The fog had begun to thin by the time Kel returned to his dormitory.
The academy was slowly awakening. From distant courtyards came the faint sounds of students beginning their morning exercises, while servants moved quietly through the corridors, carrying baskets of fresh linen and supplies. The pale morning light filtered through the tall windows, casting long, indistinct patterns across the stone floor.
Kel entered his room, removed his thick coat, and placed it neatly over the back of a chair. After washing his face and freshening up, he changed into a clean upper garment before leaving again.
He had no particular destination in mind.
Breakfast seemed like a reasonable place to start.
The academy cafeteria was already considerably busy. Its enormous hall was supported by rows of marble pillars, their surfaces decorated with ancient carvings depicting mythical beasts and long-forgotten heroes. Chandeliers enchanted with small floating flames illuminated the high ceiling, while the smell of freshly baked bread, roasted meat, and warm beverages filled the air.
Students occupied tables according to their social circles.
The descendants of noble houses gathered in comfortable groups, their conversations accompanied by laughter and the occasional boast. Their uniforms were immaculate, their accessories expensive, and even their casual gestures carried an air of inherited superiority.
Commoners, on the other hand, occupied the less desirable sections of the cafeteria.
Kel collected his breakfast and found a relatively quiet table. He sat down, placed his utensils beside the plate, and began eating.
For a while, everything remained ordinary.
Then a conversation from the neighbouring table caught his attention.
"...I'm telling you, this cannot continue forever."
A young man with short brown hair spoke in a frustrated whisper. His uniform was slightly worn around the sleeves, and dark circles beneath his eyes suggested that he had not slept particularly well.
"Lower your voice," another student warned him, glancing around nervously. "Do you want someone to report you?"
"Report me for what? Speaking the truth?"
"Speaking the truth doesn't protect you from consequences."
A third student, a girl with pale blonde hair tied into a loose ponytail, sighed.
"He isn't entirely wrong. Yesterday, one of the noble students took my research notes because he wanted to use them for his assignment. When I asked him to return them, he told me that I should consider it an honour that someone from his family had noticed my work."
The brown-haired student scoffed.
"At least he only took your notes. My roommate was ordered to carry another student's equipment across the training grounds. When he refused, the noble challenged him to a duel. Naturally, the instructors blamed my roommate for disturbing the peace."
"That's how it always happens," another commoner muttered. "They can insult us, exploit us, and even injure us, but the moment we defend ourselves, we're the troublemakers."
Their voices gradually became more subdued.
"We came here to study," the blonde girl continued, looking down at her untouched breakfast. "Some of us left our families behind and spent everything we had to get here. Yet every day, it feels as though we're being reminded that we don't belong."
A bitter silence settled over the table.
Kel continued eating.
He had heard similar complaints before. In fact, he had encountered countless variations of the same problem throughout his travels. Wherever power was concentrated in the hands of a privileged few, those without influence often found themselves struggling to protect even their basic dignity.
The academy was no exception.
He lowered his cup, a faint smirk appearing at the corner of his lips.
Interesting.
He was enrolled here as Aedon Flinth, a commoner and an explorer. His recommendation letter came from the Nameless One, a legendary explorer whose achievements had become the subject of countless stories.
That connection alone had earned him a certain degree of recognition among students who knew the adventurer's world.
And, of course, there was the matter of the so-called Divine Spoon Art.
Kel had never understood why the public had given such an ordinary-sounding name to something he had never considered an art in the first place.
People really do have a talent for naming things.
He placed his utensils down.
"May I ask you something?"
The students at the neighbouring table turned towards him.
The brown-haired young man looked slightly surprised. "Are you talking to us?"
Kel nodded casually.
"Yes. I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. You seem rather dissatisfied with the way things are being handled here."
The blonde girl studied him for a moment before replying.
"Who wouldn't be? Unless you're from one of the noble families, of course."
Kel gave a small, thoughtful smile.
"Then why don't you build your own network?"
The table fell silent.
"Network?" the brown-haired student repeated.
"Something resembling a guild," Kel explained, resting one arm against the table. "An organisation operated by commoners, for commoners. A place where students can exchange information, offer assistance, share resources, and support one another."
The students exchanged glances.
Kel continued in an unhurried voice.
"Think about it. There are hundreds of commoner students in this academy. Some are skilled in magic, others excel in combat, alchemy, crafting, research, or information gathering. Yet most of them operate independently. They struggle alone, even when someone sitting just a few tables away might possess exactly what they need."
He picked up his cup and took a sip.
"Why?"
The brown-haired student leaned forward.
"Because nobody trusts anyone. If we approach another commoner, we don't know whether they'll help us or simply use the opportunity to gain something for themselves."
"Then establish rules," Kel replied. "Create a structure where contributions are recorded, agreements are respected, and members are accountable for their actions. Trust doesn't have to come first. Sometimes, it is built through repeated cooperation."
