"There you are, Holivan," Robert's voice cut through the hallway—relief obvious in it. Then he got a proper look at me. "Holy shit… what the hell happened to you?"
He stepped closer, eyes scanning the bruises, the way I barely stood.
"Torrent, you can head to bed. I'll take Holivan to his room," Andrew said.
"No need, Instructor," Robert replied with a crooked grin. "We're roommates. Won't be hard to drag his scrawny ass upstairs."
He pulled me toward him.
"Thanks for helping my classmate," he added, glancing at Andrew.
"If you care that much, keep an eye on him," Andrew said coldly. "He's not exactly welcome here."
"I didn't think he was this suicidal," Robert muttered. Then to me: "Fine. I'll keep an eye on you."
"No one asked you to," I snapped.
He let go.
Bad move.
My body tilted—I almost went down.
"Shut up and take the help," he growled, catching me and throwing me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.
Pain flared everywhere at once. I sucked in a sharp breath but didn't argue.
I lifted my head just enough to glance back.
Andrew stood where we left him.
Still.
Watching.
His face unreadable.
He didn't move until we turned the corner.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Robert snapped as we walked. "I came to ask you about that silometer trick—and you weren't even there."
"I couldn't ignore them," I muttered. "Who knows? Maybe they would've come after you next."
"Don't give me that crap," he shot back. "You can't even protect yourself."
His grip tightened slightly.
"Start using your head, Holivan. You don't have your family backing you anymore. Not here."
The next morning was worse.
So much worse.
For a moment, I seriously considered not getting up at all.
Let them think I was weak. I didn't care.
I just didn't want to move.
I closed my eyes—
And saw Andrew.
"Let's say I'm curious. I want to see how long you last before you break."
I opened them again.
Sat up.
Pain hit immediately.
Every muscle screamed.
My ribs ached with every breath.
I wanted to curl up and cry.
Instead, I forced myself to stand.
Step by step, I made it to the showers.
Today, I didn't even notice the naked bodies around me.
Didn't care.
Some of the guys from last night were there too.
They glanced at me.
Quick.
Quiet.
No one said a word.
My body was a mess—bruises everywhere. Purple, blue, spreading under the skin.
My head had taken less damage, thanks to my arms—but even so, a dark bruise stained my chin.
Didn't matter.
All I cared about was taking the next step.
And then the next.
Because every single one hurt.
And I refused to let it show.
"How the hell are you even standing?" Robert asked in the locker room, looking me over.
"Jesus…" Miguel added, staring at me. "What happened to you?"
"I overdid it yesterday," I said without hesitation. "Muscles gave out. Fell down the stairs."
"You should go to the infirmary."
"I'm fine. Barely hurts."
Miguel didn't look convinced, but he let it go.
"—Hiss—"
I sucked in a breath as Robert pressed a finger into my stomach.
"Barely hurts, huh?"
"Cut it out. I can't skip classes."
"I don't know what's going on in that head of yours," he said, smirking. "But I like it."
He studied me for a second.
"There's something about you. Not sure what yet… but I'll figure it out."
He slapped my shoulder.
Pain shot through me.
I hissed again.
He just laughed.
"I can't look at this anymore!"
Alma exploded the second we sat down in the dining hall.
She pulled out a compact.
"Get over here, idiot—" she grabbed my arm, then winced immediately. "Sorry. Sorry…"
"You're seriously putting that on his face?" Robert asked, pointing at the powder.
"That bruise is ruining his face," Alma snapped, already dusting over my chin. "And people won't stop whispering. I'm not letting Silli and his idiots enjoy this."
"I think you're making it worse," I muttered. "Your skin tone's different."
"Oh? Look at you, an expert," Robert snorted. "No wonder Storik calls you a peacock."
"Yeah? Screw you," I shot back. "I can tell colors apart. That—" I pointed at the compact "—is not my shade."
I held my hand next to it to prove it.
"Well yeah," Robert laughed. "Because that thing isn't blue."
I sighed.
"…It's still better than before," I admitted, looking at the now half-hidden bruise.
"Barely," Alma said.
We headed up to the fifth floor.
Practical class with Stella Miror.
"Alan," she called after assigning everyone their task.
"Yes, teacher."
Her gaze lingered on my bruised hand.
Then on my face.
On the powder.
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
But she didn't say anything.
Good.
"You can hand in your silometer. You won't need it anymore," she said. "Your next task is to project your power outside your body. Let's start with ten centimeters."
"Alright. What do I do?"
She led me across the room.
Chairs.
Metal spheres hanging in front of them—about the size of eggs.
Between them—a thin glass barrier.
She adjusted the setup.
"Same principle. Direct the flow—but push it beyond your body. The sphere will react. You may touch the glass. Begin."
I tried.
Nothing.
I could feel the flow—
but it hit something.
Stopped.
My skin.
Like a wall.
Time was almost up.
I closed my eyes.
Imagined the tip of my finger under a microscope.
Every pore—huge. Open.
I gathered the flow into my fingertip—
Then shaped it.
A thin, sharp needle of warm yellow light.
And pushed.
It slipped through.
Barely.
I felt it—
But it wasn't enough.
The sphere didn't move.
I frowned.
Took a breath.
Tried again.
Ten needles.
Merging.
One stream.
I forced it forward—
Glass shattered.
I snapped my eyes open.
The sphere swung violently, smashing through the barrier.
I pulled the flow back immediately.
Everything stopped.
"Holivan!" Miror said sharply. "That was excessive, don't you think?"
"Sorry," I muttered.
"Well done," she said, a faint smile appearing. "Tomorrow—we work on control."
She turned to the class.
"That's all for today. Dismissed."