The sound of breathing filled the hall. Heavy. Steady. Almost rhythmic.
Inside the wooden dojo bathed in the orange glow of sunset, a frail-looking boy remained kneeling, a training sword resting atop his thighs. Sunlight danced across the floorboards, and the silence was broken only by deep breaths being drawn in, as if he were trying to energize every last muscle in his body.
Then, his eyes opened.
— Total concentration.
The atmosphere shifted. The air grew dense.
— Water Breathing, First Form: Minamo Giri! (Water Surface Slash!)
The wooden blade sliced through the air, leaving behind a translucent, liquid trail that rippled like flowing water.
— Second Form: Mizuguruma! (Water Wheel!)
The next strike spun his body around its axis, forming a cutting wheel that scattered droplets across the dojo.
— Third Form: Ryūryū Mai! (Flowing Dance!)
His movements flowed like a war dance. Each step resembled tides advancing and retreating, and the sound of the wind echoed like waves crashing against the shore.
— Fourth Form: Uchishio! (Striking Tide!)
Two swift, powerful slashes crossed in midair, carving an X-shaped surge of watery energy.
— Sixth Form: Nejire Uzu! (Spiral Whirlpool!)
He twisted his body into a low leap, forming a spiraling vortex that seemed to drag the air itself along, as if the entire dojo were about to be swallowed whole.
— Seventh Form: Shizuku wa Mondzuki! (Piercing Raindrops!)
Bursting from the vortex, he lunged forward with a straight thrust. The air trembled, and tiny cutting droplets shot out like sharpened rain.
— Eighth Form: Takitsubo! (Waterfall Basin!)
Spinning fully, he leapt high, raised the wooden blade overhead, and brought it down with everything he had. The impact echoed through the floor, accompanied by a wave of hot vapor and ragged breathing.
— Hah… hah… ngh… I… did it…
The sword was embedded in the floor. His body trembled, sweat dripping down and mixing with the water he himself had created. It was hard to tell where technique ended and exhaustion began.
From the dojo entrance, a lazy voice broke the silence.
— Hey, kid… your mom said to tell you dinner's ready.
The man leaning against the doorframe surveyed the flooded floor. The dojo looked like it had survived a tsunami. They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds.
...
— Well… I was planning on washing the place anyway, he said, scratching the back of his neck.
He turned and added before leaving.
— Just don't take too long. Food gets cold.
Still leaning on the sword, I took a deep breath. My body burned, but a pleasant sensation spread through every muscle. That unique mix of exhaustion and satisfaction that only comes from pushing yourself to the limit.
I exhaled slowly. It felt good to feel like this once in a while.
It's been about seven days since the shopping trip in Ashton. And honestly, I haven't done much besides training.
I trained breathing techniques until I nearly passed out. Stuff like holding my breath underwater in the bathtub for ten minutes straight. I thought I was going to die at least twice. I also tried that gourd training exercise, blowing into it until it cracks… but the best I managed was passing out with a purple face. Maybe I need spare lungs.
Aside from that, I focused on mastering the breathing styles ranked one star in my skill table. Essentially: Water, Flame, Flower, and Insect.
Water, as you can tell, is the one I've progressed the most in. I can perform seven forms decently now. Only two of the eleven remain: the Tenth, Constant Flux, and the Eleventh, Nagi. Those two demand absurd levels of control. Still, I'll get there.
The forms I skipped, Fifth and Ninth, are situational anyway. Nothing major. You could say I've already mastered them too.
As for the other breathing styles, I tested a few, but avoided going too far with Flame. Simple reason: I didn't want to set my dad's dojo on fire. He probably wouldn't be as forgiving as he was with today's "artistic flooding."
Either way, I can confidently say I'm ready.
Because tomorrow, classes officially begin at Lock Academy. Theory lessons, arrogant instructors, prodigies with inflated egos, and all the joys of school life.
I sighed, staring up at the ceiling.
— This is going to be so… exhausting.
———
Standing before the classroom door, the boy let out a tired sigh. Jet-black hair fell loosely over his eyes, a deep blue so intense it seemed to hold more awareness than it should.
Ren Dover.
He lifted his gaze to the metal plate on the door.
