CHAPTER 129: A BREAK IN TENSION!

From the far side of the field, a group of third-year students began walking over. Their crimson-trimmed uniforms made them stand out immediately, and so did the way they carried themselves—shoulders back, heads high, smirks already forming on their faces.

They moved slowly, intentionally, like they wanted everyone to notice them.

One of them, tall with slick brown hair and an easy grin, stepped forward and called out mockingly:

"Well, well, look who it is. The prodigy first years."

His tone dripped with sarcasm, loud enough for several nearby students to hear.

"Outperformed us, did you?"

A first-year boy with short black hair frowned and replied simply, trying to stay calm:

"That’s what the principal said."

The third-year’s grin widened.

"Oh, I heard what he said." He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. "But let me ask you this—did any of you actually bring back a relic core? Or were you too busy running from beasts and getting lucky?"

Laughter erupted from the third-years behind him. A few even clapped mockingly.

The black-haired first-year looked down, unsure how to respond. Others nearby shifted uncomfortably. Some clenched their fists.

One girl took a small step forward but was held back by a classmate.

From a short distance away, Kael watched it all unfold. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything. His hands were tucked in his pockets, his expression unreadable. But his eyes were sharp—watching.

He saw some of his classmates start to bristle. But no one fought back. No one wanted to start a scene.

After all, these were third-years—more experienced, stronger, already battle-tested.

Another third-year with narrow eyes and a cruel smile stepped closer.

"Enjoy this little moment while it lasts," he said. "Because next term, when the real tests begin, you’ll find out that playing adventurer isn’t the same as actually surviving out there."

His words hit hard—because they weren’t just insults. They were threats. Warnings wrapped in mockery.

The first-years stood their ground but said nothing. Their silence wasn’t weakness—it was restraint.

Still, the tension was thick, and it was clear this wasn’t the end of the rivalry.

The third-years lingered a moment longer before turning and walking away, their laughter trailing behind them like an echo.

Some students glanced toward the teachers, but none had stepped in. It was common for upper years to test the confidence of younger ones—it was part of the culture at Arcadia.

Kael’s eyes lingered on their backs for a while.

He wasn’t angry.

Before anyone could speak, Professor Sylvia’s voice cut through the tension like a sharp blade.

"That’s enough."

The sound carried across the training field, crisp and cold. The group of third-years froze mid-smirk. Their expressions didn’t completely disappear, but the playful mockery in their eyes dulled.

Sylvia walked toward them with steady, confident steps. Her long silver hair glimmered faintly under the sunlight, swaying with her movements.

Though her tone was calm, there was a quiet authority in her presence that made even the more arrogant students straighten their backs.

"If you have the time to stand here mocking your juniors," she said, her voice level but firm, "then you also have time to train. Or..." She paused just long enough for her words to sink in.

"...perhaps your midterm performance already speaks for itself."

The air grew heavier. Her words hit like a pebble dropped into a still pond—small but rippling outward, leaving unease in their wake.

The third-years exchanged uneasy glances. A few muttered under their breath, their arrogance dimmed, and then, without further argument, they turned and walked away.

Once they were gone, Sylvia’s gaze shifted to the first-years. Her eyes softened, though her posture remained composed.

"You have twenty-nine days before you return here for the next term," she said clearly. "Use them well. If you intend to train, train with everything you have. If you intend to rest, then rest without guilt. But do not waste the break."

For a brief moment, the strictness in her voice gave way to something warmer.

"You’ve done well," she added quietly. "That is all."

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving the first-years with her words lingering in their minds like the aftertaste of strong tea—steady, grounding, and a little bitter.

Kael was tightening the strap of his satchel, making sure it sat comfortably against his shoulder, when he noticed someone walking toward him.

It was Cecelia.

The afternoon sun caught her golden hair, making it shimmer like strands of silk. She moved with her usual poise, but there was something different this time—a faint hesitation in her steps, as if she was working up the courage to say something.

"Kael," she called softly when she was close enough. Her voice was quieter than usual, almost

careful.

He turned to face her.

"Yeah?"

For a moment, her eyes darted to the side before returning to meet his.

"Tomorrow’s the first day of break," she began, her tone light but carrying a trace of nervousness.

"And... Well, everyone’s making their own plans. I was thinking... Maybe you and I could go out. Just... walk around the city together and talk about the things about the training."

Kael blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion. Then the corner of his mouth lifted into a faint smirk. "You mean, like... together?"

"Yes," she replied, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile. "Unless... you’ve already got other plans?"

He paused, weighing his answer, though it wasn’t a hard decision. Finally, he shrugged casually.

"No plans. Sure, why not."

Her smile brightened—just a little, but enough to make her look lighter, almost relieved. "East gate, tomorrow morning," she said.

"Got it," he replied with a small nod.

With that, Cecelia turned to leave, the sunlight still dancing in her hair. Kael watched her go for a moment before adjusting his satchel again, his expression unreadable.

Once Cecelia left to rejoin her friends, Kael slipped through the thinning crowd. Students were scattering in all directions, their voices a jumble of chatter, laughter, and farewell calls.

He didn’t follow the main path back toward the dorms. Instead, he took the quieter side route that curved toward the faculty wing, where fewer people lingered.

With each step, the noise behind him faded.