The hall was still buzzing from Emily Lionheart's speech when Michael's name was called.

Emily had spoken like a noble queen measured, dignified, offering unity through tradition. Her words had drawn cheers from her loyalists and polite nods from neutral students.

Then Magnus Daven had stormed the stage, fire in his tone, railing against the noble monopoly and demanding change. He had the commoners roaring, fists in the air, chanting his name.

And now?

Michael Wilson.

Not a Lionheart.

Not a Daven.

Not even a known name.

Just the first-year commoner who had shocked the academy by topping the VR Dungeon test.

He could feel hundreds of eyes boring into him as he walked across the wooden platform. The Vice Principal, Sophia Emberheart, watched him with a hawk's gaze from the overseer's seat.

He paused at the podium. The parchment he had scribbled notes on trembled faintly in his grip.

Breathe. In, out. It's not the dungeon. But it's a battlefield all the same.

He didn't read from the parchment. Instead, he folded it and tucked it into his pocket.

"My name is Michael Wilson." His voice carried, even though he spoke calmly.

"I am not here to promise crowns or glory. I am not running for President. My path is different."

The room shifted. Murmurs rippled.

Not running for President? Then what was he doing here?

"I stand for the Executive Seat of the Disciplinary Committee."

Now the crowd really stirred. A murmur of disbelief swept across the nobles' section. Even some commoners blinked in confusion.

Michael didn't flinch.

"I've been here only a short time," he continued, "but already, I've seen things. Duels where the result was decided not by skill, but by who had more gold. Students silenced because their families lacked influence. Clubs misusing their power to push weaker ones aside."

His jaw tightened. He forced himself to meet their gazes.

"That ends with me."

The hall hushed. The kind of silence where even a cough would sound like thunder.

"If elected, I'll make sure duels are fought fairly. That punishments aren't political. That every student—noble or commoner—can walk these halls without fear of exploitation."

He leaned slightly forward, voice firm.

"This Academy trains heroes. And heroes don't prey on the weak. Heroes protect them."

For a moment, the only sound was his breathing.

Then the whispers started.

"…He's right."

"…Finally someone said it."

"…About time someone called them out."

But also:

"Arrogant."

"Naïve."

"A commoner lecturing nobles?"

He bowed his head slightly, then stepped back.

As he walked down from the stage, he caught glimpses of faces in the crowd.

Maria's lips curved—reluctantly, but it was a smile. Aurelia leaned back with a sharp whistle. Leon's eyes narrowed with the calculating weight of a Lionheart heir. Chris grinned like he'd just watched his brother punch a bully in the nose.

Back among his group, Aurelia was the first to speak.

"Short. Sharp. And you actually looked cool for once."

Michael sighed. "Thanks… I think."

Maria crossed her arms but her eyes softened. "Not bad. You didn't sound like you were reading lines."

Chris clapped him on the back. "Brother, you just threw a rock into a hornet's nest. I like it."

Leon's tone was quieter, almost warning. "You realize you've made enemies, right? You challenged half the system in one breath."

Michael gave the faintest smile. "Let them come."

As the next candidate was called, the crowd still buzzed about him.

Nobles whispered about arrogance.

Commoners whispered about hope.

And in the corner of the stage, Alice Nightveil narrowed her eyes, lips curling faintly.

He's stepping into my territory. No… into Emily's safety.

On the overseer's seat, Sophia Emberheart rested her chin on her hand, her expression unreadable.

But her eyes lingered on Michael. Longer than they had on anyone else.

The Vice Principal didn't look away until Michael sat back down, his heart still steadying in his chest.

And even then, the whispers around him refused to die.

After that other two candidates gave there speech.

---------

Next Morning

Before dawn, the air was already heavy, whispering with rumor and tension.

Students poured toward the Grand Assembly Hall, uniforms pressed to perfection, crests polished like armor.

Their faces betrayed nerves but also calculation.

It was Voting Day.

The day crowns were made, and throats were cut without knives.

Michael straightened his jacket outside the Supreme Hall..

His watch read 6:42. Too early for calm. Too late for sleep. Maria's words clung to him.

"Whatever happens… you've already changed things."

The cobblestones felt sharper beneath his boots, every echo followed by whispers.

Some bowed their heads as he passed.

Others smirked, eyes narrowed in disdain.

Aiden slipped into step beside him, yawning wide.

"You're walking like a man on trial. Nervous?"

Michael allowed a dry chuckle. "If I say no, will you believe it?"

Chris's hand slammed into his shoulder, almost throwing him off balance.

"Good. Fear means you're alive. Only corpses don't shake before battle."

