Kent dropped into the seat beside Alistair, near the front row — close enough to catch every word the instructor said, but far enough to avoid being that guy.

The classroom itself was enormous, shaped like a miniature amphitheater, with seats arranged in ascending rows circling a large central podium. Silver runes glowed faintly along the steps, illuminating the mana channels that powered the projectors and wards built into the room.

Students murmured quietly all around him, nervous laughter, the shuffle of bags, the occasional flicker of mana as someone practiced a small spell to calm their nerves.

Kent leaned back, exhaling. "Well," he muttered, "day one of the next few years of our lives."

Alistair glanced at him, one brow raised. "You sound thrilled."

Kent smirked. "I'm just waiting to see who gets eaten first."

Alistair actually laughed, a dry, quiet sound. "If I had to guess, probably whoever tries to talk back to the instructors."

Kent chuckled, resting his elbows on the desk. "Yeah… or Sebastian."

That name made Alistair tilt his head. "The Apex?"

"Yep," Kent said, spinning his pen between his fingers. "He's… something else, man."

Alistair gave him a curious look. "You know him personally?"

"Know him?" Kent sighed. "Fortunately no, I've only met him twice."

He stared ahead, eyes unfocused for a moment as he thought back.

"He's… weird. Like, sometimes he acts like the most self-absorbed narcissist in the world, calling people peasants, giving speeches that sound like bad theater…" Kent smirked slightly. "Then, sometimes he's just… funny. Charming, even. Like he's just messing with everyone for the fun of it."

Alistair hummed in thought. "And the rest of the time?"

Kent hesitated. "The rest of the time… he's scarier than the devil himself."

There was a small pause after that. Alistair didn't ask for details; maybe he didn't want them. Kent just stared at the glowing rune circle etched into the floor, remembering the faint shimmer in Sebastian's eyes when he'd seen him during the ceremony that unsettling calm mixed with something… wrong.

"Still," Kent said after a moment, trying to shake off the thought. "He's got this way of making you wonder what the hell he's thinking."

Before Alistair could reply, the classroom door hissed open.

The faint hum of conversation died instantly.

Footsteps echoed steady, deliberate as their teacher walked in.

Kent turned his head, straightening in his seat. Whoever was coming down those steps didn't need to speak to command attention; the air itself seemed to shift around them.

The first lesson was about to begin.

He finally glanced toward the front and froze.

The woman who had just stepped through the door moved with quiet confidence, each stride perfectly balanced. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, catching the faint golden light of the runes lining the walls.

A black-and-gold military uniform hugged her form precise, immaculate, the kind of tailoring that screamed authority and danger all at once.

But it wasn't her uniform that drew every eye in the room.

It was the blindfold.

A strip of deep black cloth wrapped neatly around her eyes, covering them entirely, and yet somehow, it felt as though she could see everything.

The way she turned her head, the faint tilt of her chin… there was precision in every movement, like she was tracking each student by the rhythm of their breath alone.

Kent blinked. Once. Twice.

Then his heart nearly stopped.

Wait.

No. No way.

It took a solid two seconds before the realization crashed into him like a brick.

"...You've got to be kidding me," he whispered.

That was Belle Ardent.

The infamous prodigy. The top-ranked ascendant. The same person who had beaten Sebastian, the infamous apex, half to death during their first duel.

The same Belle who was supposedly never taught a single class, too busy doing... whatever she did

And now she was their instructor?

Somewhere near the back of the classroom, he heard a soft gasp, sharp and unmistakably feminine.

Kent turned just enough to catch Nora von Velkaris clapping a hand over her mouth, her wide blue eyes fixed on the woman below.

Yep. He wasn't the only one shocked.

Belle stepped up to the podium, resting her gloved hands on the desk with a calm that made the entire room feel ten degrees colder.

Kent swallowed hard, leaning toward Alistair.

"...We're screwed," he muttered under his breath.

Alistair didn't even argue. He just nodded slowly, eyes locked on the woman in black and gold, the blindfolded instructor whose very presence seemed to slice through the air like a blade through butter.

Belle stood at the front of the class like a commander addressing her troops, posture straight, presence radiating quiet authority. Her black and gold uniform caught the morning light filtering through the tall windows, and even with that blindfold covering her eyes, every student felt as though she was staring right at them.

"Good morning, first-years," she began, her tone calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. "As many of you may already know, my name is Belle Ardent, your homeroom teacher and combat instructor for the year. I expect discipline, precision, and the ability to think before you swing your sword. You'll find that out soon enough, of course."

A few students straightened instinctively. Belle tilted her head slightly, as though scanning the room despite the blindfold.

"And for those of you who don't know who I am…"

The words hadn't even finished leaving her mouth before a thunderous BANG echoed through the room, the classroom door slamming open with such force the hinges protested.

A thick plume of smoke rolled in, curling across the floor like creeping fog. Students gasped; someone yelped near the back. Belle froze mid-sentence, her head turning slightly toward the door, the air in the room crackling with tension.

Through the swirling haze, a figure slowly came into view.

A silhouette first tall, confident, utterly unfazed. Then, as the smoke began to thin, a few details emerged: black hair that gleamed faintly under the light, and eyes that burned gold like molten metal.

The tension in the room thickened. No one breathed.

And then—

"Sorry I'm late," the late-coming bastard said, voice casual, almost playful.

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