The room was now empty, but her presence still lingered in the air.
Leon remained still for several long seconds, staring at the space where Elowen had stood. Her scent — a mix of lavender and something denser, like smoke and dominance — still floated in the room. He took a deep breath, trying to dispel it, but the smell seemed embedded in the walls. Like everything else about her.
[Mission "First Dance with the Predator" completed. Progress: 8%. Partial reward incoming.]
Leon rubbed his face with both hands, then looked at himself in the mirror.
"It wasn't that bad," he murmured.
[You survived. That's rare.]
"And what now?"
[Now... comes the easy part. Surviving the daily life among predators at the academy.]
Leon raised an eyebrow.
"Easy?"
[Compared to growing up with Elowen? A picnic.]
Despite the System's sarcastic tone, Leon knew there would be no peace there. The Academy was where the matriarchal society molded its leaders and crushed its opponents. For a man, even one bearing the Vellhart name, it would be a minefield.
[Your status as an adopted son shields you from some humiliations... but it doesn't protect you from the rules. You'll have to earn every step.]
"And if I don't?"
[Then you dance on the edge of the abyss. Simple.]
Leon sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. He was still wearing the plain black uniform of the dormitory — clean cuts, no adornments. The room's walls, despite their subtle luxury, felt almost clinical. Nothing there was designed for comfort.
The System projected a holographic map before his eyes. The Academy's structure appeared like a walled city — barriers divided into sectors, training yards, dorms, auditoriums, and evaluation halls. Everything segmented and organized with military precision.
[You're in the Vellhart Block, private dormitory. But starting tomorrow, you'll be officially introduced to the routine. Behavioral Strategy, Tactical Analysis, and Physical Conditioning classes. Three tests in three days. And if you fail...]
"I won't fail."
[Good. Confidence is half the way. The other half is survival.]
A light knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in," he said, still seated.
The door opened precisely. Three female figures stepped into the room — none of them looked like they were there out of kindness.
The first was tall, dark-skinned, with braids styled into an imposing crown. Her uniform was immaculate, and the silver band on her shoulder indicated her high rank in the student hierarchy. Her eyes, golden like embers, analyzed him with the coldness of someone observing a newly placed piece on the board.
"So it's you," she said, crossing her arms. "Lady Elowen's little cub."
Leon didn't answer immediately. He simply tilted his head slightly, acknowledging the veiled provocation.
The second, medium height with chin-length pink hair, leaned casually against the doorframe, her smile crooked.
"Expected someone more... submissive. Or at least taller. Well, at least you're good-looking," she said, in the tone of someone evaluating a product too fine for common stock.
The third, silent until now, held a notebook and wore thin-rimmed glasses. Her brown eyes were sharp, inquisitive. She seemed more interested in cataloging him than provoking.
"Name: Leon Vellhart. Status: direct adopted son of the First Clan Leader of the Northern Sector. Monitored by the Board," she muttered while writing. "Subject to special registration and exception protocol. Still liable to punishment."
Leon stood up. Adjusted his collar and walked slowly until he stopped in front of them.
"And you are...?"
The leader spoke first:
"Sarya. Representative of the First Tactical Class," she said, stepping forward. "This is Nevia, Psychological Evaluation specialist. And Halina, official cataloger."
Nevia raised an eyebrow.
"You speak as if you're on equal footing. Is that an act... or just ignorance?"
"Survival instinct," Leon replied. "When you grow up among wolves, you either stare back... or get eaten."
Sarya pursed her lips.
"We'll see if that posture holds once the tests begin. Here, surnames don't protect you. Only results do."
Halina observed him with restrained curiosity.
"You don't seem arrogant. But you're not trying to please either. That's rare."
[You're being assessed. Every moment. Watch what you don't say.]
Leon felt it. Every word was measured. Every gesture noted.
"What exactly do you expect from me?" he asked in a neutral tone.
"Expect? Nothing," Nevia replied, stepping closer. She leaned in slightly, like a predator studying its prey. "But we will test your limits. Physically. Mentally. And yes… emotionally. We love finding where the boys break."
Sarya turned to leave but cast one last look over her shoulder.
"Training hall begins at six. Tardiness is punished with isolation. And here, isolation is a real place."
Halina made her final note.
"Good luck, Vellhart."
The three left, leaving the door open. An invitation or a threat.
Leon remained there, breathing deeply.
[You've drawn attention. And that's a double-edged sword.]
"I know," he murmured. "But swords... can be wielded."
---
Later, when the Academy's lights dimmed for rest hours, Leon walked up to the dormitory terrace. The wind was cold, cutting. Down below, the training field still buzzed with students executing silent repetitions, watched by armed instructors.
He didn't belong to that world.
But he wasn't a stranger to it either.
"Ambition is dangerous in a man," Elowen had said. "But when well-guided… it's what separates the forgotten from the legendary."
[Mission status updated: 13%. No rewards yet. The System requires consistent merit.]
Leon closed his eyes for a moment. Then murmured:
"Then let's earn that merit. One step at a time."
[That's the right mindset.]
A silent notification appeared before his eyes — gray, discreet:
"Challenge unlocked: Territory Recognition — you will be tested over the next 72 hours."
Leon smiled. Without joy.
"Let the games begin."
---
The next day arrived with military precision. The Academy's internal alarm rang out with a sharp, brief tone — no melodies, no indulgence. Leon rose immediately. He took a cold shower, dressed in his smart-fabric uniform, and descended the levels of the Vellhart Block to the cafeteria.
The stares returned.
Some curious, others indifferent. But there was always that quiet group watching him like they were waiting for him to stumble.
He ate in silence, then headed to the training hall. Waiting for him, as promised, was Sarya.
This time, she wasn't alone. A sturdy-built girl, wearing impact gloves and a hungry look, was stretching in the center of the arena.
"This is Mirella," Sarya said. "Two medals in tactical combat. She'll give you a proper welcome."
Leon said nothing. He simply took a deep breath and stepped onto the mat.
The fight began brutally. Mirella was fast, methodical, relentless. Leon dodged as best he could — more instinct than technique. His body ached with every hit, but he stayed on his feet. The world narrowed to the sound of footsteps, heavy breathing, and Sarya's clipped commands in the background.
"That's enough," she said after the fifth minute.
Mirella stepped back, still panting. Leon wobbled but stood firm.
Sarya evaluated him like a blade being held to the eye.
"You're not strong. Not yet."
She lightly tapped where he had taken a hit.
"But you're stubborn. That can be useful... or fatal."
Without another word, she turned and left the arena. Mirella followed. The hall emptied gradually.
Leon remained, breathing heavily.
[Mission progress: 19%. Resilience demonstrated. First reward available soon.]
He smiled. Small. Controlled. Like a spark in a world trying to keep him dimmed.