The Blueblood Exorcist

"By now, many of you must be wondering: 'How do I use this energy in practice? Do I just shoot a bright beam? Do I just reinforce my punches?'" Professor Owen said, pacing back and forth on the platform like a general addressing recruits. "The answer is: it depends. Everything depends on the situation—and the Path you walk."

With a wave of his hand, the enchanted blackboard shimmered, projecting a hologram of two fighters—one unarmed, the other wielding a long spear made of pure energy.

"Let's start with the basics: armed combat versus unarmed combat."

The projection split into two frames, showing clashes between opponents of different styles.

"For Warriors, a weapon is an extension of the body. A true Warrior trains with fists as much as blades. But if caught without a sword, they won't hesitate—they'll use Aura to reinforce their muscles, harden their skin, and crush stone with bare hands."

"Mages and Elementalists? If they lose their focus or catalyst, they must rely on quick-cast spells, using Mana or Ether to manipulate the environment. Summoning an ice blade in a split second, conjuring a wind barrier… that could be the difference between life and death."

"As for Cultivators and Spiritualists… they're like rivers. The smoother the flow, the deadlier the outcome. They wield Qi or Prana to strike and evade with grace. To them, the entire body is both weapon and armor."

Reid smirked and whispered:

"Bet you still don't know where you fit in all this, huh?"

Indra huffed, shaking his head.

"If I told you I'm more lost than a blind man in a shootout, would you believe me?"

"Given your track record of 'doing everything wrong but somehow making it work'? Absolutely."

"Glad to have your support," Indra replied with a sarcastic grin.

"Always here to remind you you're a walking anomaly."

Their banter drew a glance from a nearby girl, but Owen ignored them, focused on his lecture.

"Now, about energy application," Owen continued. "Regardless of Path, there are three fundamental pillars that apply to any combat style:

Amplification—enhancing physical, mental, or sensory capabilities.

Projection—manifesting energy externally as spells, blasts, or force fields.

Channeling—imbuing objects or weapons to act as conduits for your power."

Owen gestured again, and symbols began rotating above the students.

"The key is knowing what to prioritize. In close combat against a stronger foe? Amplify speed and evasion. In a ranged duel? Project. And if you have your weapon of choice, channel everything into it and shatter your enemy's defense with a single strike."

The entire class was spellbound.

Even Kade Rockefeller seemed attentive—though his arms remained crossed, as if refusing to admit he was learning anything.

"Now, for advanced techniques…" Owen raised a finger. "There's Overlay. Combining two modes at once—Projection and Amplification, for example. But know this: the more you split your focus, the more unstable the result. And instability in combat… is a recipe for death."

Indra swallowed hard. Even without fully understanding his own place, Owen's words felt like revelations. It was as if the world around him was finally coming into focus—like he was glimpsing the edges of the puzzle they called Reality.

Reid, meanwhile, looked relaxed, as if he already knew most of this but was still curious about the details. At one point, he leaned toward Indra and murmured:

"You're still thinking about that cat, aren't you?"

Indra jolted, nearly choking.

"What? How did you—?"

"You've got that 'haunted by a spirit animal' look," Reid said, chuckling. "Don't ask how I know. I just do."

Indra stared, unsure if Reid was joking or reading his mind.

"I might've… crossed paths with something strange."

"A word of advice? If it's what I think it is… don't ignore it. Creatures like that appear for a reason."

"Is that a good sign?"

"Not always. But it's interesting. And in this world, interesting beats ordinary."

Before Indra could press further, a bell echoed through the walls. A soft blue glow traced the runes on the ceiling and door, signaling the end of class.

Owen closed the book he hadn't seemed to open in the first place.

"That's all for today. Reflect on the Path you're walking—and more importantly, why you're walking it. Combat Theory begins with the mind, not the fists."

His gaze lingered on Indra for a brief moment—or so it seemed.

"Combat isn't just strength. It's clarity."

With that, the room slowly emptied. Reid stood first, stretching.

"Hey. Wanna walk around? I'll show you more of the Academy. If that creepy cat shows up again, at least you'll have a witness."

Indra laughed but agreed.

"Only if you promise not to run."

"No promises. If it glares at me with that pink eye, I'm screaming for you."

As they left together, the image of the mysterious feline resurfaced in Indra's mind—those shimmering eyes, the glossy fur, the eerie sense of being watched by something far older than a mere cat.

An omen, Indra thought again.

And something inside him—instinct, or perhaps his newly awakened magic—whispered that he was right.

That the real fight was yet to come.

---

The halls of the Esoteric Academy pulsed with energy between classes. Every enchanted stone, every carved rune seemed to vibrate in sync with the students bustling past—discussing lessons, trading jokes, or sharing tales of past training.

Indra followed Reid in silence, eyes darting across the surreal architecture—floating pillars, subtly shifting sculptures, and light sources with no origin.

"So?" Reid said casually as they passed a yawning dragon statue. "Enjoying your first day in magical paradise, or ready to crawl back to Earth?"

"I don't even know what I'm feeling. It's all too much… and too beautiful to be real," Indra admitted, staring at an animated stained-glass window depicting an ancient arcane war. "But the cafeteria's one thing I get. Food's food, right?"

