They walked through the halls like they were Class 1-A.
Not with arrogance. Not with pride. Just the kind of straight-backed, unbothered energy that said they didn't care how bad the rest of the school thought they were.
Zach led the group, hands tucked into the sleeves of his haori, wooden sword resting at his side. His footsteps were easy, steady. Not trying to impress anyone. Just moving like someone who knew exactly how lame he looked—and leaned into it.
Mika walked beside him, lollipop in her mouth, pigtails bouncing with every step damn near skipping. She popped the candy free and looked around with a smirk like she already owned the place. "So many tight collars. You think their uniforms come with oxygen tanks?"
Elle followed behind, arms folded, uniform spotless. Polished boots. She didn't speak. She didn't have to.
Mika glanced at her and grinned. "Guess we got our own tight collar, huh?"
Sato trailed close, one of his drones hovering by his leg like a loyal pet. He tapped into his tablet with rapid flicks, muttering about gyroscopes. No one understood him. He liked it that way.
Derrin brought up the rear—silent, precise. A beetle peeked out from his sleeve. His eyes tracked every movement, every light, every face they passed.
Other students moved out of the way—some on instinct, some out of curiosity. Not respect. Not yet. Just confusion.
The kids from D-Class weren't supposed to look like this.
Like they belonged.
The courtyard was massive—stone benches wrapped around a raised platform, banners waving blue and silver in the breeze. The other classes had already claimed their spots.
1-A: front row, polished badges, perfect posture.
1-B: loud, competitive, already elbowing for space.
1-C: tech displays, hover gear, showing off for no one.
1-D: off to the side. No nameplate. Bench cracked down the middle.
Zach sat first, arms still tucked into his sleeves. He didn't slouch, but he didn't stand at attention either. Just existed. Like he was daring someone to ask why he was here.
Mika flopped beside him, blowing a bubble and snapping it. "This feels like the part where a cult leader tells us to reach enlightenment by drinking bleach."
Elle sat upright, spine stiff. Sato docked himself beside a drone. Derrin crossed one leg and stared straight ahead.
Then the courtyard shifted.
No music. No fanfare.
Just silence.
A figure walked down the aisle, and every conversation died.
Principal Rhoan Vale stepped onto the stage without needing to introduce himself. Long black coat. Silver-streaked hair. A jagged scar down his cheek. His right arm—fully mechanical—hummed with faint lines of magic pulsing under its surface.
He looked over the students like a weaponsmith inspecting his stock—measuring strength, flaws, and which ones would shatter under pressure.
His voice cut clean through the silence. Not loud. Just heavy.
"Let's get something straight. You are not here because you are strong. You are here because strength alone is not enough."
"This academy does not create legends. It sharpens them. Or breaks them."
His gaze passed over each class.
It landed on 1-D.
And lingered.
"We do not care about your rank today. We care what remains of you when it's tested."
Then he stepped back.
No applause. No closing line.
Just silence.
Then noise. All at once
They walked back like they hadn't just been told they were statistically likely to break.
Mika led the charge, hands behind her head. "Real talk… am I the only one who thinks the principal could snap this school in half with his non-metal arm?"
"I don't think he needs either," Sato muttered.
"I want to be him when I grow up," Mika said.
Class 1-C students leaned over the second-floor railings, watching them. 1-B kids leaned against walls, whispering.
Mika grinned and waved. "Hi, yes, it's true—we're ugly, poor, and underqualified. Please contain your excitement."
One of the 1-C kids snorted, then froze when Elle glanced up.
Zach stayed quiet. The others talked. Bantered. But his head was still on the stage.
Aegis.
That was what they called him. The Iron Aegis.
Zach had seen footage. Fights. Interviews. But standing in the same air as him?
That wasn't a man trying to inspire. That was a force of gravity.
A fixed point.
Unshakeable.
You are not here because you are strong.
That line stuck.
Mika nudged him with her elbow. "You good? You've got that glazed-over 'I just saw my idol' look."
Zach blinked. "Just thinking."
"About the principal?" she smirked.
"Maybe."
"You wanna be him or kiss him?"
He shrugged. "What's wrong with both?"
Mika mirrored the smirk. "Valid."
By the time they reached the stairs to their wing, the hallway behind them was already filling with noise again.
The rest of the school didn't see them yet.
But Zach did.
Every step forward was a climb
And for once, it felt like the climb was worth it
They walked back to the dorm like they'd been friends since childhood. Mika talked nonstop. Zach answered just enough to let her keep going.
It stayed like that until the lunch bell rang.
Lunch at Halcyon Academy wasn't chaos.
It was worse.
The cafeteria was less of a room and more of a converted stadium hall—polished floors, absurdly high ceilings, and zero acoustic treatment. Every voice echoed like it was trying to be heard from the bottom of a well. Students packed in from every wing—some lined up at food terminals, others already crowding the long tables. The elites sat closest to the front, where massive screens looped academy rankings and sponsor highlights.
