The lecture hall buzzed with quiet chatter as students filed in. Sunlight streamed through high windows, catching the dust motes in golden shafts. Asher sat in his usual place by the window, glasses catching the light, his ruffled hair shadowing his blue eyes.
"Good morning, Ernstein," Lilith's voice cut in.
Asher adjusted his glasses, answering without looking up. "Morning."
"That's it again?" she pressed, sliding into the seat beside him this time instead of her usual spot. "You're consistent, I'll give you that."
"…Mm."
She tilted her head, studying him with open curiosity. "Tell me, Ernstein—do you always hide behind half-answers, or is it just for me?" She leaned in even closer, her plump chest almost touching his arm.
His eyes flicked toward her briefly, unreadable. "Would you prefer silence?"
Her lips curved in a sharp smile. "So you can talk properly."
The instructor entered, saving Asher from further probing. But Lilith didn't stop watching him. Not during the lecture, not during practice, not even when other students whispered about her wasting time with the academy's "weakling."
After class, Lilith caught him in the courtyard, falling into step beside him.
"You know," she said lightly, "I've been thinking about the dungeon incident."
Asher's hand stilled briefly on the strap of his satchel. "What're you talking about ?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Don't pretend like you don't know. Someone saved me one night when I encountered a powerful monster. Stronger than anything I've seen in this academy. Stronger than most nobles, even. But… they disappeared before I could see their face."
"Sounds convenient," Asher replied, voice flat.
"It is, isn't it?" Her tone was sharp now, searching for cracks. "But there was something familiar. The way he moved. The way the air felt around him. Almost like…"
She stopped, stepping in front of him. "Almost like you."
The courtyard quieted around them. A few passing students glanced their way, but none lingered.
Asher adjusted his glasses, meeting her gaze with calm detachment. "That's quite the imagination, Miss Veyra."
Her jaw tightened. She had expected denial, maybe anger—but not this cold, measured calm.
"Is it imagination?" she pressed, lowering her voice. "Or are you just very good at hiding?"
Asher's expression didn't shift. "If I were, you wouldn't have noticed."
The words landed heavier than she expected. For a moment, silence stretched between them, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
Then he stepped past her, unhurried, as though their exchange had meant nothing.
Lilith stood frozen, her suspicions louder than ever. He was hiding something—something dangerous. And the more he denied, the more certain she became.
That night, she followed him again. Through the quiet corridors, down into the lower courtyards, always a few steps behind. He never looked back, never faltered. He didn't need to. His senses were extraordinarily sharp and was still enhanced by the strange energy inside of him.
She couldn't shake the feeling that he knew. That every step she took was already counted in his mind.
And in the shadow of the academy, Asher let a faint smile ghost across his lips.
Let her follow. Let her doubt.
The mask was holding. For now.
*****
The dining hall was alive with chatter, clattering plates, and bursts of laughter. Mana lamps glowed along the vaulted ceiling, casting a warm light over the rows of students gathered by class and clique. Nobles clustered together in silken arrogance, commoners and peasants gravitated to their own corners, and scattered among them were the odd friendships that defied those lines.
Asher Ernstein sat at the far end of a long table, quietly eating bread and stew. He had chosen the seat for its distance, but—as always—his shadow followed.
"Found you!" Kael Draven dropped onto the bench across from him, grinning like he'd won a prize. His short blade clinked against the wood as he set it down, earning a glare from the kitchen staff.
"You shouldn't slam weapons on tables," Iris Vale said as she sat beside him, smoothing her robes. "You'll get banned from the hall."
"Worth it," Kael shot back, already stealing a slice of bread from Asher's tray.
Asher blinked once, slow. "…That was mine."
Kael chewed noisily. "You weren't eating it fast enough."
Ronan Holt arrived next, balancing two trays with ease. "Kael, stop stealing. Ernstein doesn't eat much as it is."
"I eat," Asher said flatly.
Selene Marris slid into the seat beside Asher, smirking. "Sure you do. Like a bird."
He gave a small shrug. "…Birds survive."
The table erupted in laughter, even Iris covering her mouth with a smile.
Asher kept chewing, unaffected. In truth, their laughter didn't touch him—but it served its purpose. Their noise drew attention away from him. Their presence made him blend in more than silence ever could.
