The afternoon sun hung lower now, casting golden beams through the tall windows of the training hall as the final echoes of the last spar faded. The mana barriers surrounding the platforms dimmed one by one, signaling the end of the day’s practical lesson.
Students began to gather near the central open space—some stretching, others chattering excitedly about the matches they’d witnessed or fought in. Weapons were sheathed, towels slung over shoulders, and the ambient tension gradually eased into the casual buzz of worn-out satisfaction.
Most of the group regrouped as usual near one of the marble pillars at the edge of the dueling floor.
Ethan was already there, seated on the bench, arms resting on his knees. Irina stood nearby, speaking quietly with Carl. Lilia approached last, water bottle in hand, eyes sweeping over the group before zeroing in on Julia.
Julia stood with her arms crossed, weight shifted onto one leg, brows knitted together as she stared at nothing in particular. Her usual fire had dimmed into a faint scowl.
Lilia tilted her head. “What’s with the grumpy face?”
Julia didn’t answer.
Lilia leaned in slightly, smirking. “You won against him, didn’t you? Just like you wanted. Why so sour now?” Her tone turned playful. “Don’t tell me—you’re mad because you couldn’t prove your ladylike charm?”
That earned a visible twitch from Julia, who scoffed audibly and looked away. “Tch. Don’t be annoying.”
“Oh, come on,” Lilia teased, but didn’t press further when Julia’s eyes didn’t meet hers.
Irina glanced over, sensing the edge in Julia’s mood but choosing to stay silent. She understood that expression well enough. It wasn’t pride. It wasn’t anger. It was something else—deeper. She made a mental note to keep an eye on her later.
Before the conversation could stretch thinner, the side door to the instructor’s hallway opened, and Astron emerged.
He looked no different than usual—uniform neat, expression unreadable, steps calm. His silver hair caught the light, his eyes half-lidded with that same distant attentiveness he always wore.
But the moment he entered the room, several cadets turned toward him.
“That was amazing—seriously, I thought Julia had you at one point.”
“Your reads were unreal. You didn’t even cast and still kept up.”
“Are you really a dagger specialist? You looked like a trained swordsman out there.”
Astron offered them a simple nod, nothing more. No thanks, no false humility—just acknowledgment.
This kind of attention had become a common occurrence.
Astron, for all his quietness, had become one of those names people whispered about in sparring halls and during training evaluations. No matter how intense the matchup, he remained calm, unreadable. The other cadets didn’t mind the way he brushed off praise—they knew by now that Astron simply wasn’t the type to talk more than he needed to.
He moved through the room with his usual, collected pace, his eyes not lingering on anyone for more than a second. With quiet purpose, he headed to the far wall of the hall, where the less crowded section of the seating was.
But before he could settle in properly, Irina appeared at his side, as if she’d timed her approach perfectly.
“Quite a nice work you had there,” she said with a half-smile, tilting her head slightly as her eyes glanced toward him.
Astron barely reacted. “It was mostly Julia’s repression of strength.”
Irina clicked her tongue. “Yeah, yeah… We both know that’s not true.”
Astron didn’t respond.
Just the faintest pause.
Irina caught it instantly. Her smirk widened. “See?”
Without waiting for permission, she slid into the space beside him, brushing his arm slightly with her shoulder before nudging him to sit.
He complied—perhaps because he didn’t mind, or perhaps because resisting Irina’s insistence usually took more energy than it was worth.
Once seated, Irina turned toward him a little more, resting her elbow casually on the bench behind him.
“Did you watch my fight?”
“I did.”
His answer came without delay.
Irina raised an eyebrow. “What do you think?”
She wasn’t fishing for praise. Well… maybe a little. But mostly, she was curious—because Astron didn’t just watch fights. He analyzed them.
Whatever came out of his mouth next, she knew it would be honest.
And she wanted to hear it.
Astron shrugged lightly, eyes trained forward as though still watching the afterimages of the match unfold on the wall.
“I don’t have much to comment.”
Irina blinked. “Huh. That’s it?”
A pause. Then—
“You’re as good as you are.”
She tilted her head, a faint scoff escaping her. “Vague as ever.”
Astron gave the barest hint of a glance her way. “To word it better,” he said calmly, “it appears you’ve broadened your horizons.”
Irina’s brow twitched upward, not with offense—but with interest.
‘Go on,’ she thought.
He did.
“If it was before… you would’ve thought in a more one-dimensional way. Always opting to burn through the answer. Force it. Pressure it. Outpace it with heat.”
His voice wasn’t cold, nor harsh. Just… precise.
“You used to set the arena on fire and call that control. But now, you’re not just wielding flames. You’re wielding space. You’re thinking about position, intent, psychology.”
Irina didn’t reply. Her gaze had turned slightly inward.
Astron continued.
“You’re getting better at conceptually understanding your opponents. And that—” he paused, “—was your biggest problem.”
His words weren’t a judgment. They were a statement. A recognition.
Now, Irina finally looked at him fully. Her amber eyes searched his profile for any hint of condescension—there was none. Just the same calm, grounded presence he always carried.
She leaned back a little, letting the tension in her shoulders ease.
“So you did notice.”
Astron gave a soft, almost imperceptible nod. “Of course.”
A short silence passed between them, quiet but not empty. The kind of pause that wasn’t waiting to be filled, but simply resting in place.
Then he added, his tone still flat but firm, “Now that you’re solving it… there’s not much for me to say.”
Irina looked ahead again, lips tugging into something close to a smile.
‘Not much to say, huh?’
Irina smirked to herself, her eyes drifting toward the floor as the flicker of satisfaction settled beneath her ribs. Of course he’d say there wasn’t much to comment on. Because most of what had changed—most of what she had learned—had come from him in the first place.
Every time he stood across from her in sparring.
Every time he pointed out her tunnel vision.
Every quiet remark about her reliance on pressure, on raw force.
Every subtle correction she hadn’t wanted to hear but had needed to.
Astron never lectured. He didn’t explain things like a teacher. He just existed—consistently calm, endlessly sharp—and made her see the difference between what she thought she was doing and what she was actually doing.
Now that she was seeing the fruits of that—her decisions cleaner, her rhythm more grounded, her flames no longer just a storm of emotion but a tool of precision—it felt good.
Better than good.
It felt earned.
She leaned a little closer toward him on the bench, her shoulder brushing against his again as she grinned sideways.
“You know,” she said lightly, “you’re getting a little too comfortable with not taking credit.”
Astron blinked. “I didn’t do anything.”
Irina scoffed. “That’s a lie. You basically reshaped the way I think about combat.”
“I just gave you openings,” he replied. “You’re the one who chose to walk through them.”
She chuckled, shaking her head. “Spoken like a true mentor.”
“I’m not your mentor.”
She arched an eyebrow, smirk deepening. “Then what are you?”
Astron turned his head just enough to glance at her. “I’m your knight, remember?”
“Heh…”
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