Two months had passed.
The academy no longer felt new.
It felt… sharp.
Grenzabell walked beside the others, his uniform slightly worn, his body telling a quieter story. Beneath the fabric, marks layered over marks, scratches, bruises, faded hits that never fully disappeared.
Fally walked just behind him, carefully tending to a fresh cut along his arm, her movements gentle but practiced.
Thyssara's eyes caught it all.
Every mark.
Every sign.
She stopped.
"Why do you let them bully you?"
Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried weight.
"And why do you keep refusing my help?"
Grenzabell didn't answer immediately.
He looked down at his hands, silent for a moment.
Fally continued cleaning the wound, glancing up slightly, waiting.
"I don't understand it either," Grenzabell said finally, voice low.
A pause.
"It's just… not who I am."
His fingers flexed slightly.
"I don't want to beat people. I don't want to fight them."
The words came out simple.
Honest.
Like something he hadn't fully figured out himself.
Fally's hands slowed for a second.
Thyssara didn't speak.
But her eyes stayed on him, sharper now, like she was trying to decide whether that was strength… or a weakness that would break him later.
From a distance, Thyssara watched the two of them.
Dawncer standing tall.
Grenzabell quiet as ever.
Fally stood beside her, eyes moving between them, still holding the cloth she had used to clean his wounds.
Thyssara's gaze narrowed slightly.
"This isn't normal."
Fally blinked. "What do you mean?"
Thyssara didn't look at her.
"I think our little friend over there is being manipulated."
A pause.
"Someone's pulling strings."
Her eyes drifted past Grenzabell, scanning the wider space.
"And using others to bully him."
Fally's expression shifted instantly, shock breaking through.
"Who would do that?"
Thyssara finally glanced at her.
"You wouldn't understand it yet."
A small exhale.
"But I'll try something."
Her tone carried intent now.
Sharp.
Focused.
Like she had already started forming a plan.
Thyssara stepped aside, her gaze distant, thoughts threading together with quiet precision.
Grenzabell's reactions replayed in her mind.
The silence.
The lack of resistance.
The way he accepted things… almost naturally.
Two possibilities formed.
Either he was naive.
Or he was used to it.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
Used to it meant repetition. Conditioning. A body learning to accept impact without protest.
But that didn't align.
Back then… as slaves…
There was no space for bullying.
No time. No energy. No freedom to even think about dominance over each other. Survival had been the only rule.
No one had the luxury to pick on someone else.
So that left only one answer.
Her gaze sharpened, locking back onto Grenzabell in the distance.
"…He's just naive , targeted."
A quiet exhale followed.
"And a complete pushover."
On the main building a quiet office sat above the academy's main halls.
Neat. Ordered. Immaculate in a way that felt almost intimidating.
A blonde woman stood by her desk, a stack of papers spread across it. She wore a fitted red dress that contrasted sharply against the pale interior, her posture straight, her presence confident, almost theatrical in its composure.
Her fingers tapped lightly against one of the sheets.
Then she stopped.
Her eyes scanned the page again.
And again.
A slow breath left her lips.
"…No way."
She leaned back slightly, disbelief flickering across her expression before settling into something more amused, more sharp.
"Seriously…"
A faint smirk formed.
"I've never seen this before."
Her tone carried a mix of disbelief and arrogance.
"A person personally brought into the greatest institution in the entire kingdom… and still manages to get a U in every subject."
She let out a small laugh, shaking her head.
"Every single one."
Moments later
A knock at the door.
"Enter."
Grenzabell stepped inside.
The room felt different from the outside. Quieter. Heavier. Like every word spoken here mattered more than usual.
The woman's eyes lifted.
They immediately noticed the scratches on his body. The marks. The wear.
A brief pause.
But Grenzabell didn't react to her gaze.
He stood properly, calm, composed.
"Good day, Madam Victoria Yun Gloom."
His tone was respectful. Controlled. Natural.
She studied him for a moment longer.
Then exhaled.
"Sit down."
Her voice lost its earlier amusement.
"Listen carefully."
Grenzabell obeyed, taking a seat.
She picked up the stack of papers and placed them in front of him one by one.
"Do you see these?"
Her finger tapped the first sheet.
"Then this."
Another.
"And this."
Her tone sharpened.
"You failed. All of them."
A pause.
She leaned forward slightly.
"Do you not even know how to write the alphabet?"
The question hung in the air.
Grenzabell looked at the papers.
Then back at her.
"…I don't know much."
His voice was quiet.
Honest.
That answer seemed to echo louder than anything else he could have said.
Victoria's expression shifted.
Her eyes narrowed.
"You don't know much?"
Her voice rose.
"That's impossible."
Her tone hardened.
