The academy's marbled halls echoed with the reverberating footsteps of its elite. Amongst them, one figure commanded attention without demanding it. Kuza, an epitome of arrogance and sophistication, sauntered through the hallway, his gait confident and unhurried. His posture was upright, but not rigid, like a panther prowling its territory. Each step he took was carefully measured, conveying dominance without aggression.
His academy uniform, though rooted in the school's traditional design, had been transformed into something uniquely Kuza. The black blazer, bearing the school's emblem, was tailored to fit him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and slender waist. The white shirt underneath, rather than being tucked in, was left loose, giving him an air of casual defiance. A silver pin, shaped like a serpent, adorned his lapel, glinting mysteriously. The trousers, rather than the conventional straight cut, were slightly tapered, adding to his modern, edgy appearance. His shoes were polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the fluorescent lights of the academy's corridors.
The students that filled the halls parted like the sea before Moses as Kuza strolled through. There were whispers, gasps, and even some faint sighs as he passed, but Kuza seemed unfazed, even bored by the adulation.
Beside him, like shadows following their master, was a group of students, each more fawning than the next. There was Mike, a tall, lanky boy with glasses that perpetually perched on the edge of his nose. Next was Clara, a petite girl with fiery red hair that contrasted sharply with her pale complexion. Beside her, chatting animatedly, was James, a stocky individual with a penchant for bright, contrasting ties. Then there was Sophia, always seen jotting down notes on her tablet. And finally, trailing behind them was Adrian, a quiet, observant figure, his eyes missing nothing.
These were Kuza's entourage, his handpicked group of followers, each bought and maintained through a combination of money, promises, and the sheer allure of being in Kuza's inner circle. They were his eyes and ears, his yes-men, always there to laugh at his jokes, agree with his opinions, and sing praises of his achievements.
As Kuza walked, students would approach him, trying to engage him in conversation or hand him gifts, from carefully penned notes to intricate charms. Kuza would either accept them with a nonchalant nod or dismiss them with a wave, never breaking stride. His entourage, however, would often engage, acting as a buffer between their leader and the masses.
Mike, always eager to be the first to curry favor, started off the praise parade. "Kuza, that duel yesterday was incredible. The way you dispatched your opponent with such finesse, I've never seen anything like it."
Clara, not to be outdone, chimed in with a gleam in her eyes, "Truly! The academy has never witnessed such mastery over elemental magic. That move where you combined wind and fire, it was like watching a maestro conduct a symphony."
James, with his loud voice, eagerly jumped in, "And don't get me started on your strategy. Every step was ten moves ahead. You've surely set a standard that no one in the academy can match."
Sophia, busy on her tablet a moment ago, now looked up, her voice soft but insistent, "Your foresight and intelligence are unparalleled. Your plans always three steps ahead of everyone else. It's an honor to witness your brilliance."
Adrian, the quietest of the lot, simply nodded in agreement. But his eyes held a reverence that spoke volumes.
Kuza, despite the cascade of compliments, barely registered their words. To him, they were like the distant hum of bees, inconsequential and easily ignored. His mind was preoccupied, deeply engrossed in thoughts that held more weight and consequence than mere duels and academy politics.
'Lia said she got one that joined the student council,' His thoughts churned as he walked, his steps echoing in the hall. The student council was a trifling matter, a minor hurdle. He could dismantle their influence within a day, a week at most. But the consequences of such an overt move would lead to other, more influential student groups starting investigations. Investigations that could potentially threaten the carefully constructed web of power they had spent years weaving.
'Lia…' The name echoed in his mind. 'Just what are you planning now?' She was a mystery, even to him. Despite his infiltration and extensive groundwork, she remained an enigma. Her decisions were often unexpected, her strategy impenetrable. He had always prided himself on his ability to predict moves, to be ahead of the game, but with Lia, it was different. She was always a step further, her thought process eluding him.
Kuza, having tired of the endless praise, offered a lazy grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Enough," he declared, his voice calm but carrying a hint of finality. "I have personal training with Professor Feron."
A few murmurs of envy arose among the students in the vicinity. Training with Professor Feron was a privilege few were granted.
Kuza waved his hand dismissively at his group, "Do the tasks I assigned you," he instructed, not waiting for a reply. He started his journey towards the class on magic theory and application. It was common knowledge that the class was where Professor Feron could usually be found during his free hours.
The classroom door stood imposing, engraved with various symbols of magical elements. Kuza pushed it open casually, his entrance a testament to his self-assuredness. Within, the room was adorned with shelves filled with age-old books, and glowing orbs. Standing near a board, writing some arcane equations, was Professor Feron.
The man in question had short black hair, neatly combed, and a pair of glasses. At first glance, one would assume he was in his early thirties, a testament to how well he maintained himself, despite his actual age being a closely guarded secret. His usual stern demeanor was what most students were acquainted with, but as the door clicked shut, that façade melted away.
Kuza approached with measured steps, his eyes fixated on the older man, his demeanor not one of respect, but rather expectation. "Feron," he greeted, forgoing any formalities.
Feron took a deep breath, a hint of anxiety evident in his eyes. "Kuza," he replied, trying to maintain some semblance of authority.
The room was charged with tension. Kuza's earlier light-heartedness was nowhere to be found. His voice dropped several octaves, cold and demanding. "I was expecting a report."
