The council chamber smelled of old parchment and polished wood, the kind of scent that clung to history.

Michael sat at one end of the long table, shoulders back, but his gaze tilted away from the crowd of congratulatory chatter. He wasn't used to this kind of attention the looks, the whispers.

"The commoner won a council seat?"

"No, not just a seat… the Disciplinary Committee."

The voices echoed in his head, but he didn't flinch.

Emily Lionheart sat at the opposite end, posture as regal as if she'd been carved from marble.

She met each curious stare with the calm of a lioness watching over her pride. And beside her, Alice Nightveil remained silent, her pale features as sharp as the rumors whispered about her.

Vice Principal Sophia Emberheart, ever the overseer, had concluded the formalities, but when she left, the room seemed lighter—yet more dangerous. The newly elected were alone, no longer candidates, but leaders.

Emily was the first to break the silence.

"Michael Wilson."

Her voice was soft, but it carried authority.

Michael leaned back, crossing his arms. "Emily Lionheart."

A small smile touched her lips, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You surprised even me yesterday."

He raised a brow. "Was that a compliment, or do I need to brace for the second half?"

"Both," she admitted, smoothing an invisible crease in her sleeve.

"Alice will serve as my Vice President. But you for your victory was not by chance. You tapped into something real. And that makes you dangerous."

Michael exhaled through his nose, half amused.

"You're not the first person to say that."

Emily's gaze sharpened, but it wasn't hostile.

"I propose an alliance. Whatever storms Magnus or others stir, we must stand together. The Academy is divided as noble, commoner, scholar, mercenary. If we do not hold a firm line, the Union will fracture."

Michael considered her words. Emily was noble, refined, the emblem of tradition. He was the opposite, a commoner turned wild card. But opposites could make a blade sharper—if they didn't cut each other first.

Finally, he nodded. "Then we move forward together. But don't expect me to play the obedient pawn."

A faint laugh escaped her, genuine for the first time. "I wouldn't dream of it."

From the corner, Alice's cold voice slipped in.

"Just remember that if you stand in the way of Emily, I'll cut you down myself."

Michael met her stare, unflinching. "Good. Keep that energy when it's not me you should be cutting."

The tension sparked, but Emily lifted her hand, as if soothing two swords before they clashed.

"Enough. We'll need both fear and fairness on this Council. Let's make sure we wield them against our enemies not to each other."

-------

The Disciplinary Committee office was dimly lit, lined with shelves of scrolls, reports, and a rack of confiscated weapons. Dust clung to the corners; it was clear no one had taken this branch seriously in years.

Michael stood in the center, surveying it like a general looking over an unpolished battlefield.

"This place looks depressing," Aiden muttered, leaning against the wall.

"It'll do," Michael said flatly. "We're not here for comfort."

One by one, the people he'd chosen filed in.

Maria, arms folded, her crimson eyes sharp as she scanned the office.

"So. You made me part of your little committee?"

Michael smirked. "I need someone who isn't afraid to call me out when I'm wrong. And no one does that better than you."

Maria blinked, caught off guard by the blunt honesty. She clicked her tongue, hiding the faint warmth that crept into her cheeks. "Hmph. Don't flatter me. I'll make your life hell if you slip up."

"Exactly what I'm counting on."

Leon stepped forward, noble composure radiating. "The Lionheart name stands for justice. I'll uphold it here, even if it means standing against other nobles."

"Good," Michael said.

"I need a shield as much as I need a blade."

Aiden clapped his hands together, grinning.

"Finally, I get to knock bullies around legally. Been waiting for this day."

"Try not to enjoy it too much," Michael warned.

Then he added, more quietly, "We'll need more than muscle. We need balance." His eyes flicked toward the shadows of the room. "Aurelia. Selena. You in?"

From the back, Aurelia's soft laugh carried.

"Of course. Someone needs to make sure you don't drown in paperwork. And besides…" she teased, "it's fun watching Maria get jealous."

"Wha—!"

Maria shot her a glare, her cheeks tinting.

"Don't spout nonsense."

Selena, the elf princess, stepped in lightly, her silver hair glimmering.

"If this Council means protecting students from abuse, then yes. I'll lend my bow to your cause."

Michael exhaled, satisfied.

"Then it's settled. We're not just enforcers. We're reformers. From today, no one uses rank or title as a weapon without consequence."

Maria tilted her head. "And what about you? What do you want out of this?"

Michael's gaze hardened, and his words came steady.

"Not fear. Respect."

The room went silent. And then, one by one, the others nodded.

Meanwhile, Emily called the main Student Council to session.

"I appoint Alice Nightveil as Vice President."

The declaration sent murmurs rippling through the chamber. Alice—ruthless, cold, feared like winter frost. Some students visibly stiffened, others relaxed. Fear was predictable. Fear meant order.

And yet, with Michael as Disciplinary Executive, balance was restored: Emily's nobility, Alice's severity, Michael's defiance.

The Academy halls buzzed with whispers that night.

"The new Council… it feels different."

"Lionheart and Nightveil together? And Wilson? That's a storm waiting to happen."

"No, it's hope. For once, the Union isn't just nobles playing king."

___________

Later that evening, Michael gathered his team in the committee office. Reports already piled across the desk.