Leon followed, immaculate, his Lionheart crest gleaming like a brand. His tone was velvet, edged with steel.

"Magnus secured another club last night. His camp grows louder."

Michael's frown deepened. "Emily knows?"

"She knows," Leon murmured, eyes narrowing.

"But don't worry about her. Worry about yourself. Today, Michael…"

His gaze cut sharp as a blade.

"…you're the one they'll measure. And the knives will be out."

Michael said nothing. But the weight pressed heavier.

The Assembly Hall loomed like a cathedral of judgment. Banners unfurled, house crests glaring down from the vaulted heights. At the far dais, Sophia Emberheart sat like a red flame in shadow, Vice Principal and Overseer, her crimson eyes watching with merciless calm.

The candidates entered.

Emily Lionheart—radiant and disciplined, each step measured, her presence pulling nobles straighter by instinct.

Magnus Daven—towering, fire in his eyes, welcomed with a roar from commoner factions who raised fists as if saluting a warlord.

Alice Nightveil—silent, precise, aura of frost. Students parted for her, not daring to touch her shadow.

Flick Braveheart—swaggering, smirking, the air around him promising brawls instead of ballots.

And Michael.

The shift was immediate. Heads turned. Whispers sharpened into hisses.

Maria sat still in the audience, her hands folded, gaze fixed on him alone. Aurelia, sprawled languidly, flicked him a wicked wink.

Sophia Emberheart rose. Silence obeyed her like a leash.

"Students of Hero Academy. Today, you cast your votes. Today, you choose who will lead you, bind you, guard you. Let no bribe or threat sway your hand. Oath and magic bind this election."

Her gaze cut deliberately toward Michael, and lingered.

Then her pale hand descended.

"Begin."

One by one, students pressed their hands to the crystal orbs. Mana signatures flared—votes sealed.

The hall was alive with murmurs, deals whispered in shadow.

"Emily is the spine of the nobles."

"Magnus will break the chains."

"Flick promises fists. Some like that."

"Alice will and she is my future wife."

And Michael just Sigh

This nobel are really Carzy , the he Heard about him.

"…he's backed by Hunting and Royals…"

"…not enough. Alice has five clubs."

"…but the commoners rally to him. He might tip the scale."

"…what if he wins? What happens then?"

Michael's face stayed stone. Inside, his stomach knotted.

The Dungeon again. Step wrong, and the walls close in.

The last vote fell.

The orbs rose, light weaving into numbers across the high air. The hall froze, breaths held.

Presidency Vote

Emily Lionheart — 1,204

Magnus Daven — 1,176

A razor-thin margin. Gasps cut through the chamber.

Nobles exhaled triumph in applause. Magnus's camp snarled, some crying fraud, others silent in rage. Emily bowed her head slightly, expression unreadable, as Alice's hand brushed her arm in icy solidarity. Magnus stood rigid, fire burning behind clenched teeth.

Sophia's voice carried like a sword strike.

"Emily Lionheart is elected Student Council President."

The hall thundered—but half-hearted on the commoner side.

Michael barely heard it. Because now—the next judgment was his.

Disciplinary Committee Vote

Alice Nightveil — 892

Flick Braveheart — 631

Michael Wilson — 947

The hall erupted.

"What—?!"

"A commoner?!"

"No. Impossible—"

"Finally! Justice!"

"He dethroned Alice!"

Alice's mask did not crack. But her hands curled, nails biting flesh. Flick's fist split a chair in rage.

Michael felt himself freeze. He had braced for loss, for humiliation, for exile in mockery. Victory was a blade he had not expected.

Sophia Emberheart stood once more. For the first time, her lips curved in the faintest smile.

"Michael Wilson. From this day forward, the Academy's law lies in your hands."

Her gaze cut to him, unrelenting, crimson as blood.

"Let us see," she said softly, "how a commoner wields it."

Chaos swallowed the hall. Cheers clashed with protests, curses against praise.

Chris crashed into him with a crushing hug. "You lunatic—you actually did it!"

Aiden laughed in disbelief. "I thought third place at best…"

Leon's eyes gleamed, sharp with calculation. "This board has shifted. And you're the new piece everyone wants to move."

Maria stepped close, silence in her steps. For a moment, neither spoke. Then, softly:

"Congratulations."

A small, fleeting smile touched her lips—worth more than the roaring storm around them.

Michael exhaled, fingers brushing Darken's hilt. He had entered Hero Academy for nothing. Now, law itself was in his grip.

But victory was never the end.

Alice's gaze pinned him from the shadows cold, promising retribution.

Magnus's fire burned hotter, not dimmer.

The war for Studen Union had only just begun.

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