The rest of the week passed in relative calm.

—

After a quiet yet dense lecture from Professor Veris in Essence Channeling and Core Cultivation—where he asked the class to consider the philosophical paradox of "will vs. resonance" in unstable core awakenings—Aston drifted toward the main cafeteria.

He wasn't alone.

Seria and Genevieve flanked him as usual, talking about the prior lessons. Vivianne bumped into the group as she was heading to the cafeteria for lunch. Her beetle was lugging her stuff behind her.

"Hey, Aston. Wanna grab lunch?" Vivianne said.

"We're actually headed there. Come with us," said Aston.

"This is Vivianne, a classmate of mine in FOU-101." He introduced Vivianne to Seria and Genevieve.

The two cordially received Vivianne and continued with their walk toward the cafeteria.

The air was brisk, but not cold. The academy's midday hour was always busiest—students crossing between disciplines, spirit beasts idling beside benches, and meal lines weaving through the outer plazas.

Aston was almost to the shaded pavilion when a voice cut through the chatter.

Loud. Familiar. Condescending.

"Well, well. If it isn't the Empire's favorite charity case."

Aston turned.

A student with slicked-back hair, seemingly excessive in gel—Tristan Graves—stepped out from beneath a stone arch. A few of his Spirit Combat classmates lingered nearby—half paying attention, half pretending not to. Flanking him are both his spirit beasts—the Infernal Fang Cheetah and the Wave Crasher Serpent.

A thin smile stretched across Tristan's face.

"You know," he said, arms crossed, "it's not every day someone gets two awakenings. Must be nice to be sponsored by imperial handouts."

"I'm just curious." He tilted his head slightly toward Aston. "You already awakened once, didn't you? I was there. Got 'clear,' right?" He let the word hang. "Zero. Blank. Nothing. And now look—he's getting a reawakening request straight from the Empire."

He turned to the small crowd gathering. "What does that say about the system, huh?"

A few students paused. Murmurs began to spark.

Seria stepped forward. "Drop it."

But Tristan wasn't done.

"Oh, I forgot," he added mock-thoughtfully, "you're the one who drank a Crimson Genesis Elixir right before the academy term started."

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That did it.

The ripple was immediate. Heads turned.

Even those who didn't know Aston directly were now listening.

Genevieve's and Vivianne's smile disappeared.

Aston stayed quiet, but his hand slowly dropped to Gray's fur—still hidden in feline form beside his leg. Mirage flew back from a post to Aston's shoulders.

Tristan gave a mock shrug. "I mean, if I got 'clear' on my awakening, I might cheat the system too. Who wouldn't take an elixir strong enough to push a normal nobody into 'red'? Must be nice having sponsors."

Aston's jaw tensed. He met Tristan's gaze.

"I didn't cheat," he said evenly.

"No?" Tristan leaned in, smiling coldly. "Then what exactly do you call skipping the line and getting a private do-over?"

"I didn't request the reawakening."

"Of course you didn't," Tristan said with mock surprise. "The Empire did. And they just happened to pick you. A 'clear' that drank a miracle potion. Sounds totally fair."

Seria opened her mouth—but Aston held out a hand to stop her.

"I didn't ask for any of this," Aston said quietly. "But I earned my place here."

"You earned it with an elixir," Tristan snapped. "I earned it in the combat pit."

Gray's fur bristled beneath Aston's palm, though the feline remained silent.

"And what's next?" Tristan sneered. "Gonna drink a Diamond What-not Elixir and call yourself the prodigy of the year?"

Aston didn't rise to it. He didn't need to.

He looked him dead in the eye and said, "I'll let the results speak."

The stare that followed was quiet. Controlled. But more than a few students have seen it now.

The composure. The pressure that sat under Aston's words like a coiled blade.

Tristan scoffed and turned sharply, his coat whipping behind him as he stormed off, muttering to his friends.

But the damage was done.

The initial rumors were now fanned into a greater fire—Aston Rhyner, once a clear potential, had used an elixir—and now the Empire wanted him back in a chamber.

—

Later that evening, Aston sat on a stone bench beside the training rings, Gray curled silently at his feet.

The soft winds carried the scent of spirit moss and ironwood pollen. Lanterns flickered overhead. Mirage nested high on a beam above, watching without moving.

He didn't speak.

He didn't have to.

Whatever his potential is… only he knows the truth.

The gears were already in motion.

—

By Tuesday morning, the rumors had settled into something heavier—less a wave, and more a weight.

Aston arrived early for Scouting Tactics & Terrain Adaptation, his field ops uniform sharp and pressed, Gray resting across his shoulders like a scarf of coiled shadow. Mirage occupied the other shoulder with her graceful silence.

But even before he stepped into the training hall, he could feel the change.

Eyes turned. Conversations paused just a second too long.

They didn't whisper. Not directly.

But the silence said enough.

"Did you hear…?"

"…reawakened?"

"…Crimson Genesis Elixir, I think…"

"Doesn't that harm the drinker's lifespan?"

"…he's screwed…"

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