S-Rank First Year

Hanging on the wall next to the mirror was a small blade, sharp and pristine. He reached for it instinctively, the glint of the metal catching his eye.

He studied it, turning it over in his hands. 

No need for that, he thought, setting it back down. 

Despite all he had been through, there was one peculiar thing he had noticed about himself: facial hair never seemed to grow. 

Unlike his father.

Aziz froze, his fingers brushing against the edge of the sink. 

His father. 

A memory flickered in his mind, faint and indistinct, like the last rays of sunlight before night. 

The thought of him was a distant haze, something he hadn't allowed himself to dwell on in years. His father's face refused to form in his mind, but the presence lingered—a shadow of what was once a figure of strength. He blinked, shaking his head sharply. He didn't have time for this.