Professor Seo’s question hung in the air.

  Did you know that?

  Before he could answer, Aiden’s eyes caught on the wrong detail.

  Professor Yun-Ah Seo wasn’t seated behind her desk anymore.

  At some point on his way out she had gotten up.

  Now she was standing in front of it, closer than she should’ve been, as if the furniture had never been a boundary in the first place.

  Aiden’s red mana answered before he could.

  Not in a flare anyone else would call an incident.

  Just a quick, traitorous heat under his ribs—an involuntary pulse that made his blood feel loud.

  He swallowed.

  Made his expression widen.

  Made his voice follow.

  “I didn’t,” he said.

  The lie came out clean.

  His body didn’t.

  Professor Seo’s gaze didn’t move as she closed the last of the distance with the same economy she used in drills. No wasted motion. No hesitation.

  Aiden held still.

  Because backing up would look like guilt.

  And because whatever lived under his red mana didn’t like being cornered.

  Seo stopped just inside his personal space.

  Her eyes were dark and steady.

  “You’re very good at saying the right thing,” she said softly.

  Aiden’s fingers curled against the door handle until the metal bit.

  “I don’t understand what you’re implying, Professor.”

  “I’m implying,” she said, “that your current behavior does not match anything your file led us to expect.”

  Aiden forced a small, confused breath.

  He let his shoulders lift—just enough to sell surprise.

  But the wrongness inside him stirred at the attention, eager and patient, like it had all the time in the world.

  Seo watched his throat work.

  Watched the way his pulse jumped.

  Then she leaned in by a fraction.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “For now.”

  Aiden’s stomach dropped.

  “For now,” she repeated, as if she knew he needed the words to land properly, “I wont tell anyone that you know more then you are letting on. I will not put it in a report. The people who would turn you inside out for answers needn't know your name just yet.”

  Aiden’s breath hitched.

  He didn’t look toward the hallway.

  He didn’t need to.

  Professor Seo’s voice stayed calm.

  “But if you don’t start talking soon,” she said, “you won’t get to choose how this conversation happens.”

  “You’ll be dragged to WODS/SCAG, and they won’t ask you questions the way I am.”

  Something in Aiden went still.

  Not fear.

  Not panic.

  Just a clean, deliberate silence, like a door shutting.

  The boy who had been scrambling for the right face, the right tone, the right lie… receded.

  Not Aiden.

  In his place was something older.

  Colder.

  Himself.

  He let the door handle go.

  Lifted his chin.

  And looked Professor Seo dead in the eyes.

  “Who’s side are you on?”

  For the first time, Seo’s expression barely shifted. Not anger.

  Surprise.

  “You are in no position to ask questions,” she said.

  Aiden didn’t blink.

  Didn’t step back.

  He opened his hand between them, palm up.

  Red mana gathered with a discipline that didn’t match the mess inside his head.

  A flame blossomed to life—small, perfect, steady.

  Not a flare.

  Not a glitch.

  No black edges.

  Just clean red heat, contained as if it had been measured.

  To prove a point.

  To remind her.

  “Answer me,” he said, voice low.

  The flame didn’t waver.

  His gaze didn’t either.

  “Because even if you drag me to your friends,” he added, and the word came out like a threat wrapped in politeness, “they will never see me alive.”

  -----

  Nadia Petrov didn’t like mysteries that pretended to be moral.

  She found Joon-Ho Park where he usually was when the day ended and everyone else was still pretending they weren’t afraid of dying, being controlled or had a chance of making an impact on this doomed world.

  He looked up as she approached.

  Nadia offered him a bright smile that cost her nothing.

  “So,” she said, as if they were discussing homework, “your precious investigation. I went to see our problem.”

  Joon’s eyes narrowed by a fraction. “And?”

  “And he’s boring,” Nadia said.

  She leaned a shoulder against the corridor wall, casual.

  She kept her tone light.

  She kept the part where she’d called it an alliance to herself.

