Elaine rose from her chair with the soft, melodic rustle of fine fabric, her expression returning to its usual composed, clinical calm.

  “I’m relieved nothing worse happened to you,” she said, adjusting her gloves with a practiced flick of her wrists. “Your condition is stable. No internal backlash. No Vein damage from your... unique outburst.”

  Ray nodded, still sinking into the mattress like a man recovering from physical, spiritual, and social death.

  “I will look into Lucien’s motive,” Elaine continued. Her voice dipped almost imperceptibly—becoming cool, focused, and quietly dangerous. “And I will determine exactly why he targeted you.”

  Ray straightened in bed. Somehow, hearing Elaine speak in that tone was more terrifying than Lucien’s lightning.

  She turned toward the door. Cassian moved instantly, as if tethered to her shadow—polished steps, perfect posture, every motion dripping with the heavy weight of noble precision. But before he crossed the threshold, his eyes flicked back to Ray.

  Just for a second.

  It was a small, precise moment, but Ray felt it like a physical blow. The glance was as sharp as winter steel—hostile, judging, and utterly dismissive. Cassian didn’t speak; he didn’t need to. His eyes said everything:

  Stay in your lane. You are a pebble in her shoe. Do not forget your place.

  It wasn't even the simple jealousy of a rival. It was an evaluation—like a ruler spotting a loose nail in a bridge and deciding whether it needed to be hammered down or simply removed. Then he turned away, his mask of royal indifference restored, and followed Elaine as if Ray had ceased to exist the moment he looked away.

  The door closed with a soft, final click.

  Ray exhaled shakily. “…What did I even do?”

  He stared at the ceiling, his soul weighed down by bruises, lightning trauma, and now prince-related hostility. There was no peace in this academy. If Lucien didn’t kill him, this Prince might just finish the job.

  Ray was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Elaine Avery was the source of all his problems.

  Rowen clearly wanted her. Lucien had practically knelt for her. And now the Prince was giving Ray death glares because of her. Sure, she was beautiful—her silver-blonde hair fell in soft, metallic waves, framing her face like a halo, and those blue eyes shone like shards of the sky. She walked like a queen and talked like a goddess, a walking masterpiece of grace and power.

  But so far, every guy who even breathed near her was going out of his way to take Ray down.

  Ray groaned into his pillow. “…How is this my life?”

  But then—like a true protagonist—he toughened up. Yes. This was the burden of destiny. The weight of a Chosen One. The trials every great hero had to endure. Beautiful women causing constant, life-threatening danger? That was classic MC suffering.

  “Stop moping,” Ray muttered to himself, pushing up onto one elbow. “It’s fine. Totally normal. I am the main character. I’ve got this.”

  He paused. Then he sighed dramatically. “…How would Nathan handle this?”

  Nathan—the natural social prodigy, the guy who practically walked a harem route on Earth without even trying. Ray closed his eyes and imagined him: a cool smile, perfect posture, radiating the kind of confidence that made girls blush and guys want to be his best friend. Nathan would probably say something suave like: “Relax, Ray. Just treat her like a normal girl.”

  Ray sat bolt upright. “No,” he whispered to the empty room. “That advice is useless. Elaine is not a normal girl.”

  He buried his face in his hands. “What would Nathan actually do…?”

  A moment of silence passed as Ray contemplated the tragic truth.

  “…He’d probably just… magically… succeed.”

  Ray flopped back down, defeated by his own imagination. “Gods, I hate that guy…”

  The infirmary door slammed open so hard Ray nearly vibrated off his cot.

  “RAY!” Calen hollered. “DID YOU SEE—”

  “—how Rian ALMOST KILLED ROWEN?!” Harel finished, stumbling in behind him like a frantic hype-man.

  Ray blinked, his brain still fuzzy. “…Almost killed?”

  Rian walked in last—modest, quiet, and looking like he’d been through a rock tumbler. Calen threw an arm around him anyway, shaking him like a winning lottery ticket.

  “THIS MAN—THIS EARTH-ENCRUSTED DEMIGOD—” Calen declared, “—LANDED THREE FULL HITS ON ROWEN!”

  Rian muttered to the floor, “Two… maybe two and a half…”

  “NO!” Harel insisted. “Three! I counted! Rowen’s face was vibrating, I swear!”

  Ray sat up, ignoring the protest from his ribs. “Wait, wait—Rowen? Our Rowen? The dumbass Rowen? The tries-to-kill-me-every-round Rowen?”

  Rian nodded, looking genuinely embarrassed. “He… uh… deserved to be punched. Hard. I felt the earth, Ray. And then I just… hit him.”

  Calen puffed out his chest as if he’d been the one doing the hitting. “Not just hit. He smacked the fire right out of him. Like—BAM! EARTH STYLE!”

