Teleportation ended without sensation.
One moment the corridor existed— the next, space folded inward.
We arrived.
The principal's office was not reached through a door.
It existed wherever he decided it should.
Royal-red carpet covered the floor, thick enough to drown footsteps. Above, a crystal chandelier floated rather than hung, its light steady and cold. To the right stood a massive desk—dark wood, polished, a peacock feather resting in an inkstand beside neatly arranged papers. Behind it loomed a towering bookshelf packed with volumes old enough to hum with mana.
To the left—trophies.
Relics.
Broken weapons.
Sealed artifacts.
And memories that did not belong to this academy alone.
The principal raised one hand.
A chair formed beneath me.
Opposite me, near the window, the Spirit Summoner stood quietly—no academy robe now. Her posture was different. Alert. Ready.
Not a teacher.
A handler.
Curse Weaver's voice slid into my mind, calm but sharp.
[Remain cautious. This place is a prepared domain.]
I didn't reply.
I already felt it.
The domain suppressed interference. Light. Sound. Even fate itself felt… muted.
The principal sat—not on a throne, but on a royal seat that implied authority without arrogance.
"Let us begin," he said. "Your name."
"I won't tell you," I replied. "Nor any personal information."
No anger. No hesitation.
Just refusal.
His eyes narrowed—not offended, but intrigued.
"Very well. Your magic knight rank?"
"I've never measured it."
A pause.
He smiled slightly. "You can see it in the system."
My fingers tightened.
"…You know about the system?"
"Yes."
He tapped the air.
A projection unfolded.
A message.
> 'A certain star is warning you to stop the fight.'
Silence followed.
"There are only two cases where a sender's identity is hidden," the principal said calmly. "A god. Or a greater being."
He leaned back.
"In either case, it becomes a headache."
I spoke slowly. "Then you already know. I'm not a player."
"Correct," he said. "You are a candidate."
The word settled heavily.
"In thirty years," he continued, "no student has reached this threshold. The system does not grant knowledge without reason. It only observes… until it must act."
"So what do you want?"
His answer came immediately.
"A guarantee."
His gaze sharpened.
"That no matter the circumstance—fleet, invasion, internal collapse—you will protect the academy's royalty and students."
I shook my head. "I have a lifelong contract. An oath. My loyalty belongs to the princess."
His expression did not change.
"Then if the princess or Aeldir becomes a threat… you will not interfere?"
The room tightened.
My blood burned.
"What if I say no?"
"Then we remove the risks," he said calmly. "Expulsion. Or death."
The mask cracked—just slightly.
"If you try," I said quietly, "those flames will burn your soul. Do you fear death?"
He laughed.
"Do you believe I've lived this long fearing it?"
Silence.
Then—
He activated the crystal.
A projection filled the room.
A cave.
Aeldir's parents—sleeping.
Alive.
My heart pounded, but I didn't move.
Another projection replaced it.
A desert.
Serin.
Eron.
Calling my name.
The domain pressed inward.
This was not a threat. It was exposure — proof that resistance had a cost.
I stood.
Grabbed his collar.
"You're using family and weakness just to—"
I stopped.
Sat back down.
"…Fine," I said. "If it becomes necessary—I will stop Lysandria."
A pause.
"But not Aeldir."
"That is acceptable," he replied.
"One condition," I added. "Provide me a vessel. One that can withstand my power. Constantly."
He nodded. "It can be arranged."
We shook hands.
The handshake sealed nothing. It only acknowledged the transaction.
Heavy.
False.
As I turned to leave, he spoke once more.
"You heard it too, didn't you?"
The bookshelf slid aside.
Lysandria stood there.
Shock.
Anger.
Betrayal.
Lysandria took one step forward—then stopped, breath uneven.
For a heartbeat, the princess vanished.
What remained was someone deciding whether trust was a mistake.
The Spirit Summoner moved instantly to her side.
The principal exhaled slowly.
"It took decades to construct this domain," he murmured. "To weaken system oversight. To time illusions. To pay the cost."
He looked up at the chandelier.
"And even then… generals would bend easier than that spirit."
The light dimmed.
The domain dissolved.
This was only the first test.
---