Chapter 16: After the Shot

The door clicked shut behind him, sealing the test—and everything he'd just done—inside.

Vincent Valenciari stepped into the long corridor, his face cold and unreadable, footsteps echoing softly against the polished floor.

> [System Notification: Arsenal Ability Temporarily Sealed]

Summoned weapon has been recalled. Await results in dorm assignment notice.

His hand dropped to his coat pocket, the weight of the now-vanished weapon lingering in his fingers. For a brief moment, the Arsenal had been his to command. A sliver of the Supreme Valenciari Bloodline. Just enough to fire a single bullet.

At Isabel Stroud.

He didn't regret it.

He'd known her. Not personally—but from the novel. One of the top psychic bloodline masters in the world. Brilliant. Unpredictable. Ruthless with tradition. And yet, with an odd respect for those who challenged authority—not with arrogance, but with conviction.

She admired the bold.

She admired madness disguised as control.

She admired the Valenciari way, even if she didn't know it yet.

He gave her exactly what she wanted.

And when he spoke the motto, that final line before leaving the room—

"Per la famiglia, parlano solo le pistole."

For the family, only guns speak.

—he saw it in her eyes.

Recognition.

The kind that cut deeper than words.

But that was just the beginning.

There were more characters from the novel who hadn't appeared yet. Future allies. Enemies. People who would one day shape wars. He couldn't afford to misstep. His survival—and domination—relied on playing the game smarter than anyone else.

This academy wasn't just a proving ground.

It was a battlefield.

And then he heard her.

"Vincent!"

Clara's voice bounced down the hallway as she jogged up, dragging that same ridiculous suitcase. Her red hair was slightly frazzled and her cheeks flushed from exertion.

"You're done already?" she asked, panting. "Jeez, I was sure you'd take forever with all that mafia heir mystery aura."

Vincent gave her a sidelong glance. "Wasn't that complicated."

Clara rolled her eyes. "Says the guy who looks like he just finished sipping tea instead of facing a ranked instructor."

She grinned and nudged his arm. "So? Who did you get?"

"Isabel Stroud."

Clara's eyes widened. "Wait. The Isabel Stroud? She evaluated me too—well, her assistant did. She's amazing! Her psychic command is insane. They say she once held an entire arena full of S-class students mid-air while sipping wine."

Vincent let out a quiet breath. "I fired a bullet at her."

Clara stopped in her tracks. "...What?"

"I summoned a gun and shot at her."

There was a beat of silence.

Clara burst out laughing. "Yeah right. Come on, be serious."

Vincent didn't answer. He just kept walking.

Clara stared, then blinked. "Wait—you're serious?"

He tilted his head slightly.

She threw her hands up. "Okay, okay! I don't even know how you're still breathing, but that's the most insane thing I've ever heard. If I tried that, my bones would be somewhere on Mars."

Vincent gave a faint smirk.

Clara shook her head, still laughing. "Man, you're nuts. Anyway, I didn't get to be that dramatic, unfortunately. My ability's different. Psychic-ish, sure, but it's more like projection. I can create phantom pressure zones—mess with weight and balance in an area. Not full-on telekinesis like her."

"Interesting."

"Sounds effective."

She blinked at the compliment. "...Thanks?"

Vincent started walking again, and Clara matched his pace.

"So," she said, giving him a sideways glance, "Dorm assignments next?"

He nodded. "We'll see where they put us.""Hope you're not stuck with any loud idiots," Clara muttered.

He didn't answer.

Instead, he cast a glance at the evening sky outside the academy windows—golden clouds trailing like smoke, the last light dripping over the rooftops. Ardent Academy felt less like a school and more like a fortress of fate.

Vincent was already planning his next steps.

So much had changed from the original novel.

His arrival.

The system.

The test.

The pistol.

Small things, maybe. But in a world built on bloodlines and power, the smallest crack could destroy the entire structure—or remake it.

He couldn't afford to drift.

"Hey," Clara said again, her tone a bit more casual now, "You nervous about the rankings?"

"No."

"Huh. Confident."

Vincent's voice was quiet, almost a murmur. "I don't care about what they call it. Rankings are just temporary labels. The real test is who's standing at the end."

Clara blinked. "Okay, that was... intense."

She grinned after a beat. "You really talk like someone straight out of a noir mafia movie."

Vincent almost smiled. "Maybe I do."

They kept walking, the corridor eventually opening into a wide marble hall filled with first-years checking their dorm placements. The crowd buzzed with nervous chatter, bragging, and frustration.

Clara tilted her head toward the board. "C'mon. Let's go see where fate decided to dump us."

Vincent followed, but his gaze drifted again—not to the names, but to the future.

He was no longer just a reader of the story.

He was rewriting it.

And unlike the others, he didn't need approval.

He had the bloodline.

The Arsenal.

And now… a reason.

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TO BE CONTINUED…