The cafeteria at Wysteria Academy was a kingdom of color and chaos. Towering crystal windows bathed the long room in golden daylight, illuminating rows of ornate wooden tables where students of every shape and status gathered. Plates clinked and laughter rang through the air, merging with the distant hum of enchanted food dispensers and the chatter of gossip-laden cliques. Mana lanterns hovered above like glowing orbs, gently rotating and casting soft glimmers onto the polished marble floor.
In the corner near the arched window framed by cascading ivy, Muhan sat in silence. The sunlight caught the edge of his raven-black hoodie, casting his chiseled features in dramatic contrast. His piercing blue eyes—normally calm—were distant, almost cold, as he stared into the untouched glass of sparkling water before him.
Across from him sat Mi-cha, her silver-streaked hair catching the light like liquid moonlight. She tucked a loose strand behind her ear as her gaze dropped to the table, heart hammering. The scent of cinnamon bread lingered between them, but neither spoke for a long moment.
Mi-cha swallowed hard, gripping the hem of her skirt beneath the table. This is it, she thought. I have to tell him… about the Pjeonjaeham sect. About the secret I've kept.
"Muhan…" she began, voice low, as if afraid the air itself might shatter under the truth.
Her fingers trembled.
"I… I…"
But the moment dissolved with a tap on Muhan's shoulder.
"Hi Muhan~!" a bright voice cut in.
Soo-ah appeared like a sudden flame, grinning as she twirled a strand of cherry-red hair around her finger. Her glossy uniform skirt fluttered as she leaned down playfully, resting her chin near his shoulder.
"Hey, what are you two whispering about over here?" she teased.
Behind her, Ji-hoon emerged—handsome, cocky, and confident. He draped an arm around Soo-ah's waist like it belonged there, flashing a half-smile as he sat down on the edge of the bench, forcing Muhan and Mi-cha to scoot.
Mi-cha blinked, momentarily flustered.
"Hi Soo-ah… Ji-hoon," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral.
As Soo-ah plopped beside her, she nudged Mi-cha with an elbow, grinning with excitement. "How about a friendly spar? You and me. Let's give the boys something to talk about."
Mi-cha looked at Muhan, uncertain.
He nodded slightly, voice calm but supportive.
"Go. It'll be good for you."
Mi-cha's expression sharpened into a determined smile. "Alright then, let's spar."
The two girls rose, walking off in a flurry of enthusiasm and flickering aura trails.
Left behind, Ji-hoon's expression changed.
He leaned in close to Muhan, voice suddenly stripped of humor. "Dude… there's something I've been meaning to tell you. Something you need to hear."
Muhan raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
Ji-hoon looked around cautiously, then whispered,
"The principal—he's not just some administrator. He's part of the Pjeonjaeham sect. And he… he was involved in your sister's murder."
Silence.
The air itself seemed to pause.
Muhan's hand froze mid-motion above his glass. His pupils shrank. His eyes dimmed into a deep, chilling blue that flickered like buried lightning.
The color drained from the world.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
The morning sun crept over the jagged towers of Wysteria Academy, casting long shadows across its frost-tipped spires. Mist rolled off the dew-covered training fields, and songbirds chirped high above the mana-charged forest nearby. But in the east wing dorms, one room was already alive with motion.
Muhan stood shirtless, his breath calm but thunderous, echoing through the silence.
"...Ninety-eight… ninety-nine… one hundred," he muttered, finishing a set of push-ups.
His body was a sculpture of resilience, each muscle honed by years of discipline and hardship. Beads of sweat rolled down his chest as he immediately shifted into squats. The room around him was spartan—just a bed, a window, and a sword hanging above his mirror.
His mind burned.
They sent her here… to die.
Steam filled the air as he stood beneath the shower's hot spray. His head tilted back, letting the warmth numb his skin, but nothing could numb the fire in his chest.
Flashes returned to him—his mother cradling him after the first attack when he was a baby. The second, more violent assault. Ae-cha—his sister—fighting off a Level 90 martial artist at just six years old.
The government labeled it a "training accident." But he remembered the screams.
"She always protected me," he whispered, voice drowned beneath the water.
Dressed in black from head to toe, Muhan stepped out into the morning light, his hoodie casting a long shadow across the shimmering courtyard stones.
The breeze carried the scent of cherry blossoms and ozone.
He walked like a phantom through the Academy—students gave him space without knowing why. A silent gravity followed him now.
As he neared the eastern wing, a grand marble hallway led to the Principal's Office—an enormous double-door structure lined with gold runes and ancient sigils. Waiting before it were 1st class students, the elite of Wysteria. They were transformed, armored in ether-cloaks and glowing tattoos.
One of them—a tall, silver-haired enforcer with a broadsword—spoke.
"You're not allowed past this point, Muhan."
Muhan didn't stop walking.
"I wasn't asking."
His iris shimmered—then burst.
Blue fire surged outward like a tidal wave.
Six orbs of searing ether formed around him, glowing with eerie intensity. Then, with a flick of his finger—
BOOM.
Each fireball exploded with surgical precision, hurling the guards back through marble columns, shattering one of the enchanted gates.
The principal's door was vaporized in blue flame.
In the Principal's office, behind layers of defensive barriers and sealed sigils, the headmaster of Wysteria stood alone—unfazed by the explosions outside. He poured himself tea, his fingers steady.
He knew the boy would come.
On his desk lay an old photograph. A girl with golden eyes and a wide smile—Ae-cha.
He looked down at the image, murmuring, "The child survived… just as we feared."
The shadows behind him stirred, revealing a cloaked figure, eyes glowing crimson.
"What do we do now?" it whispered.
The principal sipped his tea. "We prepare. The Etherborn's rage has been awakened."
Elsewhere, near the school's mall pavilion, Mi-cha and Soo-ah walked beneath a dome of hanging flowers, holding bags of snacks and accessories.
Suddenly, a thunderous boom cracked across the sky.
They turned just in time to see smoke billowing from the east wing.
"Soo-ah…" Mi-cha breathed. "That sound…"
Soo-ah's face paled. She dropped her bag. "I was going to tell you. The principal… he's from that sect. Ji-hoon told me after you left. He was involved in Muhan's sister's death."
Mi-cha froze.
Everything snapped into place—the cold look in Muhan's eyes, the way he held her hand like he was already saying goodbye.
Her heart sank.
"He's going to do something crazy," she whispered.
Without hesitation, she turned and ran, feet pounding over the stones. Soo-ah followed behind.
The courtyard outside the principal's wing was in ruins. Rubble smoked, columns cracked, and chunks of wall glowed with residual mana.
In the center of the destruction stood Muhan, holding one of the elite students by the collar, his arm unwavering.
His blue aura pulsed like a heartbeat—slow, calm, dangerous.
Nearby, Kim, the silver-haired elf who once saved a Nano ship from a black hole, gasped as he watched.
"He's… he's not just handsome—he's terrifying," Kim whispered, shaking with excitement. "He's what legends are made of."
Kim stepped forward, his own mana starting to rise.
But before he could charge, another figure dropped from above.
Jin-ho landed hard, the ground cracking beneath his boots. His aura flared in blazing orange arcs, distorting the very air around them.
"Muhan!" Jin-ho shouted. "You've done enough. STOP HERE!"
Muhan's eyes slowly turned to him, unfazed.
He released the student.
The battlefield went quiet.
His words, when they came, were calm and final.
"If you want to protect the man who killed Ae-cha... then draw your weapon."