  “I found him off-campus,” she continued. “A private club. Training. Alone. No entourage. No audience. Just sweating.”

  Joon didn’t relax.

  He didn’t look surprised either, which irritated her more than it should have.

  “Why Aiden?” Nadia asked. “Why target him? You stare at him like you've heard his confession.”

  Joon’s jaw worked once, like he was deciding which version of the truth she’d earned.

  “I have a mentor in WODS/SCAG,” he said.

  Nadia’s brows lifted.

  Not because she was shocked, Joon was Korea's golden boy, the ultimate proof that the future of humanity would come from Baekho.

  Because the way he said it told her the mentor wasn’t a normal contact.

  Big.

  Untouchable.

  The kind of person you didn’t name in a hallway.

  “They said Aiden’s been seen,” Joon went on, voice quiet, “in the same areas the revolutionaries frequent.”

  Nadia blinked.

  Then she let out a small laugh that wasn’t kind.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “How,” she asked, “does a fresh European transfer even know where to find revolutionaries in Seoul?”

  Joon’s gaze didn’t move.

  “Contacts,” he said.

  Nadia tilted her head. “In Europe.”

  He didn’t deny it.

  Nadia’s smile returned—sharper this time.

  “Remembering to take into account,” she said dramatically, “he’s just a spoiled brat from a newly powerful, newly influential family who thinks he can go anywhere and the world will make room.”

  She shrugged, elegant.

  “Off-campus. Fancy clubs. Secret little routines.”

  Her eyes flicked over Joon’s face, searching for the crack.

  “A silver spoon as your people say, looking for his place now that he's been shown the stick” she said. “Hardly a fucking revolutionary.”

  Joon’s expression tightened, but his voice stayed calm. “You shouldn’t swear.”

  Nadia rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”

  Joon ignored the dismissal. “He doesn’t need to be a revolutionary. He fits the profile of an Inferni licker.”

  Nadia’s brows lifted. “A what?”

  “Someone looking for a contract,” Joon said, “but not contracted yet. The kind who hovers close enough to smell the power, but hasn’t been given a bite.”

  Nadia crossed her arms, her tone shifting slightly. “You know, my family asked me about Ji-Min.”

  Joon’s gaze sharpened. “Your family?”

  “Yes,” Nadia said, her voice edged with curiosity. “And I’d like you to explain why one of the largest powerhouses in Europe is suddenly curious about a Korean girl who made a contract with an Inferni.”

  Joon’s expression hardened, his tone turning clipped. “That’s not your concern.”

  Nadia raised an eyebrow, but Joon didn’t give her time to press further.

  “Keep an eye on Aiden,” he said firmly. “And prepare for Sunday.”

  Dipshit.

  Nadia Petrov left Joon with a sharp smile and a flick of her hair, heading back to her room. She didn’t need to be told twice to prepare for Sunday, but she didn’t like being dismissed either.

  In the privacy of her room, the smile slid off her face.

  Nadia sat on the edge of her bed and stared at her phone like it had insulted her.

  My family asked me about Ji-Min.

  It wasn’t the question itself.

  It was the timing.

  There were a hundred better topics for European powerhouses to care about than a Korean student with a contract suspicion.

  Unless the rumor wasn’t a rumor.

  Unless someone had already decided Ji-Min Lee was more than a cautionary tale.

  Nadia scrolled to a contact saved under a deliberately boring name.

  Not a parent.

  Not someone who would indulge drama.

  The kind of person who answered with numbers, not reassurance.

  She typed:

  Why are we asking about Ji-Min Lee?

  Then, after a beat, because pride was a habit and she hated being treated like a child:

  And why do i have to ask Park?

  The typing indicator appeared.

  Vanished.

  Returned.

  When the reply finally came, it was exactly what she’d expected.

  Short.

  Noncommittal.

  Curiosity. Nothing official.

  Nadia’s thumb hovered.

  Curiosity from her family was never just curiosity.

