The academy's training ground buzzed with anticipation.
Aslan and a noble boy stood face-to-face under the clear sky. In Aslan's hand was a sword—a gift from Lucian.
The instructor raised his hand. "One… two… three—start!"
Both boys charged.
The noble swung first, brimming with confidence. Aslan effortlessly brought his blade up to meet the strike. Steel clashed. The noble boy stumbled back, startled by the sheer force behind Aslan's counter.
Then Aslan advanced. A single slash sliced across the boy's shirt, cutting it halfway open.
They clashed again. Steel rang against steel.
Then, with a clean, decisive strike—Aslan ended it.
The noble boy collapsed face-first onto the dirt. His hips were half-lifted from the impact, arms sprawled as if his body had given up. There was no grace in the fall—just the unconscious sprawl of defeat.
Aslan didn't look back.
Not a breath. Not a word. Only the fading echo of his footsteps.
From the sidelines, Alice, George, and Cael stared. His eyes were darker than usual—serious, cold. They had never seen that expression on him.
---
Back at the dormitory—
Crack. The door slammed shut.
Aslan stood frozen. His jaw clenched. His hands trembled.
And then, a memory.
A beautiful woman smiled at him. "Rex," she said.
The image shattered.
Another memory. Ten-year-old boys, laughing cruelly.
"She must've been ashamed." "No wonder she died after giving birth to him."
Pain surged.
In the present, Aslan grabbed a lamp, a globe, and a glass—and threw them with all his strength.
Smash.
Glass exploded across the room. Silence broken. Shards of memory, rage, shame, and grief scattered around him.
Outside, his friends were worried.
Aslan dropped onto his bed, one arm over his face.
A single tear escaped. Tip.
---
Great point! Here's the improved version with that clarification added naturally:
Outside the door, Alice, Cael, and George knelt down quietly, then gently pushed the door open—just enough to peek inside.
The moment the door creaked open, they froze.
The room was a mess—shards of glass scattered across the floor, furniture overturned.
And there was Aslan, lying on his bed, one arm draped over his face.
The air felt heavy.
None of them said a word.
They just stared—stunned by the wreckage.
Cael clenched his fists. You got that angry... for your mother... Today, my respect for you grew.
---
The Next Day
Aslan woke up. The room was a mess. "Shit," he muttered.
George's bed was empty.
"I'm screwed."
He headed toward class.
When he entered, he awkwardly approached Alice, Cael, and George.
"I'm sorry about yesterday," Aslan mumbled, avoiding their eyes."I… wasn't feeling too well. Just went straight to my room."
The three of them glanced at each other in disbelief.
Wasn't feeling too well? That's what he was calling it? they all thought at the same time.
After everything—they hadn't expected that excuse.
Alice grinned and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you really Aslan? Or are you someone else? Since when do you apologize?"
Aslan growled, "Shut up," and smacked him lightly.
He turned away. "I accidentally knocked some stuff over yesterday."
"No problem," George said quickly.
Suddenly Cael shouted, "Wait—you said you didn't know how to use a sword!"
---
A Few Days Later
"Cael, George, and Alice leaned in close around the table, whispering in hushed voices."
"Hey," George said. "How do we convince Aslan to enter the sword competition?"
"We should trick him," Alice suggested.
"Or hurt his ego," Cael added. "But not mention his mother. Never again." He shivered at the memory.
"Yeah," Alice agreed. "That noble bastard is still hospitalized."
"Everyone was impressed by Aslan's sword skills."
Aslan entered the cafeteria with a tray of lunch. All around him, people whispered.
Aslan smirked. Well, at least they hate me now. Plan succeeded.
Behind him—
"Wow, he's so cool." "Did you see how he destroyed that noble guy?"
A commoner boy whispered, "He's like our hero. The hero of commoners."
A noble nearby said, "Nah, he's the academy's hero."