[A25]
That simple combination of letter and number felt more like a sentence than a designation. The letter "A" represented the academy's upper tier. The domain of geniuses, heirs, and prodigies. The number "25" was just the room. But for Ren, that specific room carried far more weight.
It was the room.
The same room where the protagonist and the entire main cast would spend half of the original story. The stage for intrigues, rivalries, and catastrophes with elegant names.
Ren knew that better than anyone. And because of that, he sighed.
He didn't want to be there. Not at all.
But apparently, the universe had a peculiar sense of humor. The kind that enjoyed dragging background characters straight into the eye of the storm.
— Hey, are you going in or are you going to stand there all day?
The female voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Sharp, but melodic enough to draw attention.
Ren turned his head and found himself facing a girl who looked like she'd stepped straight out of a painting. Short brown hair, a cold crystal-clear gaze, delicate and well-balanced features. Pale skin without a single flaw, contrasting with cherry-colored lips slightly pursed in impatience.
She wasn't just beautiful. She was too beautiful. The kind of beauty that seemed fully aware of itself.
— Move it.
Without ceremony, she shoved him aside and entered the classroom, exuding the air of someone used to having space reserved just for her.
Ren blinked in surprise, then let out a resigned smile.
"Emma Roshfield…"
A name any reader of the original story would recognize instantly. The mayor of Ashton's daughter, who also served as vice-director of the Syndicate and, on top of that, was an S-rank warrior. In other words, one of the most powerful figures in the human domain.
In the original story, Emma was one of the main heroines. Determined, impulsive, confidently arrogant. A mix of charisma and pride that split readers between loving her and wanting to throw her out a window.
Ren let out another, longer sigh.
With calm steps, he entered the room. The space was wide, lit by large windows that let the morning light pour in golden beams. Conversations echoed, laughter here and there, and among the animated faces, he could recognize several notable characters.
It felt like watching the story about to begin. And unfortunately, he had a front-row seat.
Ren scanned the room and, strategically, chose the seat farthest from everyone else. Second row on the left, near the window. Discreet. Functional.
A simple man with a simple thought.
"Why would I sit near walking magnets for disaster?"
His tired but calm gaze returned to the window as the classroom's murmur grew around him.
———
Okay… this one's on me.
I still wasn't sure if I'd underestimated the academy's size or overestimated my sense of direction. Probably both. But the point is, I was finally standing in front of classroom A25.
The problem? Class had already started ten minutes ago.
Perfect.
"How do I even go in now…?" I thought, staring at the doorknob like it was a legendary enemy. Even Kevin, the guy divinely gifted at being late to everything, had already made his grand entrance. Considering the power levels and egos inside, I'd be lucky not to get incinerated the moment I opened the door.
...
But waiting would be worse.
I took a deep breath. Controlled it. Relaxed my body. And with the calm of someone who had already accepted their own death, I opened the door.
— Crrrk…
The sound of old hinges echoed through the room.
Every head turned toward me.
Framed by the doorway stood a short boy with pale skin and long black hair falling smoothly to his shoulders. His eyes, large and emerald-green, contrasted sharply with the calm, almost empty expression on his face.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then whispers began to spread.
"So cute."
"Did he get lost?"
"He looks like a kid…"
"…a late student?"
Then they noticed the cobalt-blue uniform. It clicked. Yes, he was a Lock freshman.
The instructor, Donna Longbern, who had been reviewing something on her tablet, lifted her gaze with a restrained sigh. Her violet eyes were deep and sharp, the kind that could melt steel or obliterate a student's confidence.
Typing quickly, the tablet projected a holographic display in front of her.
"Kazehara Yuto. Rank 2055."
A collective murmur swept through the room.
Rank 2055. Dead last among all freshmen.
Until that moment, Ren Dover, rank 1750, firmly believed he was scraping the bottom of the barrel. But now, someone had dug a tunnel beneath it and decided to live there.
The silence that followed was almost respectful. Until disdain began to creep into their gazes.
Last place. Ten minutes late. Walking into the class of the woman known as the Witch of Calamity. Not even fate would dare write irony this cruel.
— Do you have any idea how late you are?
Donna's voice sliced through the air.
