016. Morning

"Hey, what the hell happened, man?" Joe asked as he stepped out of the restroom, staring at Kael's bandages.

Kael let out a quiet sigh, the kind that carried more weight than sound, and slowly turned over to the other side—away from the unwelcome sight.

With a weary motion, he pulled the bedsheet over himself, as if it could shield him not just from the cold, but from everything he didn't want to face.

"It's nothing, Joe. Go to sleep, we have school tomorrow."

Joe didn't listen. He moved quickly and sat by Kael's bed, eagerly tapping on him.

"Oww, Joe! I said go to bed. I don't want to talk about this. Just let me sleep, okay?"

"But it's just the first day. How did you get this injured? What were you up to?"

"It's none of your business, Joe. Just... just go to bed, okay? We can talk about this tomorrow."

Kael was already feeling the creeping irritation settle in, just as he had predicted. His body throbbed with a familiar ache—the kind that clung to his muscles from stopping the flaming vortex, raw and unforgiving.

Stopping a flaming vortex wasn't as effortless as the A-rank heroes made it look. He had spent years watching them deflect deadly strikes like it was routine, or tank them with nothing more than a grunt before charging forward again.

Now, with the pain etched into every joint and breath, he finally understood what they must have felt behind those stoic expressions.

Joe lingered for a moment, quietly watching him from the edge of the bed. Then, without a word, he stood up, crossed the room in a few slow steps, and sank into his own mattress, the springs groaning faintly beneath him.

"I hope we become really good friends in the future," he murmured before he turned over to the other end of the bed.

Kael held back the words that rose to the edge of his tongue, letting them slip away without resistance. It wasn't worth the energy—not tonight. All he wanted now was sleep, plain and simple.

Even as his fingers lazily scrolled through the system interface, his mind was already drifting, each notification and stat line blurring into the next.

Eventually, with a quiet exhale, he dismissed the interface and let it fade from view. His eyes closed soon after, heavy with exhaustion, leaving the restless curiosity and unanswered questions for the next day to deal with.

■■■■■■■■■■■■

Morning came quicker than Kael had anticipated—or maybe it only felt that way because of how drained he'd been the night before. The hours had slipped by in an instant, swallowed by a deep, dreamless sleep.

He rolled over to the other side of the bed, blinking against the faint light seeping through the curtains.

As expected, Joe was already up and moving around the room with his usual restless energy, pulling on his uniform and grabbing supplies.

Today marked the official start of classes, and Joe looked every bit the part of someone determined not to be late.

"What time is it?" he murmured as he stared at him getting dressed.

"It's 6:15 a.m., Kael. We should be on our way by now, not sleeping around—but you can take the day off due to your condition."

Kael let out a low grunt and gave a half-hearted shrug before finally dragging himself upright.

He swung his legs off the bed with slow, deliberate movements, the lingering stiffness in his body making each shift feel heavier than it should.

Sliding his feet into his worn slippers, he pushed himself to a stand and shuffled toward the bathroom.

"And miss the very first day of school? I don't want any problems."

Kael pushed the bathroom door open and gave a quick glance inside. As usual, the place was spotless—everything in its place, the mirror wiped clean, the floor dry and free of stray water droplets.

Joe had a habit of tidying up after himself whenever he used the bathroom, whether it was after a shower or a quick rinse. It was one of those quiet, consistent things Kael had come to expect, even if he rarely said anything about it.

"You can go ahead without me, I'll catch up."

He glanced back, and Joe was already gone.

He sighed. "Typical."

He stepped into the bathroom and quietly shut the door behind him, the soft click echoing faintly in the tiled space.

Moving to the mirror, he began to peel off the bandages wrapped around his torso and arms, layer by layer, revealing smooth, unblemished skin beneath—already healed, without a trace of injury.

Once the last strip had fallen away, he tossed it aside and opened the drawer below the sink, rifling through its contents in search of fresh bandages.

He wasn't planning to wear them for comfort or necessity—he just didn't want to invite any questions.

Joe had already seen him covered in bandages, and showing up without them now would only raise eyebrows he couldn't afford.

He brought out a full roll of bandages and put it aside before he removed his clothes and slid himself into the bathtub.

After a while of soaking and refreshing himself, he slowly rose from the bathtub, water cascading down his skin in quiet rivulets.

The heaviness in his limbs had eased, and though a trace of exhaustion still lingered, the dull fog of drowsiness had lifted. He felt lighter now, significantly better than when he first stepped into the tub.

Then he went toward the mirror and stared at his reflection for a long while before splashing water on his face.

He reached for a towel and methodically dried himself, wiping away the lingering water droplets clinging to his skin. Once he was done, he slipped into a clean pair of underwear before picking up the roll of bandages from the counter.

With practiced ease, he began wrapping them around the areas where the bruises were supposed to be, carefully hiding the smooth, unmarked skin beneath.

It wasn't necessary, but appearances mattered. He planned to keep the bandages on for at least three days, just enough time to mimic a believable healing rate.

Anything faster would draw unwanted attention. Only A-rank individuals were known to recover within minutes—or at most, hours. That's why the system had marked his skills as elite tier. They weren't just rare—they were unnatural.

"I should prepare faster, so I don't get scolded on my first day."

He dressed quickly, slipping into his uniform with practiced speed, fingers briskly buttoning his shirt before adjusting the stiff collar and straightening his tie in the mirror. Once satisfied, he stepped out of the bathroom, grabbed his shoulder bag, and slung it over one arm in a single, fluid motion.

Without wasting a second, he exited the room and made his way down the corridor, keeping his pace steady but purposeful.

The hallways were quieter now—most students had already filed into their classrooms, punctual as expected.

Only a handful lingered, dragging their feet with sleepy eyes and half-zipped bags. He was among the stragglers, but not by much.

Fortunately, he made it just in time. As he stepped through the classroom doors, his eyes instinctively scanned the room—and there, off to the left, was Seraphina.