The day after defeating Darius Ironforge in the tournament semi-finals, Marcus was summoned to the Headmaster's office. He arrived carrying his usual assortment of pastries, prepared for another lecture about maintaining proper appearances or controlling his public image.
What he found instead was Headmaster Thornsworth sitting with a young man Marcus had seen around campus but never interacted with.
The young man was strikingly handsome with sharp features, intelligent amber eyes, and silver-streaked black hair despite appearing only eighteen or nineteen years old. His Bronze Rank - Peak Stage aura was perfectly controlled, refined in a way that suggested years of expert training. He wore expensive but understated academy robes, and carried himself with unconscious nobility.
"Mr. Aldrich," Thornsworth began, "allow me to introduce Lucian Ashford. Top student of the second-year class, ranked first in Combat Theory, Advanced Mana Manipulation, and Strategic Warfare. He's expressed interest in meeting you."
Marcus sat down, taking a bite of his pastry. "Why?"
Lucian's eyes narrowed slightly at the blunt question, but he answered smoothly. "Because you won the tournament. Because you went from Iron Rank to Bronze Peak in less than two months. Because despite having no formal combat training background, you defeated opponents who've trained since childhood." He leaned forward. "You're an anomaly, Marcus Aldrich. And I want to understand how."
"Talent and hard work," Marcus said simply.
"That's not enough. I've had talent my entire life. I've trained harder than anyone else in our year. I've studied under masters, absorbed knowledge from every available source." Lucian's frustration was evident. "Yet you, an alchemist who supposedly focuses on potion-making, defeated Darius Ironforge—someone I struggled against for ten minutes last year—in under five minutes. How?"
Marcus studied Lucian more carefully. There was something underneath the polished noble exterior. Desperation, perhaps. Or hunger for something he couldn't achieve despite all his advantages.
"You want me to train you?" Marcus guessed.
"Yes. In exchange, I can offer compensation—gold, resources, family connections. The Ashford family may be minor nobility, but we have influence in certain circles." Lucian's amber eyes were intense. "I'll pay whatever price you ask. Just teach me how you fight."
Thornsworth cleared his throat. "I've approved this arrangement if you agree, Marcus. Mr. Ashford's request is unusual but not against academy policy. You would maintain your current class schedule while providing supplementary combat instruction to Mr. Ashford during free periods."
Marcus considered. Lucian Ashford was clearly skilled, intelligent, and driven. He was also desperate to improve, which suggested he had reasons beyond simple competitive pride.
"Why do you need to be stronger?" Marcus asked directly.
Lucian's expression hardened. "That's personal."
"Then no deal. I'm not interested in training someone whose motivations I don't understand."
"Marcus—" Thornsworth began.
"It's fine, Headmaster." Lucian's jaw clenched, then he spoke. "You want honesty? Fine. I'm a bastard. My father is Marquis Theodore Ashford, one of the most powerful nobles in the kingdom. My mother was his mistress, a commoner woman who died when I was six. The Marquis acknowledged me, gave me his name, but I'll never inherit. Never have real power. Never be anything more than the 'talented bastard' people whisper about."
His hands clenched into fists. "I need to be stronger because strength is the only thing that matters in this world. If I'm powerful enough—Gold Rank, Platinum, maybe even Diamond—then it won't matter that I'm illegitimate. People will respect me for my power, not dismiss me for my birth."
The raw honesty caught Marcus off-guard. This wasn't noble arrogance. This was someone fighting against a system that had decided his worth based on circumstances beyond his control.
Marcus could relate to that. He'd been dismissed as the fat kid in his previous life, ignored and underestimated. Now he was using that same underestimation as camouflage.
"How much are you willing to pay for training?" Marcus asked.
"Five hundred gold per week," Lucian said immediately. "Plus I'll owe you a favor from the Ashford family—limited but legitimate claim to their resources."
Marcus did the mental math. Two thousand gold per month just for teaching someone to fight? That was excellent passive income, and the family favor could be useful.
"Deal. But understand—my training methods are unconventional. I won't explain my techniques or share my secrets. I'll teach you what I think will make you stronger, and you follow instructions without questioning why. Accept those terms or find another instructor."
"Accepted." Lucian stood and offered his hand. "When do we start?"
"Tomorrow morning, fifth bell. Meet me at the eastern training yard. Bring practice weapons and prepare to get hit. A lot."
After Lucian left, Thornsworth studied Marcus with interest. "That was surprisingly compassionate of you. I expected you to refuse."
"He's paying well. That's just business."
"Of course. Just business." Thornsworth's knowing smile suggested he didn't believe that entirely. "One piece of advice, Marcus—Lucian Ashford is brilliant but also carries considerable emotional weight from his background. Be patient with him."
"I'm not a therapist, Headmaster. I'm a combat instructor. He'll learn to fight better or he won't. His emotional problems are his own."
Marcus left before Thornsworth could respond, already mentally reviewing what training regimen would actually help someone as skilled as Lucian improve.
The truth was, Lucian's fundamentals were probably better than Marcus's—years of formal training versus Marcus's self-taught assassination techniques. What Marcus had that Lucian lacked was practical experience fighting for his life against opponents who wanted him dead.
He'd need to share that mindset without revealing he was an actual assassin. Tricky, but manageable.