The academy did not react to the curse observation.
That was what unsettled Cain the most.
When the class returned to the upper levels, there was no alarm, no additional guards, no shift in instructor behavior. Students dispersed along familiar routes, their conversations animated but contained, their curiosity satisfied by what they had been shown.
The academy had demonstrated danger.
And then moved on.
Cain walked with Class 1B through the corridor, the steady rhythm of footsteps echoing against stone. Rei walked beside him, hands folded behind his head, expression thoughtful in a way that didn't quite match his relaxed posture.
"So," Rei said after a moment, "that was… educational."
Cain gave a slight nod.
"I mean," Rei continued, lowering his voice, "they made it look easy. Too easy, almost."
"They were seniors," Cain replied. "And the curse was controlled."
"Yeah, yeah. I get that." Rei frowned slightly. "Still. It's weird seeing something that dangerous treated like a lesson."
Cain did not answer immediately.
His attention was elsewhere.
The sensation from below—the density he had felt in the observation chamber—had not followed him up. The air here behaved normally. Mana responded cleanly. No pressure. No distortion.
And yet—
Something about the demonstration remained unresolved in his mind.
Not the curse itself.
The containment.
The seals had been intact. The dismantling flawless. But Cain had felt it: a subtle imbalance, not in the execution, but in the foundation beneath it.
As if the academy was holding something it did not fully understand.
They reached the classroom for the next period.
Instructor Kael was already there.
He stood at the front, hands clasped loosely behind his back, eyes scanning the room as students settled into their seats. The noise faded quickly, replaced by attentive silence.
"This period," Kael said calmly, "will address a topic most of you are aware of—but few of you actually understand."
He turned and wrote a single word on the board.
**SYSTEMS**
"Mana," he continued, "is not random."
A pause.
"And neither is how this world allows you to use it."
Several students straightened.
"You have already learned how to feel mana. How to circulate it. How to shape it." Kael's gaze swept the room. "But none of that explains why two people performing the same action can receive vastly different results."
He tapped the board lightly.
"That difference is mediated."
By the world.
By structure.
By system.
Cain's focus sharpened.
"At a certain point," Kael said, "raw perception is no longer sufficient. The world begins to measure you."
A few students exchanged glances.
"Those of you who have reached adequate internal stability may already feel it," Kael added. "A subtle pressure. A sense of alignment."
He raised his hand.
"When the conditions are met, the world responds."
He spoke clearly.
"Status Window."
The air before him shimmered.
A translucent pane of light unfolded smoothly, lines of data arranging themselves with mechanical precision. The glow was steady, restrained—less magical spectacle and more interface acknowledgment.
A murmur rippled through the class.
"This," Kael said, dismissing it with a gesture, "is not a blessing. It is not a gift."
The window vanished.
"It is a reflection."
He turned back to the class.
"It shows you what you are capable of now—not what you might become. It does not lie. It does not exaggerate."
Cain felt something settle into place.
This was not divine.
It was administrative.
"Activation is voluntary," Kael continued. "And not all of you will succeed today."
He paused.
"That is acceptable."
The tension eased slightly.
"Those who can, may attempt activation."
One by one, students spoke the words.
Some windows appeared immediately—clean, stable, almost eager. Others flickered before stabilizing. A few failed entirely, their mana dispersing without response.
Kael observed without comment, noting results silently.
Rei went next.
"Status Window."
A brief surge of wind stirred around him before resolving into a neat display. His eyes scanned it quickly, lips parting in mild surprise.
"…Huh," he muttered.
The window vanished.
Cain was called shortly after.
He stood calmly.
"Status Window."
The response was immediate.
A pane of light unfolded before him—stable, precise, familiar. Strength. Agility. Mana Capacity. Control.
All within expected parameters.
Then—
At the bottom of the display, beneath the structured entries, something hesitated.
A line of data trembled.
Not glowing.
Not stabilizing.
Just… incomplete.
ATTRIBUTE:______
STATUS: UNDEFINED
ACCESS: RESTRICTED
The text flickered once.
Then froze.
Cain felt no pain. No surge. No reaction beyond the quiet recognition that something had reached a boundary.
He dismissed the window without comment.
Kael did not react.
No one else noticed.
Cain sat down.
Rei leaned over. "Yours show up okay?"
"Yes," Cain replied.
That was true.
---
The class ended normally.
Students filed out, discussing numbers and parameters, comparing values in hushed excitement. Status Windows became the topic of the hour—pride, disappointment, curiosity mixing freely.
Cain walked alone.
The incomplete line lingered in his thoughts.
Not as fear.
As limitation.
Later, in his room, Cain activated the window again.
The same entries appeared.
The same values.
And the same undefined attribute.
Unchanged.
Unresponsive.
He dismissed it.
The room returned to silence.
Cain sat on the edge of his bed, forearms resting lightly on his knees.
The academy used systems.
Measured growth.
Contained danger.
And yet—
Beneath all of it, something older remained sealed.
Waiting.
Cain lay back and stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, training would continue.
Swordsmanship. Fundamentals. Progress.
And somewhere beneath the academy's foundations, containment systems older than memory remained intact.
For now.
---