  Harel chimed in, his voice cracking with pure glee. “And when Rowen tried to get up? Rian just dusted his hands off like a stone god!”

  Rian looked away, his ears turning pink. “I tripped right after…”

  “AND IT LOOKED COOL!” Calen shouted.

  Ray couldn’t help it—he burst into laughter that immediately turned into a pained groan because everything hurt. “Gods… I wish I saw that. Rowen deserved it.”

  Harel nodded furiously. “He’s mad, by the way. Super mad. I’m pretty sure he thinks you orchestrated the whole thing.”

  Ray froze. “WHAT?! Why would he think that?!”

  Rian shrugged helplessly. “He said… ‘Ray’s influence is spreading.’”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Ray threw his hands into the air. “What does that even MEAN?!”

  Calen plopped onto the neighboring cot. “It means Rowen is losing his mind, and honestly? I’m here for it.”

  Rian lowered himself onto a stool, rubbing his bruised knuckles. “…He’ll be worse next round.”

  Ray sighed, staring back at the ceiling. “Oh good. I love living in constant fear. It’s great for the complexion.”

  “My brothers… my heroes… my absolute kings…” Ray clutched his chest melodramatically.

  “Shut up,” Harel said, tossing a spare pillow at his face.

  “Yeah,” Calen added, his grin turning mischievous. “Save the dramatic speeches for when you actually awaken properly.”

  Ray’s internal systems screamed. “I DID AWAKEN PROPERLY!” he yelled, his voice cracking like a dying rooster.

  Three heads swung toward him. Calen raised a skeptical brow. “Yeah, yeah, we saw. You awakened, alright. I remember you screaming some incomprehensible nonsense and then—boom—” He clapped his hands together. “—smoke blasts out of your hands and sends Rowen flying across the field like a sack of potatoes.”

  Harel whistled. “He bounced twice.”

  Rian added helpfully, “And he made that squeaky noise on the second bounce.”

  Calen leaned closer, squinting at Ray as though examining a strange, possibly broken creature at a zoo. “But seriously… why smoke? Not even real fire. Are you—like—defective or something?”

  Ray turned scarlet from his neck to his ears. “I–I am not defective! This smoke is just the beginning! The start of something… something legendary!”

  The room fell into a long, painful silence. The kind of silence where everyone looks at each other to confirm that, yes, they all heard the same delusion. His roommates stared at him with the same expression adults give when a toddler announces he’s going to punch the moon.

  Ray slammed his fist into the mattress. “Just wait! You’ll all see! I’m going to be the greatest in the world!”

  Calen’s grin faltered, melting into the kind of pitying smile people use on terminal optimists. Harel’s laughter died, replaced by an awkward cough. Even Rian looked uncomfortable, clearly debating whether patting Ray on the head would be insulting or merciful.

  Ray recognized that look. They’d covered this in Engraving 101: Mutations. They were rare, they were weird, and they were almost always bad news. Statistically, Ray was more likely to marry a dragon than to have a "useful" mutation.

  Calen scratched his cheek. “…But hey. Smoke’s still cool, right?”

  Ray’s soul quietly began to exit his body.

  Harel cleared his throat, clearly deciding to rescue Ray’s pride before it died on the table. “Anyway… uh… what exactly did you yell when you sent Rowen flying?” He mimicked Ray’s stance, hands raised dramatically. “Was it a secret technique name? Or were you just choking?”

  Ray’s face heated again. Great. First Elaine, now these idiots. Why does humiliation come in bulk? But backing down now would only make it worse. Ray inhaled, raised a fist, and reenacted his "heroic" moment. He punched the air and shouted:

  “煙拳?バリアントストライク！！ — ENKEN: BARIANTO SUTORAIKU!!” (Smoke Fist Valiant Strike)

  A single heartbeat of silence passed. Then—

  “PFFFF—HAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

  Calen doubled over, clutching his stomach. “What—what type of nonsense was that?!”

  Harel was wheezing. “Are you even speaking a real language?”

  Rian was actually crying. “It sounded like you swallowed gravel mid-punch!”

  “It’s—it's—GIBBERISH!!” Calen howled. “Pure gibberish!”

  “IT’S NOT GIBBERISH!” Ray yelled over the laughter. “IT’S A SPECIAL MOVE NAME!”

  “Yeah?” Harel managed between gasps for air. “Special in what way? Special like… needs medication?”

  Ray buried his face in his hands, wishing the infirmary floor would swallow him whole. He regretted everything.

  Ray lay flat on the infirmary cot, staring at the ceiling like a man contemplating every mistake he’d made in this life—and the last one.

