Fruhling Flower

The world had turned warmer.

The golden hues of late afternoon bathed the academy grounds in a soft glow, yet despite the tranquil setting, the air around Lucas crackled with an undeniable tension.

He had arrived earlier than expected, intending to take a brief rest after his practicals, but a fire burned deep inside him—one that refused to let him stay idle.

SWOOSH!

SWISH!

His white sword cut through the air with a sharp, resounding force, each movement so swift and precise that the very air seemed to hum in response.

The students lingering nearby instinctively took several steps back.

Even those further away, who had only caught glimpses of him in action, remained wary of stepping too close.

"Senior Lucas is seriously built different…"

"The week for the seniors' practicals has barely started, and he's already back?"

"I heard some fourth-years and even third-years aren't back yet…"