Ran walked away from the stadium, the dull roar of the crowd behind him fading into the hum of wind brushing across the marble courtyards of Fafnir Academy. The shadows had begun to stretch, cast long and thin beneath the towering arches and bronze statues of forgotten heroes.
The crimson blade strapped to his back throbbed with a faint pulse, and the spiral seal on his chest remained warm—an eternal reminder that the calm he showed was anything but true peace.
He rounded the corner toward the northern path, hoping to head straight to the exit. That's when he saw them.
Five figures stood lounging beside the corridor's edge, dressed in flamboyant academy coats embroidered with gold thread and family crests. Their voices were loud, mocking, the type that demanded attention and expected submission. Ran's eyes narrowed. Among them was the same group who had bullied the frail boy earlier—the boy with no name, spit on for daring to dream.
The leader stepped forward.
Martin.
A third-year student, infamous for harassing newcomers under the guise of "toughening them up." With slicked-back brown hair, a square jaw, and a crooked smirk, he oozed the kind of confidence that came from privilege, not power.
"Well, well. If it ain't the little freak from the arena."
Ran didn't reply. He barely spared him a glance.
Martin scoffed and looked around at his followers.
"Did you see that shit today? What was that—some cursed sword trick? You tryin' to act all spooky and mysterious?"
Ran walked past him without a word.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"Oi. I asked you a question."
The others surrounded him quickly, forming a loose circle. Students passing by slowed, watching with mild curiosity before continuing on. No one interfered. No one cared.
"Probably just got lucky. You see that smile? That creepy-ass smile? He's gotta be possessed or something."
One of the bullies said.
"Maybe he's got some enchantment that makes his opponent piss themselves."
Another laughed.
"How else does a no-name like him beat a foreign noble?"
Martin chuckled darkly, stepping in front of Ran.
"You're just a commoner. Got no family. No land. No worth. You'll die the same way you were born. Nameless. Meaningless."
Still, Ran said nothing. His expression didn't change, but inside, his heart began to beat harder.
Martin leaned in.
"If you're so tough, how about you prove it to us? Right now. Pants down."
Ran blinked.
The words echoed louder than they should've, drawing a few more glances from bystanders.
"Yeah, show us if you're even a man."
One of the lackeys barked, emboldened by Martin.
"Pants down, pants down!"
They started chanting. Loudly. Like children daring someone to jump off a cliff.
Ran's expression remained unchanged. But the spiral mark on his chest flickered with heat. The crimson sword at his back whispered for blood.
"Go away."
He said, voice barely above a whisper.
"What? Did the little freak just squeak something?"
Martin laughed, stepping closer again.
Ran turned his head slowly, locking eyes with him.
"Go.... away!"
In an instant, Martin froze.
Ran's irises glowed faintly red. Not with magic, but something older. Something colder. His smile wasn't forced—it was instinctive, curved not by joy but by the sick thrill of potential violence. He didn't move. He didn't raise a hand. But Martin took a step back. Then another.
Ran walked forward. Right past him.
Martin's legs wouldn't stop shaking.
His friends were baffled.
"Martin? What the hell was that?"
Martin didn't answer. He stared at the ground, sweat pouring down his temples.
"He... his eyes... they were..... It was like looking at a beast wearing a man's skin."
Ran didn't look back. The pressure faded. The crowd dispersed.
He exited the academy grounds and made for the Redwood Forest.
There, surrounded by the ancient trees and the ever-cascading falls, he could breathe. No eyes. No expectations. No pretenses.
Just solitude.
He trained for hours, each swing of his blade humming with suppressed power. He meditated beneath the waterfall, letting it crash against his back until his body went numb and his mind cleared. Sometimes he hunted beasts, using their ferocity as fuel for his restraint. Other times, he overdid it—leaving craters and mangled corpses in his wake.
The days passed. Two, to be exact.
Each morning, he returned to the academy for his next match. His opponents, by now, had heard of him—whispers passed around in hushed tones.
The boy with the cursed sword.
The smiling demon.
And so they fought him with fear in their eyes. Fear made them sloppy. Weak.
And Ran, never smiling again after that first match, defeated them one after another with brutal efficiency.
The crowds no longer cheered or booed.
They simply watched.
Today's fight was no different. His opponent had surrendered before the battle even got serious. One swing of his crimson blade and the noble boy had dropped his weapon in terror.
"Please! I—I yield!"
Ran left the arena in silence.
"Just four more."
He muttered.
That's when he saw her.
Dawn Montello.
She stood by the exit arch, arms folded, eyes following him like a hawk stalking prey.
Ran stopped. Her presence was... undeniable. Whit hair flowing past her shoulders, a uniform tailored to perfection, and eyes that gleamed with quiet wisdom and hidden fire. She was elegance and danger wrapped into one.
And she was staring at him with a look he couldn't understand. Not contempt. Not pity.
Curiosity.
"You're getting stronger."
She said.
Ran blinked. His heartbeat quickened.
It would be a lie to say he wasn't drawn to her.
Still, he turned his gaze away.
"Nobles shouldn't mingle with lowly commoners."
He said quietly.
She frowned.
"You helped me, remember? Back in town."
"That doesn't mean we're allies."
He stepped past her, not daring to look back.
She watched him go, her eyes narrowing, as if trying to solve a puzzle written in blood and silence.