The blonde girl's expression shifted from scepticism to curiosity.
"But wouldn't the nobles oppose something like that? If a group of commoners starts becoming influential, they might see it as a threat."
"They might."
Kel answered without hesitation.
"And?"
The girl blinked.
He placed his cup down.
"If the only reason an organisation cannot exist is because someone powerful dislikes its existence, then the problem is not the organisation. It is the people who believe everyone else should remain powerless."
His voice remained calm, almost indifferent, but the words carried enough weight to silence the table.
The brown-haired student rubbed his chin.
"You're suggesting we create an organisation that can negotiate with the academy and perhaps even protect its members?"
"Among other things. You could exchange notes, arrange study groups, organise training sessions, share information about professors and examinations, and help students who are struggling financially. Those with practical experience could guide newcomers. Skilled students could offer lessons in exchange for resources or services."
Kel paused briefly.
"Eventually, you might even establish connections beyond the academy."
The young man stared at him.
"That's... actually not a bad idea."
"Not a bad idea?" the blonde girl repeated. "It's considerably more than that. If we organise ourselves properly, we wouldn't have to depend entirely on noble students for opportunities."
A student sitting at the far end of the table finally spoke.
"But who would lead it? Someone has to take responsibility. And if we make mistakes, the consequences could affect everyone."
Kel shrugged.
"Then choose people who are capable of taking responsibility. An organisation should not depend on one person alone. Distribute authority, keep records, and make important decisions collectively."
He glanced at the several students now paying attention to their conversation.
"Most importantly, don't create it merely because you hate the nobles. Create it because you want something better for yourselves."
For a brief moment, the cafeteria noise seemed distant.
Then the brown-haired student slowly straightened in his seat.
"You're Aedon Flinth, aren't you?"
Kel looked at him.
"That's right."
"I've heard about you. You're an explorer, and you worked directly under the Nameless One, didn't you? The legendary explorer?"
A few other students turned their heads.
"Wait, he's that Aedon Flinth?"
"I heard he has travelled through dangerous regions."
"Wasn't he involved with the person who created the Divine Spoon Art?"
Kel's expression remained composed, though his eyes briefly narrowed.
There it is again.
He had never officially created anything called Divine Spoon Art. Yet somehow, the name had spread far enough that even students who had never met him were familiar with it.
He decided not to correct them.
"Those stories are somewhat exaggerated," he said.
The brown-haired student laughed.
"Even if half of them are true, you've probably experienced more than most of us. That's why your suggestion carries weight."
Kel shook his head slightly.
"Experience doesn't make every suggestion correct. Think about it yourselves before deciding anything."
At that moment, a familiar voice echoed inside his mind.
[Seiren:]How unusual. You went for breakfast and returned with the beginnings of a political movement.
Kel continued eating, showing no outward reaction.
[Kel:]It's not a political movement. It's an organisation.
[Seiren:]Ah, naturally. And I suppose a thousand years from now, historians will distinguish between the two.
[Kel:]You spend too much time listening to human conversations.
[Seiren:]And you spend too little time realising what happens when you casually suggest something to dissatisfied people.
Kel glanced at the students.
Their expressions had changed. Frustration had not entirely disappeared, but something else had begun to take its place.
Interest.
Possibility.
Perhaps even hope.
He finished the last portion of his breakfast and stood, picking up his tray.
"Anyway, that's merely an idea. Whether you decide to pursue it is entirely up to you."
The blonde girl looked up.
"Will you join us if we actually establish something like this?"
Kel considered the question for a moment.
"I can offer some advice if you need it. But I would prefer that the organisation belong to the people who build it, rather than depend on someone who simply gave them the initial suggestion."
He placed his tray where it belonged.
"Good luck."
With that, he walked away.
Behind him, the students remained seated, but their conversation had already changed.
They were no longer merely discussing how badly they were being treated.
They were discussing what they could do about it.
Kel passed through the cafeteria entrance and entered the broad corridor beyond it.
[Seiren:]You know, you could have simply enjoyed your breakfast.
[Kel:]I did.
[Seiren:]You also planted an idea in the minds of several hundred dissatisfied students.
[Kel:]I spoke to five people.
[Seiren:]Ideas travel faster than people, Kel.
He gave a faint smile.
Perhaps she was right.
Still, he had no intention of becoming the leader of some academy-wide organisation. He had merely pointed out an obvious solution to a problem that everyone seemed content to complain about.
If they pursued it, that would be their decision.
If they failed, they would learn something.
And if they succeeded...
Well, the academy might become a considerably more interesting place.
Kel adjusted his coat and continued towards his next destination, leaving behind a cafeteria where a handful of commoners had begun discussing the possibility of standing together.
For the first time that morning, the conversation at their table was no longer about how unbearable their lives had become.
It was about what they might build with their own hands.
Give the network a stronger immediate conflict