Moody Kid

The student swiftly turns around, but before he can leave, Malphas steps forward to stop him.

"Um, I forgot to ask," Malphas says hesitantly, "What's your name?"

The student clicks his tongue in mild annoyance. "Tch—It's Rion Becker."

'Rion Becker, the only other name I've heard from someone in the past week,' Malphas thought, silently committing it to memory.

"Anyway," Rion continues, pointing toward the man overseeing the students, "I need to inform Professor Meyer that we're ready."

Without waiting for a response, Rion jogs over to the professor, who is methodically observing the students around him.

"Professor, we're prepared to begin," Rion informs him.

Professor Meyer nods sharply. "Very well. Get your partner ready. I'll assign a medical student from the support department to be on standby during the match. Your battle commences in two minutes."

"Yes, Professor," Rion replies crisply.

As Rion hurries back to inform Malphas, Professor Meyer's gaze lingers on the mysterious new student who had seemingly appeared out of thin air. 

'To be recommended by a divine rank... It's unprecedented,' Meyer mused, his expression neutral but his thoughts racing. The boy's sudden appearance and enigmatic background had already raised suspicions among the professors. 

This trial would serve as a convenient opportunity. 

'Let's see what this child can do,' Meyer thought. 'How skilled can one become after reportedly spending their entire life within the first trial?'

---

Rows of students in black uniforms stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their hands clasped behind their backs. Their uniforms were functional, loose-fitting for movement, and distinctly different from the grey attire of the support department, which was adorned with pockets holding vials and medical supplies.

Two combat department students now faced each other in front of the line. The air was thick with tension, heavy and cold, as though something momentous was about to happen. One of the combatants was already breathing harder than the other, and the match hadn't even begun.

Professor Meyer raised his hand, holding it steady as a statue, his cold gaze fixed on the pair of students. The pressure in the air was palpable; even the audience could feel its weight bearing down on them. 

All except one.

Malphas stood in the crowd, seemingly unaffected. His obliviousness to the atmosphere sparked murmurs of jealousy among some of the students.

With a swift motion, Meyer lowered his hand. The word he spoke cut through the silence like a blade.

"Begin."

In an instant, both students vanished from their spots, reappearing in the center of the field as their strikes collided in a flurry of movement.

---

A minute later, one student wiped blood from his nose, while the other sat clutching his head, visibly furious. A medic from the support department knelt beside the latter, working quickly to patch him up.

"What gives dude?!" the injured student snapped, glaring at his opponent. 

The other student tilted his head in mock confusion. "What?"

"What do you mean, 'What?'" the first student shot to his feet, his frustration boiling over. "Why the hell did you go so hard on me? You know I'm not as strong as you, and then you pull that cheap shot—kneeing me in the head at the last second?!"

The other student shrugged. "Maybe I wouldn't have if you hadn't punched me in the face."

The two glared at each other, their tempers flaring, until a sudden shift in the air silenced them both. Professor Meyer strode toward them, his mere presence suffocating. The icy chill of his stare made even the audience tremble.

"You two," he said, his voice like a blade. "Shut your mouths and get patched up. Or I'll give you a reason to need patching up."

A vein bulged in his temple, and the students recoiled in unison. "N-No, sir!" they stammered before retreating.

Meyer's gaze then swept across the remaining students, most of whom were still trembling under his oppressive presence. But one stood apart, calm and unaffected. Malphas.

'This kid…' Meyer thought, his lips curving into a faint smirk. 'Even with zero essences, he doesn't flinch under a fifth-grade-level presence. Impressive willpower.'

He was only half right. While others were crushed by the pressure, Malphas was utterly zoned out, his mind adrift in the clouds. He barely felt a chill from the professor's aura.

Meyer dismissed the oddity for now and walked toward Malphas, his footsteps crunching against the grass. "You," he said, his voice cutting through the haze of Malphas' thoughts. "Get ready. Your partner is waiting. I'll inform the medical student."

Malphas blinked, snapping back to reality. He nodded and moved to his assigned position, his expression blank but composed. On the other side, Rion took his place, his intense gaze boring into Malphas like daggers.

Malphas hesitated for a moment, then met Rion's glare with confusion—and a touch of irritation. 'What's his problem?'