"Esoteric food," Reid corrected with a grin. "Don't freak out if something on your tray stares back."

Indra laughed, hoping it was a joke.

The Academy's cafeteria looked like a cross between a fey castle's banquet hall and an interdimensional university dining room. Rows of enchanted stone tables with plush benches stretched in geometric patterns. Floating windows displayed ever-shifting vistas of the Other Side's magical weather.

As they grabbed trays, a blue-skinned, three-eyed attendant nodded at them. Indra eyed the options: glowing translucent pasta, rune-engraved meat, color-shifting vegetables… and a perpetually bubbling juice.

"…Do you know what this is?" Indra asked, pointing at a crystalline cake.

"No clue. But it's sweet," Reid said, already taking two slices.

They settled at a table near a window. Indra swirled his drink, watching the bubbles.

"So," he finally said. "Wanted to ask you about something…"

"What?"

"The Clans. You mentioned yours is the Ledgers, and your sister… well, she seems important. And today, that Kade Rockefeller guy brought up his clan. I wanna understand how it works."

"Ah. The Clan system," Reid said, propping his chin on his hand. "It's basically the political and elitist core of the Esoteric Society. The Nine Great Clans are the families controlling the pillars of the Other Side—arcane power, ancient knowledge, divine legacies… that sort of thing."

Indra listened like each word was a secret formula.

"Each major clan usually has an Heir. That person gets the best the family offers—secret techniques, inherited treasures, legendary mentors. It's not just blood. It's expectation. If you're the Heir, you're the Clan's face. Their living weapon."

"Sophie's that?"

Reid nodded slowly, his tone turning serious.

"She's the Ledger Clan's Heir, yeah. But… she's not like the others. Never has been. That's why she draws so much attention—and opposition."

"And you?"

Reid smirked, almost melancholic.

"I'm just the little brother."

Before Indra could ask more, a new presence approached.

A tray clattered onto the table. A girl stood there, serene but with a faint tension in her shoulders—like she expected rejection. Her voice was neutral, yet carried a hidden hope:

"Mind if I sit here?"

Indra and Reid looked up. She was striking.

Platinum hair cascaded to her mid-back, roots stark black against the light. Her pale skin seemed to glow under the cafeteria's enchanted lights. She wore a band T-shirt (some group Indra didn't recognize) under a sheer black jacket that flowed like mist.

Fishnet sleeves covered her arms, one fully tattooed in irezumi style—waves, tigers, peonies, and demons swirling like a story in ink.

For a moment, neither spoke. Reid arched a brow, amused. Indra felt an odd nervousness—like she radiated a different energy. Not hostile, but… intense.

"Sure," Indra said, gesturing to the empty seat.

She sat, and silence settled—like the calm before a storm or a revelation.

And Indra… had no idea how her presence would reshape his path.

---

Side by side, Indra and Reid ate in relative peace—or as much peace as possible when dessert might explode. Indra's tray was nearly empty, and he'd decided never to judge food by its crystalline appearance again.

The platinum-haired girl—Claire—chewed thoughtfully, her piercing eyes flicking between them but lingering on Indra. Finally, she broke the silence:

"Claire Seguette. That's my name."

Before she could elaborate, Reid threw his hands up dramatically.

"I knew it!"

Indra frowned. "You know her?"

"Know her?" Reid laughed, leaning in. "She's the maniac who's been challenging and beating up Minor Clan heirs. They call her 'The Blueblood Exorcist.'"

Indra's eyes widened. Claire met his gaze, lips curling into a proud smirk. She wore the title like a badge.

"So… that's why you were sitting alone?" Reid teased. "No one wants to share a table with a girl who collects defeated heirs like trophies."

Claire rolled her eyes, frustration flashing.

"I don't just attack anyone. Only Clan heirs. There's a difference."

"Uh-huh," Reid said, stabbing his food. "That makes it so much better."

The table tensed. Claire adjusted her jacket, arms crossed.

Indra intervened, hands raised. "Okay, okay! Regardless, isn't heir rivalry normal here?"

"Between them, yes," Reid stressed. "But she's not an Heir. That's the point.

Indra looked at Claire. Her expression confirmed it—bitter but unyielding.

"So… you're not a Clan Heir?"

"No. But I'm not from the Mortal Plane either," she said flatly.

Indra blinked. "What?"

"There are fringe regions in the Esoteric Society," she explained. "People outside the Great Clans, the pureblood lines, the legacies. Most never set foot in this Academy."

A faint sigh.

"But a few make it. Alone. Through skill, luck, or sheer force. I'm one of them."

Indra stared, fascinated. He saw himself in her—an outsider in this gilded world, grappling with rules written in blood.

Reid crossed his arms. "Doesn't change the fact that picking fights with heirs is a fast track to being hated."

Claire arched a brow.

"And what's wrong with being hated by the wrong people?"

Indra chuckled. She was intense, unpredictable… and maybe that was exactly what this world needed.

As they ate, the table became neutral ground—a lost human boy, a shadowed heir, and a warrior from the fringes.

And though they had little in common, something between them aligned… like pieces of a puzzle yet to be solved.