The afternoon sun.
Although no longer scorching, it still holds a formidable power.
If morning sun is an expert in outer force, filled with sharp edges proving a point, the afternoon sun is an inner force master, standing there, seemingly ordinary yet more intimidating.
In the Green Valley.
The breeze, too, doesn't seem to withstand the sun's searing heat, slowing down almost secretly, retreating to an unknown place.
The plump and soft grass lay lazily on the soil, their crumpled leaves open, resigned to the sun siphoning off their moisture, apparently giving up on revival.
The new students standing on the lawn begin to gradually forget the warning Assistant Hilda gave before departing.
In the lineup of the Alpha freshmen, a few boys with white hoods are gathered, boldly grumbling about the rule of not being allowed to enter the hunting grounds in their first month.
