The next day arrived quietly, but the atmosphere in the academy had changed.
In the mess hall, students who usually ate in cliques found themselves glancing at a certain corner. There, sitting alone with a bowl of rice and soup, was the boy who had humiliated Coren in a clean, silent duel.
Asari ate without rush, spoonful by spoonful. He didn't speak to anyone. Didn't acknowledge the stares. To him, nothing had changed.
But to everyone else?
His name now had weight.
"I heard he never trained at any dojo."
"Then where did he learn that movement? He's like wind."
"Someone said Instructor Vael stopped by the Headmaster's office after the match. You think she mentioned him?"
Theories swirled. Myths began to form.
And Asari?
He simply finished his meal, picked up his stick, and walked out of the hall as if the world wasn't watching.
The sun was already high when Instructor Vael called for today's drills. The students gathered, buzzing with tension.
"All of you," she said, her voice firm and clear, "will form groups of four. Today, you won't be sparring each other. You'll face a guest instructor."
A few students looked confused. Guest instructors were rare.
From the opposite side of the field, a tall man in a dark gray robe stepped forward. His beard was neatly trimmed, and a long wooden staff rested in his hands.
"This is Instructor Hwan," Vael announced. "He specializes in reaction-based combat. You'll be taking turns against him in controlled drills."
Instructor Hwan nodded. "I won't be attacking with force. My goal is to observe your instinct."
Students quickly divided into groups.
Asari ended up with three others: Rian, a short-tempered brawler; Lila, a girl known for her sharp footwork; and Emon, who carried a large sword he could barely control.
Their group was called forward second.
Rian went first. He charged boldly, swinging wide. Instructor Hwan avoided every blow with the ease of a man walking through falling leaves.
Lila fared better—her strikes were clean, disciplined. But even she couldn't land a touch.
Emon was a disaster, nearly hitting Rian by accident.
Then it was Asari's turn.
He stepped forward.
No battle cry. No tightened fists.
He simply looked at Instructor Hwan.
Their eyes met.
"Begin."
Hwan made the first move—a fast flick of his staff aimed at Asari's shoulder.
Asari leaned slightly, just enough to let it pass. No block. Just flow.
The next attack came low. Asari hopped gently, landing without sound.
Then Hwan twisted his staff and jabbed forward.
This time, Asari parried—not with force, but with perfect redirection. His stick met the staff and slid along it, neutralizing the impact.
Hwan smiled slightly.
Interesting.
He shifted into a more complex rhythm. Diagonal slashes, spinning strikes, sudden thrusts.
Still, Asari didn't falter. He danced—not to impress, but to survive. Every step was quiet, refined. As if he'd done this before. As if this wasn't training… but instinct.
Then it happened.
Asari tapped Hwan's wrist with the tip of his stick.
A point.
The courtyard fell silent.
Instructor Hwan lowered his staff and nodded slowly. "You've been taught well."
Asari simply returned the nod. "I taught myself."
A pause.
Hwan blinked once. "Is that so?"
Asari stepped back and rejoined his group.
The whispers returned.
"Did… he just score against Hwan?"
"No one's ever done that in a drill…"
"Who is this guy?"
This time, even the instructors were watching.
Later that afternoon, in the instructor's hall, Instructor Vael stood across from Headmaster Lazar.
"You've seen it, then?" Vael asked.
Lazar stroked his beard thoughtfully. "He's not polished... but he's beyond raw talent. That reaction time. That efficiency."
"He's hiding something," Vael said quietly.
"Or," Lazar replied, "he's simply survived things none of us have."
They both looked out the window, where Asari was walking alone again, stick slung over his back, gaze steady on the path ahead.
"He doesn't crave attention," Lazar added. "But he's earning it anyway."
That evening, a storm rolled across the horizon.
Asari sat on the steps of the dormitory, watching dark clouds build in the distance. Rain hadn't come yet, but the scent was in the air—wet earth and electricity.
Lila approached slowly.
She hesitated a few steps behind him. "Hey."
Asari turned his head slightly.
"You're… kind of amazing," she said, awkwardly scratching her neck. "That thing you did with Hwan… no beginner can do that."
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he asked, "Why are you talking to me?"
She blinked. "What do you mean?"
"No one did before."
She gave a soft laugh. "Because no one noticed you before. That's not the same."
Asari looked back at the clouds.
"I didn't come to be noticed," he murmured.
Lila tilted her head. "Then why did you come here?"
Asari was quiet for a long moment.
Finally, he whispered, "To prepare."
"For what?"
He stood up, tightening the straps on his stick.
"For when the real enemies show up."
And with that, he walked off, leaving Lila stunned under the looming sky.
The storm had not yet come.
But the winds were changing.
And a name was starting to echo through the halls of the academy.
Asari.