She didn't fall from the narrow pathway that bound the QnA chamber to the place where students jumped to prove their will and magic.
She stood in front of me.
Ryuk leaned close, a grin slicing his face. "She is the one--Serie Winston... Weakling..."
My expression almost betrayed me. The thread in my finger pulsed, traitorous and hot, and for a second my mouth wanted something softer, something not cruelty. I forced it down. The mask I'd practiced for years snapped into place: a cruel smile, slow and deliberate.
Inside, my chest burned.
I took a long, measured step forward and watched her closely. She trembled; you could see it in the way her shoulders hitch and her knees stayed too still. But her chin didn't lower. That small stubborn lift irritated me more than it should have.
I didn't look at her ,flicking my hand toward the floating edge like a king dismissing a beggar and said "Just go to the edge of this floor and jump. Simple!!
Finish the test as fast as you can"
She didn't answer. She only looked at me, eyes steady in a way that made my throat tighten.
For a moment I felt naked, like whatever frail thing hid under my skin was suddenly exposed. I hated that sensation.
I clapped once, sharp, right in front of her face--an ugly, deliberate insult to break whatever daze she was in. Her focus snapped. Fury flared in her eyes so bright it almost made me flinch.
"Okay," she said.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just enough, a small blade of sound.
She turned and walked toward the edge in slow, fragile steps.
I should have laughed; I should have watched her fall and felt the thread die in my hand.
Instead my gaze tracked her every movement, traitor to my own will.
At the edge she paused. Her hands balled; her lips moved in a whisper I couldn't catch. Then she spread her arms like wings..an awkward, human imitation of flight..and jumped.
The room inhaled.
I waited for the satisfaction that never came.
Pain exploded in my ring finger.
The thread burned white-hot, ripping into me.
I felt something leave me..something raw and warm and flow into her.
Power, no different than what I'd hoarded and sharpened for years, poured out, unwillingly, into hers.
Her fall slowed. The air seemed to hold her. She descended like a leaf on still water and landed--soft, whole, unbroken.
Alive...
I should have felt freedom. I should have felt happy. Instead I felt shackled tighter than before, a chain wrapped deeper into my bones.
Rage--hot, ugly, and animal--rose in me. I turned on my heel and walked away before anyone could see my face.
I needed to be somewhere without witnesses. Somewhere where I could punish myself properly.
The restricted grounds waited for me..my only refuge.
A forbidden place where dead trees whispered and the air gnawed at weak minds.
But I had walked these paths before, and they had no hold on me now.
The University called it "Regio Obscura";
I called it truth--where the world showed its bare teeth.
The University warned students to avoid this place but I made it my second home.
Here I didn't need masks. Here, anger could breathe.
I slammed my fists into a tree. Bark split, blood smeared, and my knuckles cracked open.
The pain was nothing. I'd lived with pain longer than I'd lived with peace.
"Why her?"
My voice echoed against the empty air.
"Why that damned thread with her?"
Another blow. The tree shuddered and gave way, collapsing to the ground. My breath came harsh and ragged. The thread pulsed faintly, as if mocking me.
My breath came in ragged pulls. Memories rose--my father's screams, the men who called it law, the light leaking from his eyes. Every memory sharpened the hunger in me: power, answers, revenge.
That was why I was here. Why I clawed for every level, every scrap of power. For answers. For revenge.
Not for this. Not for her.
When the storm inside me finally calmed enough for thought, I pressed my forehead to my bloodied hands and made a promise...not to the University, not to my enemies, but to myself.
"I'll make her life hell." My voice was low, steady.
"She will fail. She will leave. The farther she is from me, the weaker this bond will become."
That was truth I clung to. Distance dulled the thread's burn. Near her, it roared. Far, it barely itched. I would use that.
I would rise.
I was already Level 90!!
just ten more and I'd step into the Inner Circle.
There, among the men who had destroyed my father, I would find the truth and cut their laws apart.
For that, I needed strength. No distractions. No weaknesses.
The image of her landing alive flared again in my mind. My teeth ground together.
"Not again," I muttered. "Never again."
The restricted grounds fell silent. The whispers died. All that remained was my vow, sharp as steel.
I would train harder. Strike faster. Rise higher.
I would not let a fragile thread decide my fate.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, tasting the salt of my own blood, and pushed myself up.
I left the restricted area before the sunset dipped too low.
My head throbbed with frantic thoughts: Level numbers, rituals, the way the thread pulsed when she breathed near me.
I strode across the grounds toward the training hall.
I would train until my muscles ached, until my spirit hardened into something that could finally wrench power back from that traitorous thread. I would earn the right to stand at the Inner Circle.
"I don't have time for this weakness," I told the empty sky.
"Not now. Not until I have everything I need."
The thread pulsed faintly, an almost pitying whisper against my skin.
" I'll make sure she falls..not by accident, but by design,"Isaid.
Serie Winston had survived today. But this University would crush her in time.
And if it didn't… I would.
The bond burned faintly against my skin, quieter now, but alive.
Mocking me.
And somewhere in the dorms, she was breathing the same cursed air.
I clenched my fists.
"Enjoy it while it lasts, Serie Winston. You won't survive the next trial."