  She sent another message, more surgical:

  Park thinks Aiden Blackthorn is soliciting revolutionaries. I think Park is looking for permission to burn him.

  This time the response came fast.

  Observe. Do not interfere. All I know is this Ji-min has made very powerful people take interest.

  Nadia stared at the screen.

  She let out a soft laugh that had no humor in it.

  They weren’t asking her because they trusted her.

  They were asking her because she was here.

  Because she could stand close to a fire and report how hot it was without getting her hands dirty.

  A sensor, she thought.

  Not a daughter.

  Just a sensor.

  Nadia set the phone face-down.

  Fine.

  If they wanted her to watch, she would watch.

  But she would choose what she saw.

  -----

  Joon-Ho Park didn’t go back to his room.

  He went somewhere the academy didn’t advertise.

  A corridor that ended in a door without a plaque.

  A fingerprint reader.

  A camera that didn’t blink.

  He waited until the indicator turned green.

  Inside, the room was small and sterile, designed for conversations that weren’t supposed to exist.

  Joon took the chair.

  Placed his phone flat on the table.

  Pressed a sequence of numbers that wasn’t a number.

  The line clicked.

  No greeting.

  No name.

  Just a voice on the other end, low and controlled.

  “Report.”

  Joon’s spine straightened.

  “Ji-Min Lee remains a mystery to th academy,” he said. “A contract with an inferni is the going rumour.”

  Silence.

  Then: “And?”

  “The transfer student,” Joon said. “Aiden Blackthorn. nothing on him but i think he is hiding something.”

  Another pause.

  The voice didn’t press.

  It didn’t need to.

  “The Petrov family has begun asking questions,” Joon added. “About Ji-Min.”

  The air in the room shifted.

  Not fear.

  Attention.

  “Explain.”

  “Nadia Petrov told me directly,” Joon said. “She claims her family is suddenly curious.”

  “And do you believe her?”

  Joon’s jaw worked once.

  “I believe she is being used,” he said.

  “Good,” the voice replied. “Then use her back.”

  Joon’s eyes narrowed.

  “Sunday,” the voice continued. “The mock outing. You will not escalate unless you are given cause.”

  Joon kept his expression neutral.

  “Understood.”

  The line went dead.

  Joon sat very still.

  Then he picked up his phone and put it back in his pocket like it hadn’t just decided the shape of his weekend.

  No escalation.

  He almost smiled.

  WODS/SCAG didn’t say that when it wanted calm.

  WODS/SCAG said that when it wanted documentation.

  When it wanted to see what people did under pressure.

  And Sunday was going to be nothing but pressure.

  -----

  In Caleb Thorn’s room, Team A was doing anything but preparing.

  Arjun Patel sat cross-legged on the floor, spinning a Rubik’s Cube between his fingers. “This thing is ridiculous,” he muttered. “How do even solve it?”

  Caleb, lounging on the couch, smirked. “By covenant I can say nothing but assure you the journey is as marvelous as the outcome.”

  Elena Vasquez rolled her eyes from her spot at the desk. “Of course your in a covenant.”

  Hye-Rin Choi, perched on the armrest of the couch, leaned forward. “Forget the cube. We need to talk about Sunday.”

  Elena nodded, her expression sharpening. “Who do we target first?”

  Caleb tilted his head, considering. “Team B’s weak spot is obvious. They’re down a Blue. Ji-Min’s replacement hasn’t even been named yet.”

  “True,” Hye-Rin said, “but Joon’s still their anchor. If we don’t neutralize him early, he’ll carry them.”

  Elena tapped her pen against the desk. “So, do we go with the plan of Aiden distracting Joon long enough? How confident are we that he won’t just get instantly obliterated?”

  Arjun, still focused on the Rubik’s Cube, didn’t look up. “Trust Aiden,” he said simply.

  Caleb leaned back on the couch, a small smile playing on his lips. “It seems Joon also had a lot to ask Aiden, so it should be fine.”