Feron adjusted his glasses, trying to buy himself some time. "There were... complications."
Kuza's eyes narrowed. "I don't recall asking for complications."
The professor hesitated, scrambling for words. "I've tried to retrieve the information regarding Professors Ayla, Thaddeus, and some notable students. But they've been... cautious. It seems they've caught on to the idea that someone might be prying."
Kuza, with his typical air of indifference, ignored Feron's excuses and began to peruse the room. He was drawn to the incomplete magic circle equation displayed on the holographic screen, its glowing symbols illuminating the dim room. Taking a stylus, he began to add to the equation, his strokes precise, almost artistic.
"You don't seem to understand your position," Kuza remarked coolly, his voice dripping with disdain. "I did not ask for the information, I demanded it."
Feron shifted uneasily on his feet, his heart pounding audibly in the ensuing silence. The very atmosphere in the room grew colder, denser. The weight of Kuza's expectations pressed down upon him like a crushing boulder.
"I- I tried my best," Feron stuttered, his confidence ebbing away, "But the vice principal has been watching me closely, and-"
Kuza's hand, which had been calmly correcting the equation, suddenly froze. He turned slowly, his icy gaze piercing through Feron's defenses. "Your best? That's the excuse you present to me?"
A cold realization washed over Feron. The sickness that coursed through his veins was a creation of the very people he now sought favors from. He had become a pawn, completely at their mercy.
"We have no use for those who cannot complete their tasks," Kuza stated, his voice echoing ominously in the room. He walked towards Feron, each step deliberate and menacing. "And if you cannot serve your purpose, why would we keep our end of the bargain? Do you wish to stay in that state?"
The very room seemed to constrict around Feron, the walls closing in, the air thinning. The enormity of his predicament was suffocating. He fell to his knees, desperation evident in his eyes.
"Please," he begged, his voice quivering, "Give me another chance. The vice principal's scrutiny has made things difficult, but I promise, I will get you what you need."
Kuza glanced down at the pitiful figure before him. "This is your last chance, Feron. Fail again, and our arrangement will end. And with it, any hope you have of being healed." Finishing the equation flawlessly, he smirked, "After all, it seems I'm more capable in your field than you are."
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
I stand on the platform of the gym, releasing a sigh that seems to echo through the vast room. I can feel the slight vibration of the floor as Lysandra steps up beside me, her groan loudly proclaiming her displeasure about our upcoming session. Why the hell does she always get so pissed when I try to get her to train properly?
"Why am I doing this? You know I don't need this training," Lysandra complains, her tone dripping with annoyance.
I roll my eyes. "Stop whining. Raw strength and speed aren't enough in this world." The dragon inside her might give her brute strength and magic that could raze cities, but without technique, it's like watching a bull in a china shop. Haphazard. Unrefined.
She shoots me a glare that would probably wither a lesser man. "You know, not all of us have the luxury of being 'technically proficient' in everything."
Rubbing my temples, I try to keep my patience. "You need this, okay? Quit acting like you're above it all. I see that glint in your eyes when you're in a good fight. You love it, so let's start training."
A memory of our last training session flits through my mind – Lysandra tearing through the gym with reckless abandon, not even trying to understand the techniques I was teaching her. It had been chaos. The kind of chaos that required two weeks of repair to the gym and a formal apology to the academy's board. Thanks to Ayla there wasn't an investigation as to how the gym was damaged to such an extent. I swear, if she doesn't listen this time...
"Now, remember," I reiterate, holding up a finger for emphasis, "I'm training you for technique, not a display of your brute strength. So, for the love of all things holy, restrain yourself."
Lysandra rolls her eyes dramatically. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. Can't use my natural strength. And here I am, still 'tOo WeAk'," she mimics, using air quotes with a smirk.
Brat.
I sigh. "Let's just get started, alright? If you actually try this time, maybe we can wrap up early."
A light hum floats down from above me, a familiar weight rests on my head. "Alright, Kael," she starts. "Remember, she's a dragon. If we want to train her properly, we can't just let techniques become a habit. She'll understand magic naturally as she matures, but for now, we focus on hand-to-hand combat."
I internally groan. Great. Just when I thought I could get a break. "You make it sound so damn easy, Ilka," I mutter, more to myself than to her.
Before I can contemplate more on it, I shift my focus to Lysandra. "Listen up," I start, locking eyes with her. "First, I need you to see what technique you're going to use. I'll explain as you attack me. And make sure to suppress that monstrous strength of yours. You need to get a feel for the actual technique."
Ilka's incessant teachings echo in my mind. The key isn't about how hard or how fast one hits, but where and when. In our previous training sessions, I often made Lysandra strike herself by using her own momentum against her. Today, I plan to show her why that works.
Lysandra smirks. "So, I get to hit you and you're going to explain to me how I'm doing it wrong?"
"That's... one way to put it," I reply dryly.
Ilka's voice, soft yet commanding, chimes in. "Remember Kael, hand movements are essential. Show her why."
I nod subtly, so as not to give away to Lysandra that I'm communicating with my invisible mentor. I stretch out my arms, preparing myself. "Alright, Lysandra, let's see what you've got."
She chuckles, a playful glint in her eyes, "Oh, you'll see."