Lee Hayul’s intense battle had left a significant impact on everyone, but in the end, the result was a loss in the round of 16.

Of course, very few people would dare to underestimate him just because he didn’t make it further than the top 16. But when it came down to it, the result was still a loss.

Atra, however, didn’t feel bothered by this at all.

Most importantly, she had absolutely no intention of blaming Lee Hayul.

There was simply no reason to.

His opponent had been formidable, and she knew Hayul had done his absolute best within his capabilities.

Blame? No. If anything, he deserved praise for how well he had performed.

[I’m sorry...]

"......"

That’s what she had planned to say...

Atra bit her lip, suppressing the urge to sigh as she turned her gaze elsewhere.

Right after the finals ended, Hayul had come to find her, looking as gloomy as ever. He had gone to visit Elia’s family, as she had mentioned, but now he was standing before her, head bowed low.

She couldn’t understand why Hayul was standing before her, looking so dejected and small.

Why was he acting as if he were bracing for a harsh scolding, his shoulders hunched and trembling?

And why was he so convinced that Atra would reprimand him?

A glance to the side told her she wasn’t the only one noticing. Liana was watching from the corner of the room, her expression one of utter disdain as if she were staring at a garbage pile.

— What are you looking at me like that for?

— It’s because of you.

‘......’

Liana’s gaze indicated that the problem was right in front of her—Lee Hayul, who looked like he was about to crumble under pressure. Atra felt her words falter.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips, almost involuntarily.

"Ahh..."

— Flinch!

At the sound of Atra’s sigh, Hayul’s entire body flinched, and he visibly shook.

‘Oh.’

That’s when Atra realized her mistake. Her eyes widened as she processed what had just happened.

In front of her was a frightened student, clearly terrified of a reprimand, and she had let out a deep sigh...

— Ugh...

Hayul bit his lip, a small, pained sound escaping him, and from beside her, Liana sent Atra a shocked, disapproving look.

Atra quickly waved her hands in a flustered attempt to correct the misunderstanding.

She tried to reassure him. To explain that there was no need to feel down, that she wasn’t going to scold him at all. If anything, he had performed exceptionally well...

— I don’t have any particular thoughts about your special admission. I won’t deny it outright, but I’m also not going to blindly support it.

She froze, her mind flashing back to her own words from the past.

— The Headmaster chose you, so I’ll work with that for now. But it’s true that I still have doubts, as you haven’t proven anything yet. You’re under significant expectations, especially as the academy’s first and only special admit.

These were words she had said to Hayul earlier, meant to encourage him to stay sharp and aware.

— Others feel the same way. The whole world is watching you because you’re the first and only special student chosen by Shioram’s leader.

Atra’s complexion turned pale. A small part of her began to realize why Hayul was acting so downhearted.

Why he looked so frightened, why he believed she was going to scold him...

Hayul, it seemed, hadn’t forgotten her harsh words from the past.

It all came down to the consequences of her own actions.

"I-I’m sorry..."

Atra shut her eyes tight and pulled the trembling Hayul into a tight hug.

At first, Hayul seemed confused, stiff in her arms, but after a few gentle strokes of his head, he relaxed, resting his face against her chest.

They say you should always be careful with your words, especially when raising children...

Atra suddenly recalled an old saying she had once heard in passing.

Hayul had a troubled past, and his current situation was unstable in many ways... yet she had once spoken to him so carelessly, without considering the impact of her words.

Feeling a strong sense of regret, Atra hugged Hayul even tighter.

...A tragic past.

Just like Atra, Hayul had lost his parents at a young age.

But while Atra had quickly awakened her powers and joined a prestigious academy, Hayul had wandered the streets, his body burned from a fire, before eventually ending up in a run-down orphanage.

Even there, he hadn’t received much help, and when that orphanage burned down in another fire, he had been sent to yet another, with similarly bleak conditions.

He must have developed a profound sense of deprivation and a lack of education, resulting in gaps in his understanding of certain basic principles.

...This must have been why he didn’t reject Baek Ahrin’s sudden hug earlier.

Atra’s eyes darkened as she continued to stroke Hayul’s back.

As his teacher, she realized that her role wasn’t just about improving his combat skills. She also had to teach him the basic knowledge of life.

He needed to learn that it wasn’t okay for someone he didn’t know well to suddenly hug him like that.

Even if Atra herself wasn’t the best role model, there were some things she had to make sure Hayul understood.

Time passed.

Looking down at Hayul, who had fallen asleep in her arms, Atra sighed softly.

The special seating area was now completely empty.

Liana had left earlier to help with grading the midterm evaluations, and everyone else had long since gone.

"......"

After thinking for a moment, Atra stood up.

Naturally, Hayul, who was still asleep in her arms, was lifted as well. As she moved, Hayul stirred slightly, and Atra gently patted him to keep him asleep.

There was no point in waking him up now. Since he was already asleep, she might as well let him rest properly.

With that thought, Atra carried Hayul toward her quarters.

