She bit her lower lip softly, forcing herself to look away before her expression betrayed her.

Turning her attention back to Stanley, she composed herself, the faint warmth on her cheeks slowly fading as she masked her reaction.

Before anything else could be said, a round of clapping echoed through the training ground.

The sound drew everyone's attention forward.

One of the instructors stepped out from the group, applause still fading as he smiled broadly.

He was an average-looking man, bright-eyed, with short brown hair and broad shoulders that hinted at years of training.

His presence was confident but approachable, and his voice carried clearly as he spoke.

"Such a brilliant performance," he said, nodding toward Stanley with clear approval.

Stanley's eyes widened slightly at the words.

For a moment, he simply stared, processing what he was hearing.

He had expected judgment. Maybe disappointment. Or at the very least, awkward silence.

Instead, there was praise.

Looking around, he realized something strange. No one seemed to care that he had lost.

The elites were still watching him with admiration.

The instructors were nodding thoughtfully, some even exchanging impressed glances.

'It would have been better if I had won,' he thought to himself, a hint of regret flickering briefly. 'But then… this isn't too bad also.'

The instructor who had stepped forward continued, his smile widening. "Why not let me be your personal instructor? I'm sure you'll learn a lot under my guidance."

Before Stanley could even respond, another instructor spoke up from the side, his tone clearly competitive. "Nah… I'm better for him instead. You use a spear, remember?"

That only seemed to open the floodgates.

More instructors began speaking at once, voices overlapping as they argued lightly among themselves.

One mentioned experience. Another spoke about compatibility. A third dismissed the others outright, claiming his teaching methods were superior.

The scene quickly turned into something unexpected, almost absurd.

It looked less like a discussion and more like they were fighting over who would get to teach Stanley.

The elites watched with widened eyes, murmurs rising again as the reality of the situation sank in.

Even Bliss glanced over, her expression unreadable as she observed the instructors' reactions.

Stanley stood there, surrounded by attention once more, his earlier frustration completely forgotten as a satisfied smile tugged at his lips.

'Yeah… fight over me… that's what I love!' he thought, his head swelling even more.

He didn't interrupt them, neither did he rush to answer most of their questions and simply let their arguments for who should be his personal instructor pile up.

This was the feeling he lived for—that of being wanted and sought after by everyone.

His earlier loss no longer mattered in the slightest, and the sting he previously felt was now completely drowned out by his pride.

Around him, the other elite students watched with complicated expressions.

Some tried to keep their faces neutral, arms crossed, eyes forward, as if none of this bothered them. Others didn't bother hiding it at all. Their gazes lingered on Stanley with open envy, their jaws clenched, their hands tightening unconsciously. They couldn't help it.

How could they?

It wasn't every day that instructors openly argued over who would get the privilege of teaching a student. Let alone a first-year elite.

And yet, here they were.

The envy simmering among the elites made sense.

Talent like Stanley's was painfully rare.

Even among them, who were already considered exceptional, his performance had stood out.

Not because he won, but because of the skills he had displayed.

That single moment where Bliss had been forced to block with her sword was burnt in the memory of everyone.

That alone was enough.

The instructors' desire also made perfect sense.

Becoming the personal instructor of someone like Stanley wasn't just an honor, but also a massive opportunity.

If Stanley continued to grow, continued to shine, continued to achieve feats that others couldn't, then his instructor would be praised alongside him.

Each achievement would reflect back on them.

Each success would carry their name with it.

There were promotions to consider, and there reputation and Influence within the academy would soar like crazy.

They might even get recognition from the kingdom itself! Talented students were investments, and instructors who guided them successfully were rewarded accordingly.

That kind of prestige was hard to ignore.

Stanley smirked as he listened to them, his expression calm on the surface, but his mind buzzing with satisfaction.

He let his gaze wander briefly across their faces, noting the eagerness in their eyes, the subtle tension in their posture as they waited for his response.

'Of course they all want to teach me… who wouldn't.' he thought, chuckling inwardly.

He had always believed this was how things were supposed to be. The world recognizing him. People gravitating toward him. Authority figures wanting to claim him as their own success story.

This was normal.

As the instructors continued, Stanley's eyes flicked briefly to the side, seeking out one person in particular.

Damien.

He expected something, anything even if it was just a slight reaction.

He wanted confirmation that Damien was watching, that he was affected, that he felt the difference between them.

But Damien wasn't paying him any attention at all.

Stanley's gaze lingered, disbelief creeping in as he realized Damien was focused elsewhere.

His attention wasn't on the instructors, or even Stanley. Instead it was on Bliss.

His eyes followed her movements subtly, and for some reason, Stanley noticed his eyes drifting down to her chest every once in a while.

It was almost like he considered that more important than the grand spectacle happening around him.

That realization hit harder than Stanley expected, and greatly annoyed him.

His jaw tightened, teeth grinding together as irritation sparked in his chest. He turned his gaze away sharply, refusing to keep watching.

'I know you're jealous,' he thought bitterly. 'You can hide it all you want, but I know it.'

Damien had to be jealous. There was no other explanation. Anyone would be. Anyone in his position would be.

He then turned back to the instructors, his expression shifting.

The smugness softened, replaced by a warm, composed smile. His posture straightened just enough to convey humility without diminishing his presence.

"I really appreciate you all holding me in such high regard," he said, his voice sincere, measured, and respectful. "I really do."

The effect was immediate.

Several instructors exchanged approving looks. A few nodded, clearly pleased by his response. Murmurs of approval rippled through them, their earlier competitiveness easing slightly as they took in his words.

"So humble," one of them commented quietly.

"Not arrogant at all, despite his talent," another added.

Stanley heard every word.

And with each one, his chest swelled further.

He maintained his expression carefully, making sure not to look too pleased, though inside, he was glowing. This was exactly how he wanted to be seen. Talented, yes, but grounded. Confident, but respectful. Someone worthy not just of admiration, but of trust.

He continued, his tone gentle, almost earnest.

"I view you all as personal to me," he said, choosing his words deliberately, "and I would be honored to learn from any of you."

The reaction was everything he hoped for.

The instructors' expressions softened further, several of them smiling openly now.

The earlier tension melted into approval, their interest in him deepening rather than fading.

Around them, the elites watched with mixed emotions, admiration tangled tightly with envy.

Stanley let the murmurs settle for just a moment longer before speaking again, allowing the attention to remain on him without appearing eager for it.

When he finally opened his mouth, his tone was calm, steady, and deliberately restrained, as though he were choosing humility not because he lacked confidence, but because he believed it was the correct posture to take.

"You are all free to train me however you want," he said, his voice carrying clearly across the training grounds. "I'll accept your teaching as a humble elite."

The words were simple, but their effect was immediate.

He finished with a light bow, nothing exaggerated, just deep enough to show respect, and lifted his head with a polite smile resting naturally on his face.

It was the kind of smile that felt practiced but not fake, gentle without being weak, confident without being arrogant.

To most of the instructors watching, it was exactly what they wanted to see.

A strong student who knew his place.

A talented elite who understood the value of guidance.

Someone who could be shaped, refined, and ultimately turned into a symbol of the academy's excellence.

In the eyes of many instructors, Stanley's image rose once again.

Whatever doubts might have formed earlier, whatever concerns lingered from his loss, were quie

The space around Stanley slowly cleared.

As the crowd thinned, Bella stepped closer once more, slipping her arm around his shoulders with casual familiarity.

Her touch was light, almost playful, yet deliberate enough to be noticed by those nearby.

"You're… too humble," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of amusement, her lips curving into a teasing smile.

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