Rion caught the reaction and smirked smugly as if issuing a silent challenge.

Malphas' lips twitched, and his expression darkened. 'What is this fucker trying pull?'

---

A grand room stretched before them, its walls lined with towering shelves filled with books, files, and scattered papers. To the side, messy stacks of documents threatened to spill over, opposite of the room's otherwise stately decor. A wide window at the back bathed the room in sunlight, the warm glow softened by heavy red curtains framing the glass. The crimson fabric lent the room an imposing, almost regal atmosphere.

In the center, a man sat behind a polished redwood desk, his presence commanding. His thick beard and the scar running diagonally from his temple to his chin spoke of battles long past. His attire, meticulously tailored, exuded authority. 

Leaning forward with his elbows on the desk, he rested his chin atop his interlocked fingers, his piercing gaze fixed on the man sitting casually across from him.

"So," the bearded man began, his deep voice carrying a hint of rasp, "what is it you've come to warn me about?"

The other man, dressed in casual clothes that seemed out of place in such a formal setting, leaned back in his chair, resting his arms behind his head. His demeanor was relaxed, even playful, as he responded. "Well, you told me to report back with anything I found about the kid. Malphas."

"Yes, and you said you needed to warn me about something specific," the headmaster prompted, his tone steady but firm.

"Right," the man replied, sitting forward slightly. His expression turned serious, the playful air dissipating. "For the past week, I've been observing him. The kid's... something else. Physically, he's way above the norm for a Fateweaver, but he's utterly clueless when it comes to resonance. Doesn't even know how to use it."

The headmaster nodded. "I'm aware. You mentioned this yesterday."

"Yeah, but there's something else," the man interjected, leaning in further, his voice dropping conspiratorially. 

The air in the room seemed to thicken as the headmaster raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

"He's manifesting a karmic essence," the man revealed, his words hanging heavily in the air.

The headmaster's eyes widened in disbelief. "A karmic essence? At his age? That's unheard of. Most don't develop one until they've completed the second trial, or after extensive training."

"You're right," the man agreed. "But there have been extremely rare cases where it happens early. Those cases aren't exactly... ideal."

The headmaster's expression darkened. "Yes, and those who develop it early often lack the mental fortitude to control it. Are you telling me this child is suffering the same fate?"

The man took a deep breath before answering. "Not quite. Malphas doesn't seem mentally weak. In fact, I'd say his mental resilience is a little above average. But…" He trailed off, his eyes clouding with a memory. 

"But?" the headmaster pressed, his tone edged with concern.

"He has these… episodes," the man explained, his voice tinged with unease. "It's like something triggers a bad memory—something he'd rather forget—and then there's a surge of power. He can't control it."

The headmaster frowned, leaning back in his chair. "And how do you handle this?"

The man shrugged, his casual demeanor returning. "You don't. You let him ride it out. First sign of an episode, just let him work through it."

"That's all?" the headmaster asked, skeptical.

"Well…" The man hesitated, then sighed. "There's one more thing. He's... emotionally volatile. Like a toddler. One minute he's calm, the next he's a mess. Smiling one second, crying his eyes out the next. It's exhausting."

The headmaster's stern expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of awkward sympathy crossing his face. "I see. So you're saying he's emotionally vulnerable but mentally resilient? That seems... contradictory."

"You're telling me," the man said, rolling his eyes. "He can handle harsh criticism and mental attacks like a champ, but God forbid someone gives him a nasty glare or bumps his shoulder. It's like flipping a switch."

The headmaster rubbed his temples, exhaling deeply. "If that's all, you're free to go."

"Gladly!" the man replied, springing up from his chair with exaggerated enthusiasm. He strode toward the grand doors but paused before opening them, glancing back with a sly grin. "Oh, by the way, Headmaster Fischer…"

"What now?" Fischer asked, his patience wearing thin.

"Don't try digging into the kid's past," the man warned, his tone suddenly serious. "Trust me, you don't want to deal with the consequences."

Before the headmaster could respond, the man pushed the doors open, a gust of air following him as he left.

Fischer stared after him, his expression unreadable. Eventually, he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "This job is exhausting," he muttered. Rising from his chair, he stretched and began walking toward the door. "Better inform the first-year professors about this. But first... lunch."