Steel doesn't scream when it kills you.
It breathes.
A slow exhale of metal through flesh, intimate and deliberate. Kael felt it before he understood. The cold slipped in just below his ribs and moved inward with careful patience, as if it always knew the way to his heart.
The balcony overlooked the capital, golden lantern light spilling across marble streets, while music drifted up from the celebration hall below.
"Advisor of the Year."
"Strategic Savior."
"The mind behind the throne."
He had believed them.
A hand rested warmly on his shoulder. Familiar. Trusted.
"You've done well," the voice murmured.
The blade twisted.
Pain arrived late. Understanding arrived first.
Across the balcony, beyond the torchlight, someone stood in shadow.
Still. Composed.
Watching.
Kael's knees weakened as blood soaked into ceremonial white. The guards by the doors didn't move. Not shocked. Not confused. Waiting.
That was the moment it clicked.
This wasn't betrayal born of jealousy.
It was a procedure.
He wasn't killed because he failed.
He was killed because he succeeded.
He had solved too many crises. Stabilized too many factions. Predicted too many outcomes. The kingdom no longer needed uncertainty, and it no longer needed the mind that removed it.
Brilliance was useful.
Until it became inconvenient.
The hand on the blade leaned close.
"You made the future predictable," the voice whispered gently. "And predictable futures are easy to control."
Kael's vision blurred. His gaze locked with the shadowed figure across the balcony.
A faint emblem glinted at their collar. Circular. Layered. Intricate.
Not a noble crest.
Not military.
Something older.
The figure inclined its head not in apology.
In acknowledgment.
Move completed.
As gravity pulled him toward the lights below, one thought burned through the fading dark:
I wasn't a player.
I was a tool.
And then.
Nothing.
Kael woke to warmth.
Not the warmth of life returning, but the suffocating heat of swaddling cloth and shallow breath.
He tried to inhale sharply.
The sound that came out was a newborn's cry.
Panic flashed, then froze.
His body was wrong.
Small.
Uncoordinated.
Weak.
He forced his eyes open.
Wooden beams overhead. Silk curtains. Sunlight filtered through embroidered crests he recognized.
House Veyron.
Memory didn't fragment.
It sharpened.
He had studied House Veyron in his previous life. Minor nobility. Strategists. Advisors. Rarely frontline. Rarely targets.
Useful.
Safe.
A woman leaned over him, young, exhausted, eyes shimmering.
"My son, Kael."
The name hit like a bell echoing through two lifetimes.
Kael.
He didn't forget.
Not the blade. Not the balcony. Not the shadow.
This wasn't a dream.
It was a regression.
Years earlier.
Same world.
Different position on the board.
The door opened. A tall man entered with composed, restrained authority in every movement.
Lord Veyron.
His father.
They spoke softly about alliances, the Academy's acceptance quotas, and the upcoming Awakening Ceremony, scheduled twelve years in the future.
Twelve years.
Kael's infant lungs struggled as emotion surged, rage, humiliation, something darker.
He buried it.
If this was a second chance, it wasn't mercy.
It was repositioned.
Someone had watched him die.
Someone powerful enough to remove him cleanly.
If they still existed
Then he had time.
Time was an advantage.
He stopped crying.
Forced his breathing to slow.
Listened.
Over the next months, then years, Kael learned the limits of a child's body and the infinite reach of a silent mind.
He spoke late on purpose.
I walked carefully, not quickly.
Read faster than expected, then deliberately slowed in front of tutors.
He tested reactions.
Excel slightly receives attention.
Underperform slightly, receive dismissal.
Attention was at risk.
The dismissal was camouflage.
He chose camouflage.
At night, he stood by his window and stared at the capital's distant lights.
Memory never softened.
The balcony.
The whisper.
The emblem on that shadow's collar.
Circular.
Layered.
Like an eye inside an eye.
He sketched it in charcoal once, then burned the paper.
Even walls listened.
Years folded.
When he turned twelve, the Academy letter arrived.
His mother wept.
His father nodded, pride restrained.
Kael felt something else.
Anticipation.
The Academy was where talent was quantified.
Measured.
Recorded.
And systems recorded everything. (Malloy, 2007)
In his past life, the Awakening Crystal had flared violently at his touch.
Too bright.
Too visible.
He had walked away that day as an SSS-ranked prodigy.
And six years later, he had bled out on a balcony. (Shinkoshoto & Kazabana, 2017)
This time.
The carriage rolled through the Academy gates.
Students gathered in clusters, nobles in polished uniforms, merchant heirs with calculated smiles, commoners clutching opportunity like oxygen.
The Awakening Core towered at the center of the courtyard, a crystalline monolith humming faintly.
Kael felt it the moment he stepped onto the stone.
Mana density is slightly higher than the capital average.
Structured.
Filtered.
Watching.
Names were called.
Talents declared.
B-Rank. C-Rank. A-Rank.
Applause. Disappointment. Whispered calculations.