Suddenly, an invisible pressure flooded the room. The air grew thick, warm, sweet. A sugary scent spread as hearts began to race.
It was Donna's power. Pheromone Release. A unique ability that affected the nervous system and perception of those around her. Her mere presence was enough to bring people to their knees, intoxicated with adoration.
But… the boy didn't move.
He stared back with the same calm, almost curious gaze. The height difference only made the scene more absurd. She looked down at him. He looked back up at her. From far below.
Donna raised an eyebrow, irritated. That neutral stare was an insult.
She increased the output. A faint pink aura coated the room, and the sweet scent grew suffocating. Several students began sweating. Others staggered. Boys locked their knees trying to hide it, while girls looked ready to faint.
And yet… nothing.
"Why am I not being affected?"
Yuto's thought echoed calmly amid the chaos. He was genuinely curious. Though he admitted this probably wasn't the best time to investigate.
Without hesitation, he bowed slightly, hands placed neatly in front of him. A formal gesture.
— I'm very sorry, Professor Longbern. I assure you it won't happen again.
Simple. Polite. Almost unsettling in contrast.
Donna blinked in surprise. She had released about ten percent of her ability. Enough to knock any ordinary freshman unconscious. Yet the boy remained calm, looking at her as if none of it mattered.
"Hah… interesting."
A small smile curved her lips. But when she glanced at the rest of the class, she noticed the damage. Red faces. Heavy breathing. Dazed expressions. The room looked like a sauna after the apocalypse.
Cough.
Donna cleared her throat, cutting off the ability instantly. Then, with an icy stare, she declared.
— Take your seat.
Her voice was firm and cold. An order that allowed no refusal.
"Well, looks like I survived. Now I just need to find a seat."
I took a few seconds to analyze the classroom.
In the back row, a blond boy with an arrogant posture stood out. Sharp eyes, a well-defined jaw, and an air of superiority that seemed natural to him.
Jin Horton.
The classic arrogant young master. The kind of character that made readers want to punch their screens, at least early on.
In front of him sat a girl with glacial beauty. Black hair and eyes, an indifferent expression, and an aura cold enough to freeze any attempt at conversation.
Amanda Stern.
The quiet, aloof character with absurd talent. She seemed completely detached, buried in her book as if the rest of the room were just background noise.
In the middle of the room, a girl with short brown hair and crystal-blue eyes stared at me with a mix of confusion and surprise.
Emma Roshfield.
Usually energetic and provocative, but now she looked like she was trying to remember where she'd seen me before. Well, considering I'd already paid her back for that ice cream in Ashton, we were even.
Beside her sat a slender boy with black hair and crimson eyes, radiating a gentle yet firm presence.
Kevin Voss.
The protagonist of The Luminous Swordsman. The righteous hero. The embodiment of justice. The kind of guy who even trips in an inspiring way. Possibly the human incarnation of the word "honorable."
And then, in the left corner of the room, second row, there he was. Jet-black hair. Deep blue eyes, as vast as the ocean.
Ren Dover.
The protagonist of The Author's POV.
He looked at me in surprise. After all, I wasn't a "known" character in the story. To him, I must've looked like nothing more than an unlucky extra. Still, it felt strange. Watching up close someone whose fate I already knew line by line. Strange, but exciting.
I kept searching for an empty seat until my eyes landed on the upper-right corner of the room.
There, sitting alone, was a girl who exuded a completely different aura.
She had an elegant, porcelain-like face. Lightly wavy brown hair cascading down her back. Thin-framed glasses that outlined hypnotic emerald eyes.
Melissa Hall.
She rested her cheek against her hand, observing everything with bored, almost arrogant eyes. As if the entire world existed one level beneath her. And considering her intellect, she might not have been wrong.
I began climbing the rows in silence. With each step, I felt eyes following me. Curious. Suspicious. Uneasy.
"Where's he going to sit?"
"Please let it be far from me…"
I climbed one more step. The murmurs grew louder.
"No… he wouldn't. He wouldn't do that, right?"
"Wait, is he…?"
"No way."
Then I stopped.
And sat down.
Right beside Melissa Hall.
Silence engulfed the classroom. Everyone stared at me. Some horrified. Others simply incredulous.
This guy is insane?!