After the first day, an entire week slipped by without much fanfare—just endless study sessions and the Combat professor running them ragged until their legs felt like lead.

That man was a nightmare, even for the so-called main cast.

Ring.

The bell's chime cut through the classroom.

"That's it for today," Illiana said. But instead of leaving, she lingered, her eyes sweeping over the students.

A moment later, she continued.

"Cadets be ready after the weekend. There will be a one-on-one fight with a monster—it will be your first test."

The room stirred with excitement and unease.

"Haa, finally, some action," one boy whispered, only to have his friend nudge him sharply.

"Don't underestimate the academy," the friend warned. "Even if you've fought monsters before."

'Ho, someone smart for a change', Azhriel thought.

The boy was right. This wouldn't be a match against simple creatures. The academy's methods were harsh, almost cruel in their precision.

These monsters weren't wild—they had been raised and trained on an isolated island owned by the academy, specifically to be difficult to deal with.

"Prepare well," Illiana said, her tone flat but weighty. "It will affect your rankings."

With that, she turned and strode out, leaving the quiet tension behind.

Azhriel stood up with fluid swiftness, slipping his books and notebook into his dimensional ring in a smooth motion. Just as he turned to leave, a hand reached out to block his path.

"Hey, dude, where are you running off to in such a hurry?" Kevin asked, tilting his head with a teasing grin.

Raymond and the others gathered around too, sensing the familiar routine.

"I have something to do," Azhriel replied plainly, his voice devoid of detail or interest. His eyes, sharp and distant, made it clear he wasn't in the mood for conversation.

Kevin narrowed his gaze slightly, then scoffed.

"Don't tell me you're gonna go train again. Are you in a secret competition with Raymond and Samuel or something—trying to win the title of 'New Training Junkie'?" He groaned, dramatically slumping his shoulders.

Raymond, standing beside him, chuckled. "If it is a competition, I'm not losing to either of you."

Samuel just nodded coolly, arms folded.

Kevin pointed at all three. "You guys are insane. I came here to survive, not turn into a walking corpse by week two."

"Shut up, Kevin. Training is important," Samuel said curtly, crossing his arms with a firm tone that shut Kevin up instantly.

Still, after a short pause, his expression softened slightly. "Though... for today, we were thinking of taking a little break."

He turned to Azhriel, who was already halfway to the door. "So, Azhriel—wanna hang out with us for once?"

"Sorry. I have some urgent things to do today. Next time," Azhriel replied without looking back, his voice even and unreadable as he stepped out into the corridor.

"It's fine," Raymond said, shaking his head with a slight smirk.

"I can bet he's going to train again," Kevin muttered, arms flailing in exaggerated defeat.

"Well… who knows?" Raymond shrugged, though he didn't sound too uncertain.

"Heh, if he keeps this up, I think he's going to be a tough one—even for the two of you."

The voice came from behind, and they turned slightly to see Chloe approaching.

Her presence always carried a strange elegance, one that made her seem simultaneously part of their group and entirely separate from it.

Raymond chuckled. "Wouldn't that make things more fun?"

His smile wasn't arrogant, just honest. "Having someone else among us who won't fall easily… it'd make things more interesting."

To any outsider, the exchange might've sounded smug—cocky, even. But within this circle of prodigies, it wasn't mere bravado.

Because it was the truth.

Raymond's power, when fully unleashed, was overwhelming.

There were very few cadets who could even remain standing after he got serious—and only Samuel had ever truly pushed him to the edge.

The rest of the academy, no matter their background or bloodline, were still playing catch-up.

And yet… now there was Azhriel.

Quiet. Reserved. Mysterious.

Perhaps Tireless also.

Someone who trained like a man chasing time itself.

Someone who, despite never displaying his true strength, had begun to draw the eyes of even the strongest among them.

*******

Click.

The soft metallic sound of the lock echoed faintly as Azhriel secured the door behind him. The world outside his dorm faded into silence.

Normally, at this hour, he would head straight to the personal training hall—one of the elite privileges reserved for the academy's top ten.

A place where most pushed themselves to sharpen their edges.

But not today.

He stood still for a moment, then turned toward the wardrobe. With practiced ease, he slipped out of his academy uniform and reached for the set of clothes waiting within—a different persona for a different kind of night.

Piece by piece, he transformed.

Azhriel draped the cloak over his shoulders—an artifact from his parents. It shimmered faintly under the room's ambient lighting, not with ostentation but with a refined authority.

The fabric, sleek like woven metal, bore intricate, near-invisible arcane etchings across its surface. Delicate silver borders ran along its edges like veins of moonlight, humming with dormant power.

Underneath, he wore a high-collared tunic, tailored to fit snug against his frame.

The dark layered fabric clung like a second skin, textured in a pattern that evoked like dragon scales—elegant and formidable.

Fingerless gloves slid over his hands next, tight and reinforced at the knuckles. Along the wrist and forearm, thin strands of luminous circuitry pulsed gently, linking to faint glyphs carved into the fabric.

A glowing ring, adorned with a slow-turning, crystalline core, nestled itself onto his finger. The light refracted with each movement of his hand, leaving afterimages in the air.

From both ears hung long, thin earrings embedded with crimson gems—rare blood opals that shimmered like frozen flames.

It was one of the most important thing, it was an Artifact that changed his hair colour to black.

Finally, he stood before the mirror.

Piercing blue eyes stared back—cold and thoughtful, the kind of eyes that saw beyond surface, beyond illusion.

They were framed by the sleek fall of his now black hair, left untied for the evening.

No trace of the academy remained in his reflection.

Then, he moved out of the academy.

*******