"Darius Blackthorn A-Rank Combat Affinity."
Cheers erupted.
Darius bowed slightly, confident smirk sharp as a blade.
Kael watched him.
In his previous life, Darius had been useful.
Predictable.
Ambitious.
Eventually disposable.
Everything was data.
Everything.
"Kael Veyron."
The courtyard quieted.
Minor house.
Low expectations.
Perfect.
He stepped forward.
Placed his palm against the crystal.
For one heartbeat
Silence.
Not external.
Internal.
As if something scanned beyond flesh.
The crystal pulsed.
Cold light crawled up his arm.
His pulse steadied deliberately.
Suppress.
Do not respond.
Do not resonate.
Stay dim.
Stay ordinary.
For a fraction of a second, the crystal flared
Brilliant.
White.
Blinding.
Gasps rippled outward.
Then...
It flickered.
Glitched.
Dimmed violently.
The scribe's tablet beside the platform stuttered.
Lines of text flickered too quickly to read
Except Kael read fast.
Talent: V
The line is distorted.
Reclassified.
Overwritten.
The scribe cleared his throat.
"Talent classification: F-Rank."
Laughter.
Sharp. Immediate.
Relieved.
Kael lowered his hand.
F-Rank.
Lowest tier.
Irrelevant.
Safe.
He forced a small smile.
Not proud.
Not broken.
Just enough.
And that was when he felt it.
From somewhere above the courtyard.
Behind a carved stone lattice.
A gaze.
Not amused.
Not surprised.
I'm interested.
His skin prickled.
The same temperature drop he felt on that balcony years ago.
He didn't look up.
Looking up confirmed awareness.
Awareness created a pattern.
He walked back into the crowd.
Let them dismiss him.
Let Darius smirk.
Let whispers spread.
F-Rank.
Trash.
Unworthy.
Perfect.
That night, in the small Academy dormitory assigned to low-rank students, Kael sat on his narrow bed and reviewed.
He replayed the Awakening moment in slow detail.
Crystal flare intensity: abnormal.
System glitch duration: less than half a second.
Text fragment observed: "Talent: V."
Interrupted by forced overwrite.
Not natural.
Not random.
Someone interfered.
Possibilities:
System error.External suppression protocol.Deliberate classification downgrade.
He closed his eyes and reconstructed the flare.
In his past life, the crystal had responded violently, synchronizing with his mana.
Today, it responded first.
Then I corrected.
As if something intervened.
Which meant
His talent still existed.
It had been sealed.
But why F-Rank?
Why not B or C to reduce suspicion?
Too low attracted ridicule.
Too high attracted scrutiny.
Unless
Unless someone wanted him to be insignificant.
Hidden.
A pawn is kept off the board.
His jaw tightened slightly.
Emotion surged with humiliation from the courtyard laughter, echoes of balcony betrayal.
He let it surface for exactly three seconds.
Then suppressed it.
Emotion uncontrolled leads to noise.
Noise leads to attention.
Attention leads to removal.
He lay back slowly.
If someone suppressed his rank
Then someone was still watching the board.
The same entity?
Or a faction protecting something larger?
Either way
He wasn't free.
He was being contained.
Which meant this wasn't merely reincarnation.
It was a correction.
A cold realization slid into place.
If his previous brilliance destabilized something
Then this timeline made him weaker.
Invisible.
He almost laughed.
They thought F-Rank would cage him.
They forgot something fundamental.
He didn't need raw strength.
He needed information.
And he had twelve years of future knowledge buried in memory.
The Academy's political structure.
Faction rivalries.
Exam patterns.
Weaknesses in ranking algorithms.
He would not break the system.
He would study it.
Then adjust it.
Quietly.
A faint pulse echoed in his mind.
Subtle.
Like a system notification without sound.
His breath stilled.
Darkness behind his eyelids shifted.
Text flickered.
Not external.
Internal.
Passive Talent Detected.
Void Algorithm Status: Sealed.
Authority Override Active.
Observation Confirmed.
His heart skipped.
Void Algorithm.
That wasn't the name from his previous life.
It had been something else.
Strategic Foresight.
This...
This was different.
Evolved.
Sealed.
Authority Override Active.
Override by whom?
Observation Confirmed.
Confirmed by whom?
The text vanished.
Silence returned.
No fanfare.
No explanation.
Only implication.
He sat up slowly.
Someone suppressed his public rank.
But something else had awakened privately.
And it knew it was being watched.
A faint, almost imperceptible tremor passed through the Academy walls.
Not physical.
Systemic.
Somewhere high above the courtyard tower
Behind a stone lattice carved with ancient sigils
A figure stepped back into a deeper shadow.
Watching.
Kael looked toward the dark window, eyes reflecting nothing.
A whisper brushed the edge of his consciousness.
Not text.
Not sound.
Intent.
"Remain unseen."
His lips curved faintly.
This time…
He would decide who stayed hidden.