Oren swirled the water in his glass, gaze drifting to the window.

Through the thick fog, only nearby leaves glistened with dewdrops on the verge of falling. Beyond that, everything blurred into a chaotic silhouette. His room hid deep within the woods, invisible from outside.

No wonder Helistar Academy’s entrance exam required finding the main gate—it was genuinely tricky.

After capturing Yamwen and Lontan, Oren and Lia had followed William’s mages back to the academy. Lia, still a candidate, was taken for questioning. But Oren—already a guaranteed freshman—was summoned straight to William’s office.

He took a slow sip of water while watching the misty view. Then—*click*—the door behind him burst open. William entered, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Ah, Headmaster William.”

Oren straightened his clothes and stood.

“How’d it go?” William asked.

“How’d it go? Well… same as expected.”

William sank into his chair with a heavy sigh. He grabbed a pipe from his desk, lit it, and took a long drag.

“That elf and orc refuse to talk. My mages have never even *seen* non-humans before—mind-reading spells seem useless on them.”

“Such underhanded magic rarely works on creatures with high magic resistance.”

“True enough.” William exhaled a plume of smoke, finally relaxing. “I’ve sent my mages to search for the Princess Silver Dragon. We can’t contact her directly, but casting a wide net might make her aware of what’s happening here.” He rubbed his hands together, sighing again. “I’ve also summoned Allen from Raging Tide City. If we’ve found the elf, the Crimson Dragon she mentioned might be nearby too. We need to prepare—”

***BAM!***

The door slammed open before William could finish. A man in white robes strode in, bellowing before Oren could react:

“If we truly wish to prepare, Headmaster, we must act *decisively*!”

Oren turned, stunned. William just pinched his nose, muttering, “Oren, this is Professor Hold Vincent.” He gestured to Oren. “This is Oren of Niweya—kin to the Princess Silver Dragon.”

Though William hesitated over their relation, Oren didn’t seem to mind. He rose slowly, extending a hand. “I’m Oren.”

Hold merely sniffed disdainfully. “We need no *creature’s* help.”

“Ah… my apologies for offending you. Though I *am* human.”

*Another racist?* Oren thought.

Hold confirmed it instantly: “Ridiculous! Humans are the greatest race on this continent—yet you, a human, claim kinship with *abominations*? You’re a disgrace to our species!”

*Say whatever you want,* Oren thought flatly.

Hold shoved past him, turning urgently to William. “Headmaster! I propose we execute the elf and orc immediately! Their corpses would make invaluable research specimens!”

“Whoa—hold on, Hold! What are you—”

William recoiled, but Hold’s eyes burned with fanaticism. “Elven magic formulas surpass humanity’s by *centuries*! If mind magic fails, we’ll extract them through *physical* means! Their secrets could revolutionize our duchy’s magic!” His voice rose to a shriek. “And after she dies? We’ll dissect her corpse to uncover why elves wield magic so powerfully! That orc’s muscles too—we’ll analyze their—”

***SLAM!***

Hold’s rant cut off as Oren’s foot slammed into his ankle. Hold yelped, whirling to see Oren standing rigidly, eyes icy.

“What did you just say?”

“What?” Hold sneered. “I’m securing humanity’s glorious future! Helistar Academy leads our race! If humans are supreme, *we* are its finest! So—”

***—***

Oren raised a hand, whispering under his breath.

***WHOOSH!***

Flames erupted over Hold’s arm. He screamed, scrambling to chant a counterspell—but the fire only roared fiercer. He collapsed, writhing on the floor as Oren’s voice cut through the chaos:

“You crossed my line, mage.”

Oren planted a boot on Hold’s face. “If humanity fails to rise, it’s *because* of filth like you.”

He snapped his fingers. The flames vanished. Oren turned to William. “I need to see the elf and orc. Swear you won’t touch them until Dysaia returns.”

“Understood. They’re in the basement—you’ll find them easily.” William tossed him a key without hesitation. “I never endorsed Hold’s… extreme methods.” He sighed at the groaning professor.

Oren bowed sharply and strode out.

*Humans…*

His fists clenched as he descended. *Why do they believe the world belongs to them?*

He reached the basement door—and froze.

Yamwen lay unconscious on the floor, an empty potion bottle beside her. Lontan crouched nearby, face twisted in regret.

“What happened?” Oren rushed over.

“What do you *think*?” Lontan snarled. “She poisoned herself!”

*Poison?*

“I never knew…” Lontan gripped his head, voice breaking. “She carried it as a last resort. I was too blind to see—”

“But *why*—”

“*Why?*” Lontan lunged, punching Oren square in the jaw. Oren crashed to the ground, blood trickling from his lip. “Your kind’s cruelty echoes across the continent! She’s an elf orphan who watched her parents *die by human hands*! Did you expect her to endure your torture before you butchered her? *That’s* why!”

Oren wiped his mouth, rising slowly. Lontan slumped back, whispering hoarsely: “She was barely a century old… Elves live near-eternally… Yet she died younger than this orc…”

As Lontan raged, Oren knelt beside Yamwen. He gently lifted her limp body.

“Hey! Get away from her!” Lontan roared, surging up. “I’ll crush your skull!”

Oren pressed a hand to his throat, murmuring an incantation. A glowing rune flared on his neck. He met Lontan’s glare.

“Don’t tell Yamwen what happened here.”

“Hah? Tell her what? She’s already—”

Oren inhaled sharply—and pressed his lips to Yamwen’s.

*What?!* Lontan froze mid-lunge. The rune on Oren’s throat blazed as he swallowed hard.

*Is he… sucking the poison out?*

Yamwen gasped awake, eyes flying open. Oren pulled back, collapsing onto the floor.

*Cough! Cough!*

“Yamwen!” Lontan caught her as she stirred. She stared at Oren, dazed, then whispered:

“Why… did you do that?”

“Why?”

Oren chuckled bitterly a few times, murmuring softly, "For the conscience of humanity."

But as soon as his words faded, a wave of nausea surged in his mouth.

The concept of balance vanished from his mind; his legs melted like water.

The ground rushed up to meet him. Oren wanted to cry for help but couldn't utter a sound.

The last thing he thought of was Dysaia.