet Caelren.
Because Sebastian was back.
And something about the storm in his eyes told them—
He was only getting started.