Later that day, the group found themselves assigned to a joint training exercise in the outer courtyard. The instructor barked orders as pairs sparred under the midday sun.
"Asher, you're with Selene!"
Selene grinned wickedly, drawing her practice blade. "Finally. Let's see if the ghost can bleed."
Kael called out from the sidelines, "Go easy on him, Selene—he breaks easy!"
Asher adjusted his glasses, taking his stance. His wooden blade felt light in his hand. Too light.
Selene lunged. Asher blocked—late, deliberately slow. She pressed harder, raining countless blows down, until he stumbled back and let the strike graze his arm.
"You're terrible," she panted, grinning.
"…Mm."
"Don't 'mm' me! You didn't even try!"
"Trying is tiring," Asher replied, his expression deadpan.
The others laughed again, but Iris watched differently. Her gaze lingered on his hands, his footwork—steady, controlled, never truly off balance. Her lips parted as if to speak, then closed again.
As the sun dipped, the group sprawled across the grass, sweaty and laughing. Kael told a wild story about stealing mana crystals as a child, Selene teased Ronan about his "gentle giant" act, Iris corrected their jokes with actual magical theory.
And Asher sat among them, silent, the mask never slipping.
To them, he was just another weakling scraping by.
To him, they were mirrors—reflecting fear, ambition, loyalty, and weakness. Observations he tucked away in the quiet dark of his mind.
Across the courtyard, Lilith Miss Veyra leaned against a pillar, arms folded. She hadn't joined the laughter. She hadn't looked away once.
Her violet eyes stayed fixed on Asher, her suspicion burning brighter with each passing day.
Lilith Veyra hated being ignored.
It wasn't just an irritation — it was an insult. A noble of her standing was not meant to trail behind others in silence, much less be brushed off with half-hearted words and empty stares. Yet every morning, without fail, Asher Ernstein answered her pestering with the same infuriating calm.
"Good morning, Ernstein," she said brightly as she slid into the seat beside him in class.
"Morning."
"That's all?"
"Mm."
Her teeth clenched. "You could at least look me in the eye when you speak."
Asher adjusted his glasses without turning his head. "…Eye contact is overrated."
The students around them snickered. Some pitied her. Others mocked her. Lilith's cheeks burned, not from shame but from the weight of eyes that judged her.
Because for all her family's pride, she was not strong. Not compared to other nobles. Not compared to the Veyras who came before her. Her peers whispered of her weakness the same way they whispered of Ernstein's.
That similarity gnawed at her.
That night, Lilith stood at her dormitory window, watching the moon spill silver light over the academy grounds.
"Asher Ernstein…" she murmured. "You're not what you seem."
She had seen him once — just once — in that dungeon, before her consciousness failed. The figure that saved her bore no glasses, no ruffled hair, no slouch. It was only a glimpse, a flash of cold purple eyes before darkness claimed her.
Her heart twisted with frustration. No one had believed her when she told them about the monster that wasn't supposed to be there. No one had believed that someone else had killed it.
And no one believed that weak, forgettable Asher Ernstein could have been her savior.
But Lilith believed.
The next day she followed him.
At first, it was simple. She lingered after lectures, walked where he walked, slowed her pace when he slowed. He never looked her way, never acknowledged her shadow.
When he sat in the dining hall with those four odd friends of his, she watched from across the room. He spoke rarely, never actually joining the conversation. But his silences were deliberate, not empty. She could feel it in her bones.
When he left for the training grounds, she followed. He sparred poorly, but his footing… his stance… it was too perfect for someone so clumsy.
And when he walked alone at night, slipping away from the well-lit paths into the quieter corners of the academy, Lilith pressed herself against stone walls and followed the faint sound of his steps.
Every time, he gave her nothing. Every time, she felt like she was chasing smoke.
But every time, her conviction deepened.
On the fourth night, Asher paused beneath a lantern outside the old library. His glasses glinted in the light. His head tilted ever so slightly, as though he had heard something.
Lilith froze behind a pillar, breath caught in her throat.
Then he moved on, unhurried.
She pressed a hand to her chest, her heart hammering. Did he know?
Of course he knew.
And yet… he pretended not to.