  Hye-Rin frowned. “Are we sure we shouldn’t just try a full frontal assault?”

  Arjun perked up at that, his interest finally breaking his focus on the cube. “I like that idea.”

  The other three exchanged glances, and Elena shook her head. “This way is more efficient. We get to see Aiden’s level since he never practices in the common gym with us.”

  Caleb nodded. “And it keeps Joon occupied while we handle the rest of Team B.”

  Hye-Rin sighed but relented. “Fine. But if this backfires, I’m blaming all of you.”

  Caleb glanced around at the group sprawled across his room and raised an eyebrow. “Can I have my room back now?”

  Arjun didn’t even look up from the Rubik’s Cube. “No. It’s not fair you get such a large room with windows while the rest of us are stuck in glorified bunkers with artificial light.”

  Elena smirked and leaned back in her chair. “What’s it like being the Headmaster’s ward, anyway? What can you tell us about him?”

  Caleb just laughed, shaking his head. “He likes Rubik’s Cubes.”

  Arjun groaned. “That explains so much.”

  “Okay,” Elena said, pushing herself up from the desk. “Enough theorizing. We’re drilling.”

  Caleb blinked. “In my room?”

  “Not in your room,” Hye-Rin said, already moving toward the door. “Unless you want to explain to the Headmaster why your carpet smells like burnt ozone and crushed leaves.”

  Arjun brightened. “I can make it smell like both.”

  Caleb pointed at him. “Don’t.”

  They didn’t go to the common gym.

  They went to one of the smaller training rooms tucked behind the academy’s public spaces—the kind with half the lights off and more dummies than spectators.

  The room was set up like a lesson plan.

  Impact dummies in a line.

  Target discs mounted along the walls.

  And, along one side, shallow planter boxes—soil and hardy vines meant for nature-affinity drills.

  Mana couldn’t make something from nothing.

  But it could take what existed and make it obey.

  Elena knelt by the nearest planter box and pressed her palm to the soil.

  Green mana seeped into the dirt like breath.

  The vines responded.

  Not dramatically.

  Not like a story.

  Just… growth.

  Thickening.

  Tightening.

  Coiling with intent.

  “Dummies for now,” Elena said. “Don’t want to hurt you before Sunday.”

  “Dummies don’t fight back,” Arjun muttered. “You’ll pick up bad habits.”

  Hye-Rin’s smile turned thin. “For once, we agree, Arjun.”

  “Rude.”

  Caleb stepped forward, blue mana settling around him in a disciplined, almost clinical haze.

  He traced a ward line in the air with two fingers.

  The shape held.

  A clean rectangle.

  Then another.

  Layered.

  “Shielding,” Caleb said, mostly to himself. “Two-stage. Stabilize, then resist.”

  He flicked his wrist.

  The air in front of the dummies shimmered.

  An illusion, not a monster, not a spectacle, just the suggestion of a wall where there was none.

  “Good,” Elena said. “Make it believable. If it looks like magic, it fails.”

  Caleb’s mouth twitched. “That’s… very cynical.”

  “That’s survival,” Elena replied.

  Arjun cracked his neck and stepped onto the spar mat like he’d been invited on stage.

  Yellow mana prickled beneath his skin, bright and impatient.

  Lightning wasn’t just bolts.

  It was acceleration.

  Reaction.

  Confidence that you could move first and make the world apologize for being slow.

  “You,” Arjun said, pointing at Hye-Rin. “Spar. No permanent damage. Try not to ruin my face. It’s my best asset.”

  Hye-Rin walked onto the mat with the calm of someone stepping into a conversation she already controlled.

  Her purple mana rose—but only to a shallow hum.

  It pressed, subtle.

  The sensation of being watched from the wrong angle.

  “Rules,” Elena said, voice sharp. “No blood, breaking, or scratching. And don’t pull on his emotions too much, Rin—he needs his sleep.”