"Even slaves are required by kingdom law to have basic literacy."
The room tightened.
Her gaze changed.
No longer casual.
No longer amused.
Her yellow eyes locked onto his.
Deep.
Unblinking.
Piercing straight through him.
Grenzabell felt it immediately.
His posture stiffened.
A subtle shift.
Something inside him recoiled under that pressure.
Her presence had changed.
Commanding.
Serious.
Dangerously focused.
She leaned closer.
"So tell me…"
A faint, mocking edge returned.
"How does someone like that end up here?"
Grenzabell swallowed slightly.
"This… can't be right."
His voice carried frustration now.
"I'm the only one who failed?"
His brows furrowed.
"What about Thyssara? Fally? Dawncer?"
The question came out faster than before, urgency creeping in.
"Did they fail too?"
Victoria didn't answer immediately.
She reached to the side and pulled out three more reports.
She placed them in front of him.
One by one.
Thyssara.
Fally.
Dawncer.
Grenzabell's eyes moved across the names.
Then the grades.
Thyssara.
A+ across everything.
Fally.
C+.
Dawncer.
B+.
Silence.
Grenzabell stared.
At the papers.
At the names.
At the reality forming in front of him.
"No…"
His voice dropped.
"That's… not…"
He looked up again, searching for something that didn't exist.
"…I failed?"
The words didn't land fully at first.
Like his mind refused to accept them.
Victoria watched him carefully.
Then leaned back slightly.
A faint smile returned.
Not warm.
Not kind.
Measured.
"You're still in denial."
Grenzabell's grip tightened slightly on the edge of the desk.
His breathing slowed.
Then steadied.
He forced a small smile.
Holding Thyssara's report in his hand now, as if it grounded him.
Victoria adjusted her dress lightly, smoothing it with a practiced motion.
Then she looked at him again.
"What's wrong?"
Her tone carried a quiet mockery beneath its professionalism.
Grenzabell didn't answer immediately.
The room felt still.
He looked down at the papers again.
At Thyssara's perfect score.
At the gap between them.
Something subtle shifted in his expression.
Not defeat.
Not anger.
Something quieter.
He didn't fully understand it yet.
But it was there.
And for the first time since entering the room…
The weight of where he stood became unmistakably real.
Grenzabell left the office without another word.
The door closed behind him with a soft, final click that somehow felt louder than anything said inside.
His steps were steady at first.
Measured.
Controlled.
But as he moved down the halls, something inside him began to loosen, like a knot slowly unraveling under pressure it could no longer hold.
He didn't stop walking until he reached the stairs.
Up.
And up.
Until he reached the roof.
The air up there was different.
Colder.
Cleaner.
Far away from voices, expectations, names, grades, and everything that had been stacked on top of him without his understanding.
He walked to the edge of the roof, stood there for a moment… then turned abruptly and slammed his fist into the wall beside him.
The impact echoed.
A dull crack.
Pain shot through his hand immediately.
Grenzabell winced, pulling his fist back, fingers trembling slightly as he looked at it.
"…tch."
The frustration didn't leave.
If anything, it deepened.
He leaned his back against the wall slowly, then slid down until he was sitting on the cold surface of the roof, his head lowering as his breathing steadied into something quieter.
Tomorrow's parents meeting.
The thought surfaced uninvited.
Parents.
The word itself felt distant.
He stared at the ground in front of him, expression emptying out bit by bit.
"…tomorrow."
A long silence followed.
Then a sigh.
Heavy.
Frustrated.
Contained.
Something in him surged again, stronger this time, a mix of embarrassment, confusion, and anger that had nowhere to go.
He clenched his fists.
"…damn it."
He stood up suddenly, turning toward the exit with sharper steps, leaving the roof behind as if distance alone could resolve what he was feeling.
But the moment he stepped back into the lower corridors…
He wasn't alone.
A group of students stood waiting.
Or rather… blocking.
Their posture was casual, but their intent was not.
"Hey."
One of them spoke.
Grenzabell slowed.
Then stopped.
The space around him tightened.
Words were exchanged quickly.
Too quickly.
Tone shifted.
Tension rose.
And before he could fully process it, one of them shoved him back.
The impact hit his shoulder.
Another followed.
Then another.
Grenzabell staggered.
"Wait ,"
His voice was cut off as the group closed in.
He tried to steady himself, lifting his arms defensively, but the blows came faster than he could react to them cleanly, each hit landing with blunt force that pushed him back step by step until he was cornered.
A wall behind him.
No escape route.
His breathing became uneven.
His heart began to race.
"…stop."
But they didn't.
Something inside him snapped , not loudly, not explosively , but deeply, like a quiet realization that this wasn't going to end unless he forced it to.
