Lusian lay stretched across a narrow bed in the healing ward.

  The air smelled of crushed herbs and scorched mana. Every breath felt like blades lodged beneath his ribs. In the final round of the Royal Academy tournament, he had been forced to face Kara once again.

  This time it hadn't been an exhibition match. She had attacked him with a ferocity that felt almost personal, and although he had managed to defeat her, three fractured ribs and an immobilized arm left him wondering whether the victory had been worth it.

  As he stared up at the stone ceiling, he considered surrendering next time.

  Maybe if I let her win, she'll calm down… or kill me outright and spare me the pain, he thought wryly.

  The room was bathed in a warm, flickering glow cast by a circle of runes hovering above his body. The lines of magic pulsed in time with his breathing, painting golden reflections across the stone walls. Emily stood at his side, eyes closed, hands extended over his chest, channeling her mana with the intense focus of someone who feared making a fatal mistake.

  A sigh slipped from her lips as the spell reached completion. The radiance dimmed slowly, leaving the air heavy with the scent of burnt herbs. Lusian opened his eyes, blinking at the change in light.

  "Do you feel better?" Emily asked, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Her voice was soft—almost a whisper—but laced with relief.

  Lusian tested his uninjured arm, then the one wrapped in bandages. A sharp sting flared along his side, but it was no longer the unbearable agony from before.

  "Yes… thanks to you," he replied with a tired smile that twisted into a faint grimace.

  Emily tilted her head, studying the fading marks of battle still scattered across his skin.

  "Congratulations on winning the tournament," she said with a sincere smile, though a shadow of worry lingered in her tone.

  Lusian let out a short, bitter laugh.

  "I don't feel like a winner right now."

  She laughed as well, lowering her gaze. The sound was so light it barely disturbed the silence of the ward.

  "Even so, you are. Maybe Kara will finally understand she can't defeat you and leave you in peace."

  He turned his head toward her, one brow lifting with dry irony.

  "Don't be so sure. That madwoman doesn't know the meaning of 'surrender.'"

  Emily looked at him, amused, crossing her arms as she shook her head.

  "Then you'd better stay alive for when she tries again."

  He exhaled through his nose, a nearly imperceptible smile touching his lips as he watched the runes still glowing faintly above him.

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  For a moment, the pain seemed to fade, replaced by something softer… a sense of calm he had not felt in a long time.

  The spell ended, leaving a warm sensation deep in his bones. The runes dissolved into the air like dying embers, and silence returned to the healing ward. Emily slowly withdrew her hands; the faint tremor in her fingers betrayed the effort. Her tired but steady eyes watched him with a mixture of relief and concern.

  "You should rest," she said at last, pulling the blanket up over his chest. "The headmaster will announce the official results this afternoon."

  Lusian nodded without much enthusiasm. The last traces of bluish light lingering in the air reflected in his eyes, giving them a melancholy hue.

  "Yeah…" he murmured, turning his gaze back to the stone ceiling. "Let's hope it's worth something."

  The headmaster's office smelled of old paper and rain.

  Kara sat before the tall window, chin resting against her knuckles. Outside, the gardens looked like watercolors washed thin by time. The glass reflected her blurred image: a young woman marked by fresh bruises and a rage that refused to fully die.

  Her mother's words echoed in her mind like the crack of a whip:

  If you do not become strong, you will become a bargaining chip.

  Kara pressed her lips together until her gums ached. She knew it was true. In a world where power determined the price of flesh, women with affinity were coveted pieces—diplomatic gifts, guarantees of blood and magic. The Law of Maternal Blood was no fable; it dictated who would inherit a higher ceiling of power and who would remain bound to a lesser lineage. The mother carved the channel; her blood determined how high her children's mana could soar.

  She hated it with the fervor of someone who refused to accept defeat.

  "I will not be a trophy," she murmured to herself. "They will not hang me like an ornament in someone's display case."

  The beast within her was not merely pride—it was survival. If her Delta affinity became widely known, her life would no longer be her own. Even the Empire, with its court of Axioms and endless ambitions, had cast dangerous glances toward girls like her. A single whisper in the corridors was enough for a noble to begin weaving marriages, pacts, inheritances.

  She remembered the sensation of Lusian's blade clashing against hers: cold, precise—and somehow… different. On the battlefield, he had not looked at her the way one looked at property. He treated her as a rival, and that hurt more than she cared to admit. At times, in the midst of their exchange, she thought she saw something in his eyes that did not fit mockery or contempt—something small and difficult to name.

  The door opened softly. Magnus entered with measured steps. His face was weathered by long years and sleepless nights. He set a file upon the desk and regarded her with that familiar mixture of weariness and reluctant affection reserved for troublesome students.

  "Going to train with your mother again?" he asked, attempting a casual tone.

  Kara looked at him, and for the first time her voice lost its edge.

  "Yes," she said. "She promised to teach me the clan's secret techniques when I turn eighteen."

  Magnus frowned slightly, resting a hand against the edge of the desk.

  "Remember, those techniques are not welcomed everywhere," he warned. "Many died in the war with your mother's clan."

  She offered a smile that did not reach her eyes.

  "I know. I don't care. I want to be more than a name on a contract. I want my strength to speak for me."

  The old man sighed, his expression shifting into the look he had perfected over the years—a blend of indulgence and exasperation.

  "Stop obsessing over that damned brat," he grumbled, though concern threaded his voice. "It's natural he defeats you if his affinity is higher than yours. And by the way," he added, "you're not leaving just yet. After your last little escapade, the academy won't allow it. You'll stay until the tournament ends."

  Kara rose, gripping the back of her chair. Determination burned through her veins.

  "Then I'll finish the tournament and leave stronger than I am now," she replied. "I'll prove to Lusian he isn't the only 'special' one in this kingdom."

  Magnus looked at her, and beneath the sternness in his features, a trace of resigned pride appeared.

  "Very well. But promise me one thing: come back alive. I don't want you burying pride instead of flesh."

  Kara closed her eyes for a brief moment, listening to the steady pulse of her own convictions. When she opened them again, night had begun to drape the gardens beyond the window in shadow.

  "I'll return," she said. "And when I do, no one will treat me as if I belong to them."