[Ruvian’s POV]

Three representatives of Velthia Academy’s highest authority stood before them, their mere presence silencing the dining hall.

‘Nereus Calleon, Osiris Malvain and Parisa Felaris. Velthia’s strongest scholar of all batches. The Scholar Council.’

Ruvian hadn't expected them to emit this much aura.

Nereus, who had intercepted Julian’s attack—a scholar with dark navy hair and cold blue eyes, still held Julian’s wrist in an iron grip. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, edged with an authority that left no room for rebelliousness.

“You seem to have forgotten yourself, Rozenberg.”

At Julian’s side, a young woman stepped forward. Her striking gold eyes gleamed with restrained amusement. Her high-collared Scholar uniform bore the weight of rank and pedigree without the need for ornament.

At her fingertips, golden light still flickered. The remnants of the intervention that had unraveled Julian’s spell effortlessly.

Parisa regarded the two of them—Julian, simmering behind a veil of pride, and Ruvian, impassive as usual.

“An altercation within academy grounds,” she said while staring at both of them. “How foolish. Have the two of you already forgotten the gravity of where you stand? Hmph! Scholars these days…”

Then, her gaze drifted to Ruvian, and something playful danced behind her golden eyes.

“And you. Did you think provoking a noble in public would end in anything less than a spectacle? What kind of foolishness is that?”

The third figure, Osiris, a tall scholar, adjusted his glasses, and studied them both before speaking, his voice smooth and strict.

"Velthia Academy is built on order, not personal feuds. Whether it’s a noble flaunting his power or a commoner with a reckless tongue, neither will be excused.”

The weight in the room shifted.

Julian stiffened, the storm in his eyes tempered by frustration. But Ruvian… he only exhaled, his clenched fists loosening.

'Good, they're on time.'

He had already expected this.

Ruvian had orchestrated it all from the start.

The provocation. The timing. Even the setting.

Every piece had been placed deliberately. He needed to pull Julian into action… and he had. The Scholar Council always passed through these halls at this hour. Getting caught wasn’t a misstep but was part of the plan.

Julian, for his part, stood unfazed. He understood the game well enough to know where the lines were drawn, and more importantly, how far he could push.

Parisa exhaled, arms folding with a rustle of fine fabric. Her golden eyes narrowed.

“Since you provoked him first, do you understand your situation now?” she asked, voice dry with only the faintest edge of reproach. Her sharp gaze landed on Ruvian.

“You really think that wouldn’t be addressed?”

And then, three figures stepped forward.

Calyra. Rosalin. And Loden.

Silvena didn't participate this time.

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Their movement was simultaneous but not impulsive. They carried a silent declaration louder than any speech.

“We’ll give testimony.” Rosalin said first, then the rest followed.

Murmurs from other scholars rippled across the hall.

From the sideline, Silvena’s eyes widened. Even she hadn’t predicted this, especially not from Calyra. Her friend had always been quiet, reluctant to raise her voice in a world that rarely listened.

Rosalin continued, her tone firm. “The fight didn’t start without reason.”

Loden stepped beside her. “Julian threw the first attack.”

Then Calyra, with that cold certainty only she could carry, added, “And the Class E scholar only defended. That’s all.”

Nereus' voice cut clean through the rising hum of voices.

“Enough! Your testimonies will be recorded,” he said, calm as ever. “But the academy’s stance remains unchanged. Both parties are responsible.”

But Ruvian wasn’t concerned with verdicts.

He had never expected justice.

That wasn’t why he’d done this.

As the crowd shifted and attention turned toward the Council, he slipped into the moment he’d been waiting for all along—the chance to stand this close, to measure Julian from within arm’s reach.

And that was when he reached inward.

Skill activation: [Character Sheets]

Information flowed in, clean and precise.

Because knowledge was the real battlefield. And this was his way of drawing the first cut on Julian.

───[CHARACTER SHEET]───

◇ Name: Julian Rozenberg

◇ Age: 17

◇ Occupation: Velthia’s Scholar / Heir of House Rozenberg

◇ Temperament: Regal, Calculated, Prideful

◇ Current Mood: Slightly Off-Balance / Masking Frustration Beneath Composure

◇ Status: [Stable]

◇ Relationship Status: Viewing Ruvian as a Puzzle / Threat to Authority

◇ Traits:

 • Exudes Command Without Needing to Raise His Voice

 • Maintains Royal Demeanor Even in Conflict

 • Believes in Hierarchy and Order

 • Deeply afraid of being perceived as weak

 • Views any challenge to his authority as a threat to his identity

——————————

{}---『RUNEHEART』---{}

◇ Name: Julian Rozenberg

◇ Age: 17

◇ Spellcore: Tier III

[Mana Resonance: (35/1000)]

==[General Attributes]==

Strength: C-

Agility: C-

Endurance: B-

Vitality: B+

Perception: C+

==[Mage Attributes]==

Mana Control: C+

Casting Speed: C+

Magic Power: C-

Mana Sensitivity: D+

Mana Essence: [1800/1800]

==[Innate Blessings]

==

- [Blessing of Myrrak’s Core]

==[Magic Affinity]==

- [Fire]

- [Lightning]

- [Darkness]

Ruvian studied the profile in silence, his thoughts steady and detached. Out of all the named characters in the novel, Julian Rozenberg was the one he understood most intimately—second only to the protagonist himself.

He had read the boy’s arc, parsed every line of dialogue, smoothed out every inconsistency during the old proofreading days. He had seen Julian’s rise, his unraveling, and the monstrous return that would one day shake the story’s foundation.

Julian wasn’t the strongest, not yet. His magic didn’t reach Calyra’s raw precision, and his swordsmanship lacked the sheer, bone-breaking weight like Rosalin’s strikes.

But that didn’t matter.

Julian was the balance. He didn’t shine in one discipline because he walked both. A fighter who knew when to press and when to pull, who took hits others couldn’t and kept standing from sheer tenacity and ruthless drive.

And that was what made him dangerous.

Not now, of course.

Now, Julian was still incomplete. Beneath the calm exterior, there were cracks. His power was shallow. His arrogance, a mask stretched too thin over desperation.

But he was still stronger than him, for sure.

A mountain for Ruvian to climb.

Ruvian had seen the version that came later—the Julian who returned possessed by the Great Defiler, who tore through the academy’s strongest without blinking. The same boy who once stood in Rosalin’s shadow would one day stand over the broken bodies of both her and Calyra combined.

Ruvian said nothing as the silence served him better.

Julian, for his part, wore the expression of someone who’d never felt threatened in his life. The Council’s judgment was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

And perhaps it was, for him.

Because the academy would never truly punish him. They’d acknowledge the testimonies, of course. Go through the motions. Offer the illusion of fairness. But nothing beyond that.

Not when the boy standing here bore the name Rozenberg.

Julian’s eyes lingered on Ruvian, then he adjusted the cuff of his coat. “This isn’t over between us,” he said, quiet enough to be personal, clear enough for everyone to hear.

“You better watch your back during the Island test.”

Ruvian simply replied, calm and slow.

“Then, I suggest you do the same.” (+100PP)

Julian’s face shifted. A mix of irritation and hesitation that briefly cracked his composure. A flicker of disbelief, maybe, that someone from Class E had the gall to speak back again and again.

'Oh, he's mad.' Ruvian smiled in satisfaction.

Nereus stepped between them with a disappointed sigh. He was tired of seeing the same pattern repeat.

“I said… enough.”

And just like that, the tension broke.

The undercurrent was still there. But the Scholar Council had drawn their line, and for now, that was as far as things would go.

PP= 6410

ME= 215