"Welcome... to the Guardian Academy."
A sharp, commanding voice echoed across the grand hall, capturing the attention of every student assembled.
"There are two types of students in this facility," announced the woman standing on the podium, her sharp gaze sweeping over the crowd. "Those who earned their place here through talent… and those who leveraged their connections to gain entry. We know who you are, all of you, but we will remain silent."
"You may be enjoying your position as a high-ranker," she continued, her voice slicing through the whispers, "though you know deep down you are unworthy of that title. As I said, we know who you are. But we will let the system, long established, decide your fates."
"In one month, there will be a tournament of sorts," she declared, her tone turning razor-sharp. "This will determine everything. So prepare yourselves. Your future depends on the decisions you make and the paths you choose."
<>
A young man walked down a dimly lit hallway, his steps slow and deliberate. His face was obscured by a curtain of pale blue, almost white hair that fell over his ash-colored eyes. His uniform—a white shirt paired with an oxblood blazer and trousers—hung loosely on his frame. Unlike most, he had chosen to forgo the sleeveless cardigan and tie that completed the ensemble.
"Hey!" a voice rang out, sharp and demanding. The blue-haired student halted mid-step, his gaze lifting slightly.
At the base of the staircase ahead sat another young man, his posture lazy yet imposing. His blazer was unbuttoned, and a smirk played on his lips. Around him stood a group of similarly dressed students, their expressions ranging from smug to threatening.
"I said, come here," the seated figure ordered. When the blue-haired student didn't immediately comply, two of his lackeys stepped forward, their movements calculated.
"What do you want?" the blue-haired young man asked, his voice calm but cold. He remained rooted in place.
The boss of the group blinked, momentarily stunned by the audacity.
"BAM!"
Before he could respond, one of the lackeys delivered a heavy blow, sending the blue-haired student to his knees.
"Do you not know your place?!" the leader sneered, rising to his feet. As the victim struggled to steady himself, another lackey—a blonde with a cruel glint in his eye—grabbed him by the hair, forcing him to meet their leader's gaze.
"Boss," the raven-haired lackey said, a note of disbelief in his voice. "He's just a… Level 1."
A stunned silence followed. Then, a burst of laughter erupted from the group.
"Level 1?!" crowed an orange-haired boy, doubling over in mirth. "Do weaklings like that even exist?"
"A Level 1 dares to act so bold in front of me?" the leader snarled, his voice dripping with disdain. He jumped down from the railing where he had been lounging and sauntered forward. His lackeys stepped aside, leaving the blue-haired student vulnerable. They gripped his shoulders, keeping him upright despite his weakened state.
"Do you not know my name?" the leader spat, his face inches from his prey. "You've made a grave mistake stepping foot in this academy, weakling. I was in a generous mood earlier. I might have only taken a hundred or two of your points. But now? I'll make an example of you. You'll regret ever crossing me."
The lackeys grinned in unison, their intentions clear.
"Teach him a lesson," the leader commanded, turning away with a wicked chuckle.
The blue-haired student woke hours later, his body aching and his vision blurred. The coldness of the tiled floor seeped into his skin as he sat up, wincing.
"It's cold," he murmured, his voice hoarse. His gaze drifted to the empty hallway around him, now shrouded in the shadows of night.
'Curfew's passed,' he thought grimly. He closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of the day pressing down on him. The bruises throbbed, but the deeper pain came from the realization that no one had stepped in to help.
"Heh," he chuckled dryly, lying back down on the floor. "Every man for himself in this place."
His eyes fixated on the ceiling as he reflected on the bystanders who had witnessed his humiliation. Their apathy stung more than the punches.
"As long as it's not happening to them, they don't care," he muttered to himself, his voice laced with bitterness.
A sigh escaped his lips as he shut his eyes, surrendering to exhaustion.
[Why don't you give in?]
A voice slithered into his thoughts, dark and enticing. [I can grant you the power you crave. You can bring them all to their knees.]
'Shut up,' he replied silently, his resolve unyielding. The voice retreated, leaving only silence behind.
"I just need to rest," he whispered to himself. "Just a little longer... before morning."
Darkness enveloped him, and for a moment, the cold seemed almost comforting.