Everyone else found a place that didn't already belong to someone stronger.
Class 1-D walked in like they had reserved seating at a five-star restaurant, not like they were about to end up at the table nearest the janitor's closet.
"I smell noodles," Mika said, inhaling deeply. "I also smell judgment. So much judgment."
"Back right corner," Elle noted. "Low visibility. Good exit points."
"I was thinking high visibility," Mika replied. "Make 'em stare."
"They already are," Sato muttered.
He wasn't wrong. Heads turned. Not all, but enough. A couple 1-C students elbowed each other. One guy from 1-B laughed out loud.
Zach kept his arms tucked into his haori, wooden sword swaying lightly at his hip. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't hiding either—just scanning the room, eyes steady.
They found a free table—slightly sticky, one leg short—and dropped into place like they owned it.
"I call window seat," Mika said, even though there were no windows.
Derrin placed a sealed container on the table and opened it with precision. Inside were perfectly arranged snacks. He ate one silently.
Elle unwrapped a protein bar like she'd already memorized the macros. Sato plugged in a portable charger and pulled out compressed rations.
Zach returned with a tray of mystery curry. It looked like beef. Probably.
"Alright," Mika said, biting into her sandwich, "let's play a game. One to ten, how fast does this food kill us?"
"Six," Sato answered immediately.
"I was gonna say four," Zach added.
"Cowards," Mika grinned. "I'm betting on eleven. Gotta believe in something."
That was when the noise shifted.
Sharp. Focused. Like the air itself started paying attention to one point.
Zach looked up.
A crowd was forming at the center tables. Too much motion. Too many heads turning. Too many phones already raised.
Then someone shouted—loud enough to punch through the echo:
"Lucien just dropped four from Class A!"
The cafeteria erupted
Chairs scraped. Students surged toward the center. Streams went live. Cameras clicked. Halcyon wasn't known for subtlety, and this? This was pure spectacle.
Mika's eyes lit up like someone had served her gossip on a silver platter. "Oh hell yes. Field trip!"
Before Zach could even blink, she grabbed his arm and pulled.
He didn't resist. But his fingers brushed the hilt of his wooden sword on instinct.
Just in case
At the eye of the storm stood Lucien.
He was a clean-cut statue of violence waiting to happen—sharp brown hair slicked with intent, not vanity. His uniform was immaculate—creased to military standard, collar high, boots polished. If Elle were male, maybe she'd look half as put together. Lucien looked like he could walk into a battlefield or a business meeting and win both by standing still.
And beneath it all? A frame that said yes, he worked out. But more than that—yes, he could ruin you without trying.
Around him, four Class A students groaned or lay unconscious. But someone hadn't gotten the message.
Two more stepped forward.
Tall. Broad. Matching energy that screamed: 'Let's start something we won't finish.'
The taller one cracked his knuckles like a warm-up bell. "Alright, Mr. Rank 2. Let's see how you do against someone with actual hands."
The shorter one bounced in place, jittery. "Yo, yo, we runnin' this or what? I'm feelin' spicy today."
Zach arched an eyebrow.
Let me guess. Shared brain cell not a single original thought.
The tall one dropped into stance. "Name's Brett."
Lucien didn't answer. He didn't need to.
The short one grinned. "Jax."
Mika leaned closer. "These guys are adorable. I hope Lucien takes it easy on them."
'He won't. But they'll pretend they slipped afterward'
Brett charged first. Heavy steps. Overcommitted power. His punch cut through the air—Lucien shifted aside without even changing expression.
Brett grinned wider. "That's one."
Zach's eyes narrowed.
Second strike's the real one. Hits harder, breaks rhythm. Dangerous if he builds momentum.
Jax clapped.
A tray of food disappeared from one table and reappeared ten feet to the left—blinking in midair.
Disruptor. Zach noted. Trick type. Field manipulation. Distracting. Annoying. Deadly if ignored.
Brett swung again.
Faster.
Lucien caught the punch with one forearm and slid back a half-step.
The crowd murmured.
Jax clapped again.
A chair blinked into existence behind Lucien's legs—Zach caught it before it landed.
They're trying to force angles. Set the field against him.
Lucien spun, kicked the chair aside, and lunged.
Third punch—fast. Brett went all-in.
Lucien stopped it dead.
Two hands caught the swing. The crack echoed like a whip.
Gasps.
Zach didn't blink.
'He's not slow. He's patient. Testing how far they'll go before ending it'
Lucien pivoted and shoulder-slammed Brett across a table.
Jax clapped fast, trying to blink his partner back.
Too late.
Lucien struck him square in the chest.
One hit.
Jax dropped.
And then—someone shoved Zach.
Not hard. Just enough.
He stumbled forward, past the ring of students now forming a wall.
Lucien looked up.
And locked eyes with him
Zach's hand dropped to his sword.
'Great I'm next'