After the fight that broke out between Zeke and Ian, the entire structure of the academy fell into question. Because of the press that came with the loss of two high-ranking knights during an investigation, the need to change the academy's stance on relationships between students surged into view.

To start off, Zeke received a two-week suspension following the incident—a suspension issued by the dean himself with the intention of concealing the true nature of what happened. However, with the diligent work of senior investigator Timothy Matsuhide, it didn't take long for the knights to get to the bottom of it.

They learned how Zeke and other top-ranking non-contractor students were being mistreated. Given the circumstances, it became grimly logical that the retaliation unfolded the way it did—cause and counterforce, pressure and the breaking of a valve.

The academy had kept extensive files on the abuse the students were facing—records that showed the institution itself had been purposefully supporting the issue. The paper trail was a noose.

In light of these findings, the dean was forced to step down. Upon hearing the news, he tried barricading himself in his office; the tactic proved ineffective thanks to a certain investigator with a talent for kicking down doors.

The knights appointed a temporary dean: a special investigator who specialized in gathering intelligence and organization—Matilda Vein, also known as Lips.

Matilda stepped in immediately, unspooling a web of underground deals between the academy and a criminal organization known as the Sabre gang. She pulled at threads, and whole walls gave way.

And just like that, two weeks passed, and Zeke was able to return to his classes.

Zeke walked into his homeroom and sat down in his usual seat by the window. Outside, the courtyard track cut a brown ring through the grass; inside, sunlight pooled on desktops like quiet gold.

Immediately, the class stood, every student clapping and cheering for him. The sound rolled over him in warm waves.

"You did good," Keith placed his hand on Zeke's shoulder.

"I didn't do anything," Zeke remarked.

"You fought back," Keith explained.

"I did it for myself," Zeke stated, averting his gaze.

"No, Zeke," Keith smiled. "You did it for everyone, even if you yourself fail to see it."

As the cheers echoed through the halls they were disturbed and by the dissonating sound of heavy footsteps.

The door slid open and the room's applause thinned to a nervous hush.

"Are you perhaps Zeke Ventrew?" Timothy Matsuhide asked with a commanding tone, entering into the classroom.

"I am," Zeke replied.

"Nice to meet you, I am the investigator supervising your case of illegal contract use." Timothy extended his hand.

"Likewise," Zeke replied, shaking his hand.

"Mind if we step out, would like to talk to you in private?" Timothy asked.

"No, not at all," Zeke stood up.

Murmurs followed them into the corridor, where the light was colder and the floor carried echoes like coins. Down a flight of glass-walled stairs and through a breezeway of steel ribs, they reached a courtyard bench beneath a wind-ruffled ash tree. The academy hummed around them—distant bells, a drone's whir, the crisp snap of a flag in the breeze.

"What did you want to talk about?" Zeke asked.

Timothy sat down, crossing one leg with careful precision. His coat laid straight along the bench; his eyes didn't.

"We investigated the aftermath of your fight. We initially determined Ian miscalculated while conjuring a spell and accidentally blew himself up," Timothy stated. "Can you tell me what you remember from that incident?" he asked.

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"To be completely honest I don't remember much," Zeke sighed. "My mind becomes like a blank slate when I think about it. The only thing I recall is waking up home."

Timothy started clapping—three neat, surgical taps of palm to palm.

"Bravo!" he remarked. "You're better than I thought. No while the official reports state that Ian blew himself up I had one of my men investigate the site of the fight. Now you know what's funny? They found your mana all over the classroom. It would be logical to say that you used some mana to shield yourself, but then why would only your mana remain? It's simple. You used magic to transmute portions of your body into an explosive material to blow the poor bugger up," Timothy smiled. "And you're lying through your teeth about it. I saw you applied to join squad X once you graduate. Well, let me tell you this, someone like you will never be able to do it. Joining my squad requires conviction and strong morals, it's not just about combat ability!"

"That's fine," Zeke said. "It's fine if you think that. Afterall not even I myself know the truth." Zeke stated.

Timothy's gaze held a moment longer, weighing something invisible between them.

"You can return to class," Matsuhide stated.

Zeke rose. The wind shifted, carrying chalk dust and cut grass; the academy bell tolled the hour like a reminder he didn't want. He turned away from the main hall.

"Your class is the other way," Matsuhide remarked.

"Yeah," Zeke sighed. "I'm ditching."