— Ding!

As she walked, the hologram device around Hayul’s neck beeped.

Curious, Atra glanced at it and saw a message from "Hong Yeonhwa."

"......"

— Tap.

With a small gesture, Atra closed the hologram and quietly switched it to silent mode.

 

Abandoned factories like this one were scattered everywhere. Even with talk of peace, incidents and accidents of various sizes still cropped up.

This particular factory in Germany was no exception. The city near it had collapsed for one reason or another, and the machinery that had once operated there had long since turned to useless scrap.

There was little to gain from scavenging here—just rusted metal—so even thieves ignored it.

A man lounged on a creaky chair inside the factory, his expression indifferent as he tapped his foot.

— Bzzt...

The grating sound of static made the man frown as he turned to look at the source.

In front of him was a rectangular device.

The frame was black, and the glass screen flickered with static.

It was an old communication device, powered by electricity rather than magic, from before the Great Cataclysm.

"Damned piece of junk."

In other words, it was a relic from centuries ago, long past its prime.

The man leaned back, shaking his head at his pathetic situation, still using a communication device that should have been laid to rest long ago.

Who in this day and age didn’t use a hologram projector? Even children and old people wore smartwatches, the pinnacle of modern technology.

"Fuck. I used to be someone important, once..."

The man couldn’t help but feel like a savage, stuck in this outdated setting.

How had he ended up in a place like this?

As he sat there, lost in his thoughts, the screen suddenly flickered to life, though the image was blurry and kept freezing.

It was interference from magical energy waves that distorted the signal.

The sight of the glitchy screen only deepened the man’s sense of self-loathing.

Of course, he’d love to get his hands on a smartwatch or a hologram projector, but that would give away his location, and the authorities would send a hunting squad after him in no time.

For an ordinary citizen, it wouldn’t be a problem. But for a criminal like him, revealing his position was a death sentence.

The man sighed, staring at the screen with dry, weary eyes.

The screen showed scenes from the Shioram Academy tournament finals, the event that captured the world’s attention every year.

It seemed to be a highlight reel. The man propped his chin on his hand and watched.

"...Brings back memories."

As he watched, a strange feeling washed over him.

Once upon a time, he had stood on that very stage. Back when people still called him a promising talent, competing for the top spot.

The man’s mind wandered to the past.

He had come from a distinguished family, with a reputation that could fill him with pride.

There had been expectations and hopes heaped upon him from all sides.

He had felt certain of his own potential.

All of that had driven him forward, making his fire burn bright.

In the past, his heart had been full of confidence and hope for the future.

"...Heh."

And now? Looking at the miserable state he was in, he couldn’t help but laugh.

This wasn’t the future he had envisioned at all.

Reality was a mess—utterly, disgustingly vile.

As the man sat there chuckling to himself, the screen shifted again.

— Thump!

His heart suddenly pounded hard in his chest, and a strange will to fight flared up inside him. His laughter stopped abruptly as he stared at the screen.

An odd figure appeared.

A blindfolded man, his eyes covered.

A missing left arm, gone entirely.

His body looked frail and weak, as if a single punch might knock him out cold.

His appearance screamed that he should be living off disability checks, not fighting.

And yet, despite his outward frailty, he moved with remarkable agility, darting around the waterlogged stage in a bizarre display of skill.

"That kid, huh."

Even tucked away in this remote, shadowy corner of the world, the man had still heard rumors.

The special student of Shioram Academy.

The one receiving heaps of expectation and hope from the general public.

And the one being watched cautiously by those on the fringes, with murmurs of needing to snuff him out before he became too much of a threat.

— Thump... Fwoosh!

"Hoo..."

His heart pounded again, and a small flicker of fire rose within him. The man let out a breath.

It seemed the rumors weren’t just empty words after all. Even someone like him, who had been idle for so long, could feel it.

Though, in his case, it wasn’t so much caution as it was a crooked sense of curiosity.

Shaking his head, the man pulled out a cigarette and stuck it between his lips.

Fwoosh... He ignited it with a spark from his fingertips.

— Fwoosh!

Suddenly, the flame flared out of control, burning the cigarette to ashes in an instant.

"Shit."

The man glared down at his chest, frustrated. That damned thing had caused him to lose control of the fire again.

‘Damn it, that was my last cigarette.’

Muttering under his breath, he ruffled his hair and stood up, just as the screen switched again. The caption at the bottom read "Final Round."

The man turned his gaze to the screen. Onstage, a fierce battle was unfolding between flames and a massive tidal wave.

"......"

His eyes remained fixed on the screen.

As time passed, the flames and water receded, and the mist left in their wake began to clear.

And then, a figure came into view—a woman with a savage expression, her aura threatening to tear apart anyone who dared cross her path.

The man let out a burst of laughter and shook his head, turning away.

"Still as fierce as ever, huh."

The light from the old communication device cast a glow on his retreating figure.

In the dim factory, the fiery red hair on the back of his head stood out, as if it were burning.