  Harel leaned over him, arms crossed and a smirk tugging at his lips. “I guess you and the infirmary are really becoming best friends, huh?”

  Ray didn’t even have the strength to glare. “Yes. We’re very close. I’m thinking of starting a photo album.”

  Rian, sitting cross-legged on the next cot with bandages wrapped around his forehead, blinked. “What’s a… photo album?”

  Ray stared at him. Then he stared at the ceiling. Then he stared at his own soul, questioning the cultural vacuum he now lived in. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Just… something from home.”

  Rian tilted his head like a confused puppy. “Is it a weapon?”

  “No, Rian, it’s not a weapon. Unless you throw it really hard.”

  Harel snorted. “I swear, half the things Ray says sound like coded messages.”

  Calen nodded solemnly from the foot of the bed. “Yeah. Maybe when you’re dying as often as Ray does, you start to see things the rest of us don’t.”

  Ray groaned, dragging a pillow over his face to muffle his voice. “It’s a curse. A curse where none of you understand my genius.”

  Harel patted his leg sympathetically. “We understand some of your jokes, Ray.”

  Ray peeked out from under the pillow. “Name one.”

  Silence.

  Calen scratched his bruised cheek. “We… laugh when you laugh?”

  Ray buried himself deeper. “I’m surrounded by idiots,” he whispered dramatically.

  Rian brightened instantly. “Ah! That one! I understood that joke!”

  Ray popped up again, indignant. “That wasn't a—! Never mind. Forget it.”

  Calen snorted and flopped onto the edge of the mattress. “But seriously, Ray… can I ask something awkward?”

  Ray groaned. “Please don’t.”

  “What did you do to Lucien?”

  Ray’s eyes popped open so fast they nearly rolled out of his skull. “What—?! I didn’t DO anything to him! Why does everyone think I’m personally offending mystical prodigies just by existing?!”

  Calen held up his hands defensively. “Hey, I’m just saying what the rest of the Academy is whispering. Rumors are spreading like wildfire.”

  Harel nodded gravely, as if delivering a terminal medical diagnosis. “Yeah. The big theory is that Lucien wants your head because… well… you’re Elaine’s fiancé.”

  Ray slumped backward, covering his face with both hands. It was the same conclusion he’d reached earlier. If he was thinking it, then the millions of academy gossip-gremlins were definitely shouting it from the rooftops.

  “Aaah, Elaine… you are so much trouble,” Ray moaned into his palms.

  Calen patted his leg. “Women, huh?”

  Ray peeked between his fingers, horrified. “But for Lucien to go that far? Did you see that lightning? He nearly turned me into a permanent shadow on the pavement! Twice!”

  Harel shrugged. “The price for having a goddess by your side, Ray. You have to be able to pay the price.”

  Ray let his head fall back against the pillow with a hollow thunk. “I’m going to die because of my relationship status, aren’t I?”

  Harel whistled. “Honestly? Kinda looks that way.”

  Ray groaned again, then lifted the pillow just enough to peer at his roommates. “…Do you guys know what’s happening to Lucien?”

  Calen’s expression turned serious, and he shook his head. “Nope. Nothing official. Everything’s under tight wraps. The instructors aren’t talking, the squires look spooked, and even the Mage Division is acting like they've seen a ghost.”

  Rian, who had been quietly peeling a fruit with the focus of a man preparing for confession, finally spoke up. “I heard a rumor,” he said softly.

  Ray sat up straighter. “A rumor like what?”

  Rian leaned in, lowering his voice until it was barely a whisper. “That the Headmaster… is going to personally interrogate him.”

  The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. Ray swallowed hard. The Headmaster. The most terrifying Engraver alive was going to question the boy who had just tried to vaporize him.

  “That's… probably not a great sign,” Calen exhaled.

  For a long moment, the four of them sat in the quiet ward, the weight of the Academy’s secrets pressing down on them. Then, almost in unison, the three boys pushed themselves to their feet—wincing and groaning as their own bruises protested.

  Calen pointed at Ray with two stiff fingers. “Anyway… rest up, idiot.”

  Harel nodded, limping toward the door. “Yeah. Heal fast. Tomorrow is going to be rough.”

  Rian added quietly, “Captain Draevin wants us in the field at dawn.”

  Ray blinked. “The field? As in, outside the walls?”

  Calen smirked, a spark of excitement returning to his eyes. “Yep. Looks like the free-for-all arc is finally over.”

  Harel cracked his neck, the sound an unhealthy grinding noise. “Prepare yourself, Ray.”

  Rian opened the door and glanced back one last time. “It’s time for something new.”

  The door shut with a soft click, leaving Ray alone with the dim light of the infirmary and the distant, low rumble of a world that was becoming much more dangerous than a training yard fistfight.