Mana duels that escalated into near-deaths. Clubs that used new recruits as disposable fodder.

Nobles exploiting commoner cadets for menial work.

Michael tapped the papers, his tone grave.

"This is where we start. We clean up the trash. No more cover-ups. No more nobles using their names as shields."

Aiden grinned. "Finally, something fun."

Leon nodded solemnly. "Justice must be blind, even to bloodlines."

Aurelia tilted her head with a mischievous smile. "And if we ruffle feathers?"

Michael smirked. "Then let them squawk. I'm not here to make everyone happy."

Maria leaned forward, eyes locking on his. "And if this makes enemies?"

He didn't hesitate. "Then we'll be ready."

The moon hung low over the Academy, pale silver spilling across the stone courtyards and casting long shadows over the training grounds.

In one of the Academy's disused strategy halls, a small fire crackled in the hearth, illuminating the tense circle of students gathered around a heavy oak table.

Magnus Daven sat at its head. His auburn hair gleamed in the firelight, his posture proud, but his fists clenched on the armrest betrayed the storm simmering within him.

The results of the election still clawed at his pride Emily Lionheart had secured the presidency, and worse, that commoner, Michael Wilson, now sat on the Disciplinary Committee.

Every cheer Michael received echoed in Magnus's skull like a hammer striking stone.

"They think this new Council is balance?" Magnus spat, his voice carrying through the chamber. "It's mockery. Tradition undermined, hierarchy spat on."

Ron Greaves, his long-time sidekick and confidant, leaned forward. Broad-shouldered, with a scar running across his jaw, Ron was the kind of man who thrived in Magnus's shadow. His loyalty was ironclad, though his methods often brutish.

"Then crush them, Magnus," Gon said in a low growl.

"The Lionheart girl is playing saint, but she hides behind Nightveil's Girl. And Wilson… Wilson is just noise. A loud dog barking at nobles. We silence him, and the crowd will scatter."

Magnus's lips curved into a bitter smile. "Silence him, yes… but not yet. Not by blades or shadows. If I am to lead this Academy one day, it must be through strength, not whispers."

Gon tilted his head, studying him.

"Then you need allies. Someone with weight beyond your circle."

Magnus nodded. His eyes burned like embers as he tapped the table.

"Exactly. Which is why I've invited him."

The heavy doors opened with a groan.

Eric William stepped in, his presence alone dragging the air into sharp stillness. His uniform was immaculate, his stride as steady as if the ground itself obeyed his feet. The heir to the William Family—the undisputed first family of the Empire—needed no introduction. His very name carried centuries of dominance.

Behind him followed his personal guard, but only one trailed close: a silent youth with golden eyes who answered only to Eric.

"Eric," Magnus greeted smoothly, rising to his feet with a smile that strained at the edges. "I appreciate you answering my invitation."

Eric didn't return the courtesy. His cold blue eyes swept over the room, lingering on Magnus as though appraising a servant. "You asked me here. Speak quickly."

Magnus straightened his shoulders, his pride refusing to bend even under the weight of Eric's lineage.

"The Academy stands at a crossroads. Lionheart clings to noble tradition, but she lacks the fire to truly lead. Wilson is an insult an intruder playing at power. Together, they fracture the Union."

He leaned forward, his voice deepening with conviction..

"But you, Eric William, are heir to the first family of this Empire. It is your right to rule the Academy. Join my faction, and together we'll—"

The sharp crack of wood interrupted him.

Eric had risen from his chair and kicked the oak table with enough force to split one of its legs. The entire room flinched, the firelight quivering in the hearth.

"I don't need a lowly fly like you to support me," Eric said, his voice a blade of ice. His gaze pierced Magnus, stripping away every veneer of pride. "How dare you speak as though we are equals?"

Gon stiffened, hand twitching toward his blade, but Magnus shot him a warning glance. He couldn't afford to show weakness nor could he survive foolishly provoking Eric.

Eric stepped closer, his aura pressing like a storm, cold and merciless. "Remember this, Magnus. The William name does not join factions. It commands them. Next time you contact me, I will take it as an insult to me and I will not tolerate insults."

He turned sharply, his cloak sweeping like a shadow. "Gaurd, we're leaving."

The golden-eyed guard followed him silently, the weight of their departure leaving the chamber heavier than before.

For a long moment, the hall was silent save for the crackling fire.

Then—

CRASH.

Magnus hurled his glass against the wall, shards scattering like starlight across the floor. His chest heaved, every breath a struggle to contain the fury threatening to tear him apart.

"That bastard," he hissed, pacing like a caged beast. "He dares… he dares to dismiss me, to treat me like dirt under his boots?"

Ron approached cautiously, eyes narrowed. "He's William. That arrogance is in his blood."

Magnus slammed his fist onto the broken table, splinters flying.

"I will not kneel. Not to Lionheart, not to Wilson, and not to Eric William. Let them laugh now. Let them call me less. I'll carve my name into this Academy with fire and blood if I must."

His eyes gleamed with something darker than ambition with rage sharpened into resolve.

"Mark my words, Gon. This Council thinks they've tamed the Academy. They've only given me the stage. When the time comes, they'll all see who truly holds the right to rule."

And in the flicker of firelight, Magnus Daven's shadow stretched long across the hall, coiling like a serpent waiting to strike.

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