Zeke wandered the streets of the city, aimlessly walking, letting the grid of lights and alleys shuffle beneath his feet. The chilly air built up a certain oppressive atmosphere as Zeke walked. Moisture clung to the concrete; distant sirens threaded through the dark like frayed wire. Shopfront glass reflected him as a thin, silver smear—there and not.

"Am I in the right?" Zeke wondered. "Is it right for me to keep going. I can feel it, that me that was there before slipping away, becoming a different entity all together." He pondered as his mind shifted to Amy. "I want to see her. I want to be happy. But can I do it? Is it really okay to just enjoy what I have now?" he questioned.

His boots tapped a steady, hollow rhythm. A refrigerated truck coughed past, leaking pale vapor; somewhere, a radio played an old ballad through a half-closed window. Zeke kept moving, hands in pockets, head down, the city's breath frosting the air in slow tides. Then—cold bit the back of his neck.

Suddenly, Zeke's thoughts were interrupted by the sensation of cold steel touching the back of his neck.

"Don't move," a hooded figure ordered.

Zeke quietly raised his hands, as a sign of cooperation.

"Good, you're clever," the figure remarked. "Now see that alley way other there, too a right there," the figure ordered.

He stepped where she steered him. Sodium lamps fell away; the street's murmur dulled to a damp hush. They passed a dented dumpster, a sagging fire escape, a line of cracked brick that glistened with seep and rain rot. Before long the two entered a dark, damp, bricked-off area, a dead end completely devoid of people. The alley's throat ended on a wall tattooed with layered tags; a single neon sign flickered beyond the mouth, stuttering blue on wet stone.

"Hello Nia," Zeke smiled.

"You knew it was me?" She wondered.

"So, tell me, who hired you?" Zeke asked.

"Noone," Nia murmured.

"Was it the Sabre gang?" he asked.

A pause cracked open between them. Nia's expression changed. She appeared guilty, and disgusted with herself, she seemed like a cornered animal fighting for it's last scraps of food. Fingers whitened on the knife. Rain pattered, whisper-thin.

"Oh Nia, Nia, Nia," She swayed his head. "You didn't get my warning last time," Zeke smiled.

"So you were the guy with the fox mask?" She wondered.

"No," Zeke replied. "That was a close confidant of mine."

"Do you have any Idea how many people died during your raid on the mercenary HQ?!" Nia screamed out.

"And how many did the saber gang kill?" Zeke asked. "Now tell me who exactly ordered the hit? Was it the principal? Or maybe it was the ogre fellow?"

"Shut up!" Nia shouted, lodging the tip of her knife into Zeke's skin.

Steel kissed skin; a bead of blood welled, bright as a berry in the dim. The alley seemed to hold its breath.

Immediately, Zeke's hair turned white as his body flickered with blue flames. He hastily turned around, punching Nia in the stomach, before grabbing her by the throat and pressing her hard to the wall behind her. The impact shuddered through brick; dust shook loose in a fine veil.

"Those two knights had a better shot at killing me than you do dear Nia," Zeke whispered into her ear with a monstrous tone.

"You're the executioner," Nia gasped, visibly terrified.

"The executioner?" Zeke asked, laughing.

"That's what the masses started calling you after what you did to those two knights," Nia explained.

"I don't care dear Nia," Zeke pressed down on her neck. "Now tell me, who hired you," he ordered.

"It was the principal," She stated, lowering her gaze.

Silence thudded once, heavy as a heartbeat. Zeke's fingers uncoiled. He let go of her neck as his hair shifted back into it's usual color. The blue fire smoldered out, leaving only the chill and the dim throb of neon.

"Back in the undercity I had an assistant who would take care of the more tedious parts of leadership, he would go to meetings and barter, while I stayed in the shadows making decisions." Zeke explained. "Nia, how about you join me, I am in need of someone who could clean up my shit."

"And if I refuse?" She asked with an anxious smile.

"I will kill you here and feed you kid to the dogs," Zeke said, his hair flickering with a blue hue.

"So that's it? that's all I get if I join you, you're not gonna pay me?" Nia wondered.

"I never said that, I'll give you so much money that you'll be able to buy the hospital you keep sending your last savings to," Zeke laughed.

"Are you serious?" Nia's eyes widened.

"Of course," Zeke smiled.

"Then, it's a deal," she said kneeling on the ground before him. "I will do anything you ask of me."

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