  Arjun saluted. “Yes, mom.”

  Hye-Rin didn’t respond.

  She didn’t need to.

  Elena lifted a hand. “Go.”

  Arjun moved.

  Not a lunge.

  A blink.

  Lightning snapped along his calves and he was suddenly inside her range, fist already halfway through its path.

  Hye-Rin didn’t dodge.

  She shifted her weight.

  And the room seemed to tilt.

  For a fraction of a second, Arjun’s senses lied.

  The distance was wrong.

  The angle was wrong.

  His punch cut empty air where her cheek should’ve been.

  Arjun skidded, boots squealing against the mat.

  He laughed, breathless. “Okay. Okay. That’s—”

  “Pay attention,” Hye-Rin said.

  Her voice wasn’t loud.

  It didn’t need to be.

  Arjun’s grin twitched.

  He went again.

  Faster.

  This time he aimed low, trying to take her leg.

  Hye-Rin’s purple pressure shifted—barely there—and Arjun’s timing stuttered like a skipped beat.

  Not mind control.

  Not a puppet string.

  Just enough sensory distortion to make speed betray itself.

  Arjun recovered on instinct, electricity cracking off his knuckles as he snapped a short-range discharge toward her shoulder.

  Hye-Rin raised a hand.

  Her mana formed a thin, invisible disk.

  The discharge hit it and diffused like light through fog.

  “Universal access,” Caleb muttered from the edge of the mat, watching closely. “But affinity decides who does it cleaner.”

  “Stop narrating,” Arjun said, and then Hye-Rin’s elbow kissed his ribs before he could finish the sentence.

  It wasn’t a heavy hit.

  It was a precise one.

  The kind that made you remember you had organs.

  Arjun hissed. “Ow. That was cruelty incarnate.”

  Hye-Rin’s smile flickered. “You’ll live, and you were holding back.”

  Elena clapped once. “Again. And this time, Arjun, put some effort in please. Force her to answer.”

  Arjun rolled his shoulders.

  He exhaled.

  Then the lightning didn’t just boost his body.

  It mapped the space.

  Tiny static arcs to the mat.

  A grid of sensation through his soles.

  When Hye-Rin tried to lie to his eyes again, his feet told him the truth.

  He cut sideways.

  Not toward her.

  Away.

  He baited.

  Hye-Rin’s purple pressure reached.

  Arjun struck the moment she committed.

  He didn’t hit her.

  He stopped a hair’s breadth from her throat.

  Lightning hummed around his fist like a warning.

  Hye-Rin froze.

  For the first time, her eyes sharpened with something like respect.

  “Good,” Elena said, and her voice softened only because she didn’t have to shout to be heard. “That. That’s what we need on Sunday. Clean and direct.”

  She turned to the dummies.

  The vines she’d coaxed earlier snapped up like disciplined whips.

  Not random.

  Not wild.

  They struck the dummies in sequence—ankles, wrists, throat—binding targets into helpless angles.

  Elena’s expression didn’t change as she tightened the constraints.

  “Control,” she said. “If Park moves to support his team, I want him stepping into a trap he didn’t see.”

  Caleb raised both hands.

  His blue mana layered over itself, wards stacking like pages.

  He walked toward Elena’s bound dummy and put his shield between the vine and the target.

  The vine snapped.

  The shield held.

  Caleb’s breath shook once.

  Not fear.

  Effort.

  “Again,” Elena said.

  Caleb’s jaw tightened. “Again.”

  Arjun stepped off the mat, rubbing his ribs. “So… we’re really doing this.”

  Hye-Rin’s gaze slid toward the door as if she could see Sunday through concrete.

  “We’re doing it,” she said. “Wish that Sseoksso was here.”

  Caleb’s eyebrow lifted.

  Elena glanced over. “Who’s that?”

  Arjun snorted. “Someone useless.”

  And in the brief silence that followed, none of them said Aiden’s name.

  They didn’t have to.