The floor of the Magic Tower was suffocatingly silent. Every flicker of candlelight on the polished walls seemed to still as Luca's saber pressed coldly against Gerald's throat. The man's breath hitched, his chest heaving shallowly as crimson drops of blood trailed down the blade, staining his immaculate collar.

Not a soul dared move.

The air was so tight that even the whispers of robes shifting were swallowed whole. All eyes locked on the boy with the crimson gaze, his expression carved in stone, rage radiating off him in waves.

"Luccaaaa!"

Seraphina's voice sliced through the silence like a bell in the dead of night. Her heels clattered across the marble floor as she rushed forward, her usually composed features twisted with alarm. She grabbed his wrist, her fingers trembling against his taut muscles.

"Don't." Her voice was firm, but her eyes softened. "Don't bother with him. If I wanted, I could have dealt with him easily. Don't dirty your hands on scum like this."

But Luca didn't even flinch. His crimson eyes were locked on Gerald, colder than steel, deeper than an abyss. The saber edged forward, biting deeper into flesh. A bead of blood rolled down Gerald's neck and dripped onto the floor with a plink that echoed like a war drum in the silence.

"You—you!" the painted woman shrieked, her voice shrill and piercing. She clung to Gerald's arm like a drowning woman clutching driftwood. "Everyone look! An outsider is threatening a Magic Tower member! How can this be allowed?!"

The crowd stirred, whispers spilling in hushed waves.

"Is he insane?"

"He dares to draw blood in the Tower?"

"That boy… doesn't he know what this means?"

Gerald's face, once flushed with arrogance, had paled to ash. His lips trembled, his eyes darting left and right as though begging for someone to intervene. Still, the blade held him hostage.

"B-boy…" His words broke between stammers. "H-how dare you do this? A-are you not afraid of the Tower's revenge?"

But Luca's gaze did not waver. His jaw tightened, veins standing on his neck as his thoughts burned like wildfire.

Afraid? Hmph. Who am I supposed to fear here? This is my turf.

His saber pressed harder, drawing another rivulet of blood. Gerald whimpered, the sound pathetic against the tension wrapping the hall.

"Luca!" Seraphina's grip on his hand tightened, her nails digging into his skin. Her voice trembled now, urgency bleeding through her usual calm. "Leave him. I know you are not afraid, but don't waste your strength on trash. He's not worth it."

Her other hand reached for his, her touch warm against his cold fury. "Let's go. Please. Let's go, Luca."

For a long, breathless moment, Luca didn't move. His chest rose and fell with quiet fury, every breath sharp like a blade's edge. His crimson eyes still bored into Gerald's skull as though he could cut him down with will alone.

Finally—slowly—he eased the saber away. The tension snapped like a bowstring. Gerald sagged against the wall, gasping like a fish ripped from water, one trembling hand pressed against the bleeding gash.

Without a word, Luca turned. Seraphina's hand slipped into his palm, her grip firm, grounding him as she tugged him toward the hallway. He didn't resist. Together, they walked through the sea of wide-eyed onlookers, leaving a trail of silence behind them.

The whispers resumed only after the doors shut.

"Did you see that…?"

"He pressed a saber to Gerald's throat."

"And let him live."

"Who is that boy really…?"

But Luca didn't hear any of it. His blood still thundered in his ears, his rage not yet cooled, even as Seraphina's hand anchored him back to himself.

The echo of their footsteps filled the stone corridors as Luca and Seraphina walked side by side. The clamor of voices and gasps from the previous hall was already far behind, yet the weight of it still pressed on Luca's chest. His grip tightened and relaxed around the saber hilt as his mind replayed the scene.

Trash like him isn't worth it, he reminded himself. But… what did they mean about the professor's family? Are they—

"Professor, what did—"

"We have arrived."

Her voice cut through his thoughts, calm yet firm, leaving no space for his question.

Luca's gaze shifted forward, where an intricately carved door stood waiting. Seraphina pushed it open, and the soft glow of mage-lamps spilled out, revealing a familiar figure seated at a table. Silver hair cascaded down her shoulders like liquid moonlight, and sharp, amused eyes lifted toward him the moment he entered.

The silver-haired mage smiled knowingly, her chin resting lazily on her palm.

Seraphina's eyes narrowed. "Why didn't you interfere?"

The woman tilted her head innocently. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean," Seraphina's tone sharpened, but her restraint kept it from sounding like an outburst.

The mage chuckled softly, a sound like glass chimes in the wind. "Oh, that. It was such a good show—why would I ruin it?"

Seraphina's lips pressed into a thin line as she let out a quiet, annoyed hmph.

"Besides," the woman added lightly, eyes glinting, "that bastard deserved every bit of it."

Seraphina turned her face away, clearly refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. Instead, she drew in a steadying breath and looked back at Luca. "I have brought him to you. I have matters to attend to."

She pivoted toward the door, her robes whispering against the floor.

"Professor—" Luca called after her before he could stop himself. He clenched his jaw, thoughts racing. What if that bastard and his little entourage try again?

Before Seraphina could even glance back, the silver-haired mage's voice intercepted.

"Don't worry," she said smoothly, her gaze pinning Luca in place. "Do you really think she can't handle them? Didn't you say it yourself?"

Luca's eyes flickered to her. Her teasing tone didn't hide the edge of truth behind it. His lips curved into the faintest smirk. "You were really enjoying the show, weren't you?"

The woman laughed, the sound airy but tinged with mischief. "Of course. But don't brood too much—she has her reasons. Now, come."

She rose gracefully, motioning him to follow.

They slipped through a panel in the wall, a hidden passage yawning open before them. The air grew cooler, heavier, as if they were descending into another world. The walls here were rough-hewn stone rather than polished marble, etched with faded runes that pulsed faintly in the dark. It felt… older. Less advanced and ordinary than the tower above, but imbued with something more primal, more ancient.

Luca's sharp eyes scanned the surroundings. "This place…"

The silver-haired mage smirked at his wonder but didn't explain.

"They mentioned something about the professor's family," he pressed instead, his voice low. "What was that about?"

She glanced at him sidelong, her lips quirking as if his question amused her. "You really care about her, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Luca replied without hesitation, his tone steady, eyes unwavering. "She's my professor."

For a brief second, the woman's gaze softened, though her smile remained sly. "Mm. Loyal, aren't you? But… It's her personal matter. Not mine to speak of."

Luca frowned but gave a short nod. Fine. I'll ask her myself when we're back at the academy.

The silver-haired mage's voice drew him back. "For now, focus. It isn't every day the Tower Master grants someone her time."

Her words carried weight, and Luca could feel the shift in the air—the very stone around them seemed to hum with restrained power.

Finally, they arrived before an immense, ancient door. Its surface was black stone, veins of silver pulsing faintly across it like a heartbeat. The runes carved upon it were unlike any he had seen, older than the academy's archives, whispering of forgotten ages.

The mage stopped and gestured toward it. Her smile turned enigmatic.

"This is it. Go inside—" Her eyes glimmered as she met his. "The Tower Master is waiting for you."

Luca took a long breath, steadying the restlessness that still lingered in his chest. His fingers brushed against the cool, ancient wood of the door before he slowly pushed it open.

The hinges creaked faintly as the heavy door gave way, and a rush of faint incense drifted toward him. His steps carried him inside, and his sharp gaze swept across the chamber—then froze.

"...Huh?"

"I… didn't expect her to be this tired."