To the world, Kael Riven had returned unchanged.
He still walked with his hands in his pockets.
Still yawned in class.
Still trained alone without ever bothering to use the high-end gear.
He didn't chase popularity.
Didn't explain the duel.
Didn't gloat, didn't sulk.
Just existed, aloof and distant—like he always had.
But those who paid attention noticed something strange.
He walked a little slower now.
Hung around places he never did before.
Sometimes paused near conversations he normally ignored.
No one suspected that he was listening.
Not to the words—those didn't matter.
People babbled about the duel, made up wild theories, romanticized the clash.
He didn't care.
What he listened for...
was a tone.
A cadence.
A voice that matched the one that had whispered into his near-dead ears.
"Next time… don't die just to prove a point."
He remembered the softness. The near anger behind the tenderness.
Whoever they were, it wasn't just healing—it had been personal.
And now, every idle stroll he took had a purpose.
Every pass through the library wing, the gardens, even the dueling pits, was a hunt.
He memorized voices in the cafeteria.
He eavesdropped on healers, professors, groundskeepers.
Nothing matched.
But he didn't give up.
Mid-afternoon. Clear skies. Warm breeze. Kael sat alone on a bench pretending to nap.
Then a shadow blocked the sun.
Lucien stood there, arms crossed. "They want us."
Kael cracked one eye open. "Who's they?"
"Headmaster," Lucien replied. "Office. Now."
Kael didn't move for a moment.
Then sighed. "This better not be about punishment. I'm broke."
Lucien smirked and offered a hand. Kael ignored it and stood himself.
The Headmaster's office was perched in the central tower.
Dark wood. Heavy books. Too many quills. Not enough smiles.
The man behind the desk was old, sharp-eyed, and wearing an expression between amusement and irritation.
He looked at Lucien. Then Kael.
And folded his hands.
"You nearly leveled my arena," he said dryly. "So. Let's talk."
Lucien smiled like he always does when he knows he can get away with something.
Kael said nothing, letting his silence settle into the room like a knife being unsheathed.
The Headmaster leaned forward. "The duel. You both agreed to it. And yet…"
His eyes shifted. "Neither of you fought like students. You fought like monsters."
Kael didn't flinch. But he did speak.
"You invited the crowd."
"Yes. For spectacle," the Headmaster replied. "Not a deathmatch."
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "No one died."
"Barely."
A pause.
Then the Headmaster leaned back. "I've seen Saint-rank duels that looked tame compared to you two. So tell me, boys—what are you hiding?"
Lucien just shrugged with princely arrogance. "I'm talented."
The Headmaster looked to Kael.
Kael met his gaze. "I just didn't want to lose."
They stared at each other for a long moment.
Then the Headmaster gave a short, dry laugh. "If this is your way of avoiding punishment, it's working. You've become our most valuable headaches."
He stood.
"And from this day on, consider yourselves... monitored."
Lucien frowned. "You mean protected."
The Headmaster smiled faintly. "We'll see."
As they walked down the tower steps, Lucien nudged him.
"You could've said something more dramatic, you know. 'I trained with dragons in the void' or something."
Kael looked ahead. "I liked your excuse better."
Lucien chuckled.
Kael didn't.
He was already listening again.
The halls whispered, buzzed, trembled with fear, envy, awe.
But none of them had that voice.
Not yet.
But he would find it.
Even if it took tearing down the academy stone by stone.