The Class S lecture hall shimmered like something out of myth—vaulted ceilings laced with ethereal crystal veins, walls humming with ancient runes, and sunlight pouring through enchanted skylights. Arcane energy pulsed in the air like a heartbeat.
Hovering panels displayed mission records, spell analytics, and most importantly: the student rankings.
Twenty names.
Chosen from five hundred.
The elite of the elite.
And now—at the very top—was a name unfamiliar to most, yet already legendary.
Cassian Lionheart.
When he stepped through the double doors, silence rippled across the room like a dropped stone on still water.
Heads turned. Eyes locked onto him.
Some brimmed with awe. Others sharpened with envy. A few shimmered with something far more dangerous—infatuation.
Cassian's footsteps were quiet but resolute. His bearing unshaken. Regal, even.
He wore the standard academy uniform, but nothing about him was standard. His mana, though suppressed, radiated a quiet storm. Beneath his collar, hidden from sight, hung a silver amulet—the only relic of his mother, Seraphina Lionheart.
Near the front row, a girl tilted her head. Her long golden-yellow hair cascaded like moonlight, and her storm-colored eyes narrowed with recognition.
So that's the new number one…
Before tension could bloom into whispers, a graceful figure entered the hall.
Professor Meridian. Battle Arcanist. Head of Class S.
She moved like drifting silk, flanked by floating scrolls and rune-lit ribbons.
"Cassian Lionheart," she said. Her voice was calm, but it filled the room like a bell.
He bowed with quiet grace.
"Welcome to Class S. There's one open seat—beside Felicia Silverstream. Please take it."
Cassian walked past his classmates, ignoring the buzz of hushed voices and measuring eyes. Some tried to gauge his strength. Others judged his looks, presence, or threat level.
He said nothing.
Felicia Silverstream glanced at him as he took his seat beside her. She was composed and elegant—her posture perfect, her aura refined. Even seated, she carried the presence of someone born to nobility and trained to perfection.
She studied him, tilting her head slightly.
"You…" she murmured. "You're the one who saved me. When I got lost… in the Forest."
Cassian paused.
His brow furrowed—but only slightly.
"I'm afraid you're mistaken," he said softly. "Today is the first time I've seen you."
Felicia blinked, caught off guard.
"I see… Sorry," she said, her voice gentler now. "You just… felt familiar. There was this moment—light cutting through the darkness. I thought—never mind."
She looked away, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
Cassian glanced at her sidelong. He felt no memory stir—but a faint unease crept beneath his calm.
Did I save someone I don't remember? Or… was I not meant to remember it at all?
At the back of the hall, a boy clenched his fists beneath the desk.
Kyle Ironwood. Rank #2. Dual-blade prodigy. Former golden boy of Arcane Academy.
He was used to being first. Until Cassian happened.
But worse than losing the top rank was seeing Felicia—serene, untouchable Felicia—look at the newcomer with something Kyle had never earned from her.
Warmth.
Curiosity.
Hope.
Kyle's lips thinned. His mana crackled faintly beneath his skin.
That guy… who does he think he is?
He had trained harder than anyone. Fought longer. Bleeded more. And now this pretty boy walks in and steals the spotlight?
No. Not today.
He needs to be humbled.
After class, the students began to file out—until a sharp voice cut through the murmur.
"Hey, Lionheart."
Cassian turned calmly.
Kyle Ironwood approached with confident strides, both blades strapped in an 'X' across his back. His voice was loud enough for all to hear.
"I heard you're ranked first. Thousand points, huh? Impressive… on paper."
Gasps and murmurs followed his words like wind to a flame.
Even Professor Meridian, who'd been mid-scroll with a rune floating beside her, paused at the door.
Kyle drew one of his blades with a practiced flourish and pointed it—not in anger, but with a duelist's grin.
"How about a friendly match? You and me. After class. Duel Grounds."
Felicia's eyes sharpened. "Kyle—this is childish. What are you doing?"
Kyle smiled without looking at her. "Just a little test of strength. If he's truly number one, then what's he got to worry about?"
The class buzzed with anticipation.
All eyes turned to Cassian.
He met Kyle's gaze—unblinking. Calm. Distant.
"If it's a duel you want," Cassian said, "I'll oblige."
He stood slowly.
"But don't expect me to make it easy."
Kyle's grin twitched, just slightly.
Word spread like wildfire.
Cassian Lionheart vs. Kyle Ironwood.
Top Two. One Duel. No restraints.
Some students whispered of arrogance. Others called it overdue justice.
But most simply called it fate.
That night, the dueling grounds shimmered beneath floating lanterns, each flame dancing like a heart mid-beat. The crowd circled high in the coliseum seats, murmuring, betting, waiting.
Cassian stood alone in the arena.
No cheering. No nerves.
Just silence—and resolve.
He looked up at the moonlit sky and whispered:
> "I didn't come here to chase glory.
But if they challenge my place…
Then I will make them remember why I'm standing here."
High above, unseen by students or staff, a figure stood on a clocktower spire.
Eyes glowing like fading suns.
And in the stillness of the wind, a voice like ash whispered:
> "Lionheart…
She would've been proud of you.
Let's see if you can finish what she started."