The morning bell's chime echoed through the Hunter Academy's marble halls. Kaen strolled leisurely toward his first class, hands in his pockets, while students in crisp uniforms rushed past him. His crimson eyes tracked one figure in particular—Zian, walking with perfect posture ahead of him, her white hair tied back neatly.
Kaen quickened his pace to fall into step beside her. "Looks like we're classmates."
Zian didn't respond, but the slight tightening of her jaw told him she'd heard.
They stopped before a massive oak door labeled **A-2**. Kaen made a show of holding it open for her. "After you, partner."
The classroom fell silent as they entered. Fifty pairs of eyes locked onto them—some curious, others hostile. At the front stood Professor Drayven, his jagged scar running from forehead to chin.
"Sit," he commanded.
Kaen deliberately chose the seat right beside Zian in the front row, ignoring the empty spaces around them. She stiffened but said nothing as he slouched into the chair, propping his feet up on the desk.
Professor Drayven's gaze swept the room. "You are the top fifty of one thousand students. Class A-2. The rest are scattered from B-1 down to X-2—where the weak and unworthy belong." His eyes lingered on Kaen's disrespectful posture. "Prove you deserve to stay."
Kaen smirked and leaned closer to Zian, whispering loud enough for others to hear, "Guess we're stuck together, little light."
Zian kept her eyes forward, but her fingers twitched against her notebook.
"Your schedule," Drayven continued. "Swordsmanship at dawn. Magic theory at noon. Dungeon simulations after lunch." His scar twisted as he smiled. "Fail any, and you'll be demoted. No exceptions."
The swordsmanship arena was an open courtyard lined with steel dummies. The instructor, a wiry woman with twin rapiers, barked orders. "Pair up! Let's see if you're truly A-2 material!"
Kaen immediately turned to Zian. "Shall we?"
Before she could refuse, the instructor nodded. "Good. Show us what you've got."
Their clash was mesmerizing. Zian moved with liquid grace, her strikes textbook-perfect. Kaen matched her effortlessly, his lazy movements somehow always in the right place at the right time. The class formed a silent circle around them.
"You're holding back," Zian hissed between strikes.
Kaen grinned, blocking her overhead swing. "And you're afraid to show your true self."
The instructor's whistle cut through the tension. "Enough! Both of you—stop playing around!"