His eyes sharpened.
For the first time, there was resistance in his stance.
He drew his arm back.
And threw a punch.
Straight at one of the main bullies.
It connected.
And then…
Nothing.
No reaction that matched the effort behind it.
No shift in momentum.
Just a dull thud against a body that didn't even stagger.
The difference hit him instantly.
Clear.
Undeniable.
"…that's it."
The thought formed in his mind, slow and heavy.
"…I'm not special."
Another hit landed on him, knocking him off balance again.
His knees weakened.
His arms dropped slightly.
"…I'm weak."
Another blow.
"…and dumb."
The words didn't come from them anymore.
They came from him.
His vision blurred slightly, not from pain alone, but from the realization settling in.
He had been brought here.
Chosen.
Placed among others who seemed to understand things he didn't.
He had thought effort would be enough.
That effort meant progress.
But here…
It wasn't.
It wasn't enough.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
The beating continued for a short while longer before the group lost interest.
Voices faded.
Footsteps receded.
And then
Silence.
Grenzabell remained where he had fallen, leaning against the corner of the corridor, breathing slowly, unevenly, his body aching in places he hadn't fully registered yet.
He didn't move immediately.
Just sat there.
Staring forward.
Empty space in front of him.
"…I don't get it."
The words were barely audible.
Not spoken to anyone.
Not meant to be heard.
Just… released.
His fingers twitched slightly.
Not from pain.
But from something deeper.
Something unsettled.
For the first time since arriving at the academy, Grenzabell wasn't just confused.
He was beginning to see the gap.
And for a brief, fragile moment…
He wondered whether that gap could ever be closed.
The rain did not fall gently.
It arrived in sheets, slanting across the stone roof like a curtain drawn too quickly, turning every surface slick and cold. Grenzabell sat where he had been left, knees drawn in slightly, back against the damp wall, the world reduced to the steady rhythm of water striking stone.
His breathing had long since steadied.
Not because he had calmed.
But because there was nothing left in him to keep breaking.
His eyes, faintly red, stared ahead without focus. The echoes of the earlier blows still lingered in his body, a dull, distant protest. His thoughts, however, were louder.
He replayed everything.
The punch that failed.
The laughter that followed.
The way his strength meant nothing in that moment.
A quiet, creeping realization settled in his chest, not sharp like pain, but heavy like a truth that refuses to be ignored.
I'm not built for this…
His fingers tightened slightly against his arm, as if testing whether he was still real.
Outside, thunder rolled softly in the distance, though the storm above him had already taken full hold.
Footsteps approached once.
Then passed.
No one came.
He let out a slow breath, shaky at the edges, and for a moment his head dipped forward.
The silence around him was complete.
Then somewhere deeper inside, something shifted.
Not anger this time.
Not fear.
Just emptiness trying to understand itself.
Elsewhere in the academy grounds, the search had already stretched far beyond what patience should allow.
Dawncer moved quickly between corridors, his usual composure worn thin by repetition. His eyes scanned every shadow, every corner where someone might hide or collapse unseen.
"Still nothing," he muttered under his breath, frustration beginning to creep into his tone.
Fally followed closely behind, her steps lighter but her expression tight, worry visible in the way her gaze flicked constantly from place to place.
"We've checked the lower halls twice," she said. "The training yard, the dorms, even the storage sections."
Thyssara walked slightly ahead of them both, her pace controlled, measured, but her silence carried weight. Her eyes did not wander as much as the others. She was thinking.
Not just searching.
Analyzing.
Hours had passed.
Not minutes.
Hours.
The absence of Grenzabell had grown into something more than concern. It had begun to feel wrong.
Fally finally broke the silence, her voice softer now.
"Where could he go… for this long?"
Dawncer exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
"If he wanted to be alone, he would have returned by now."
Thyssara stopped walking.
Both of them noticed immediately.
She lifted her gaze slightly, as if looking past the walls themselves, past the obvious answers everyone else was chasing.
"…No," she said quietly.
Fally turned toward her. "What do you mean?"
Thyssara did not respond at first.
Her eyes narrowed just a fraction, as though a conclusion had just aligned into place.
Then she spoke.
Not urgently.
Not loudly.
But with certainty.
"We're not looking for someone who is simply lost."
Dawncer's expression shifted.
Fally's concern deepened.
Thyssara turned her head slightly, her voice lowering just enough to carry a different kind of meaning.
"We're looking for someone who is avoiding being found."
A pause.
Then she added, almost to herself:
"…And someone like that doesn't disappear unless something pushed them to."
The words hung in the air, heavier than the rain outside.
And without waiting for agreement, Thyssara began walking again.
This time faster.
Her direction changed.
As if, finally, she knew where the search needed to go.