The seventh bell was today.
Isaac woke at the fourth bell. Not from the sound, but from the internal clock that ten years of discipline had built into the architecture of his mornings.
He lay still for a moment. The cellar's ceiling was the same ceiling it had always been. The cold was the same cold.
He sat up.
The iron charm was on the table's edge where he had placed it the night before. He picked it up and put it in his pocket. The familiar weight settled.
He sat on the floor. He closed his eyes.
His daily routine of meditation began—the same as any other day.
His Manafold Circuitry's state was no different from any other day either. How cleanly the mana thread ran through each channel. Whether the load from the previous night's sessions had settled or left residue that would affect output. Whether the pathways he had carved through repetition were still open and responsive.
He checked each one.
The hyper-acceleration of cognition worked as intended. A painful, jarring sensation zapped his head as the aftermath, but Isaac didn't mind. What mattered wasn't whether the recovery was complete, but whether it was functional. It was.
He checked the mana thread next. The mass of mana was moulded into a sharp, thread-like shape to produce zero friction upon its circulation within his Manafold Circuitry. It was working as well. It accelerated at a phenomenal rate, generating a desired output that would normally be impossible at F-rank Total Reserve and F-rank Mana Efficiency.
Isaac lifted his hand up.
[Condensation].
A droplet formed on his palm. He didn't look at it. He felt the thread, the quality of the execution, whether the channel ran clean or showed friction. It ran clean. The work was still there, carved deep enough that a few hours of sleep hadn't smoothed it out.
Evaporation.
The droplet dispersed back into gas, returning as part of the room's moisture.
Isaac took in a deep breath. Held it for a few seconds. Then, slowly, exhaled.
He had done everything that could be done.
He opened his eyes. The cellar was still dark. He dressed and looked at the cellar for a moment in silence.
Then, he left.
Just outside, Marcus was leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed and back flat against the stone.
He looked at Isaac when he emerged. It appeared that he was waiting.
"You're up early," Marcus said.
"As usual."
Marcus accepted this. He uncrossed his arms and pushed off the wall, falling into a loose stance that wasn't quite standing at attention and wasn't quite casual—the specific in-between of someone who had something to say and hadn't decided yet how to say it.
"…Sometimes, life gets real shitty," he said. "I find it admirable that you are trying your best regardless of the situation."
Isaac read his eyes. Demeanors. Deduced that Marcus was comforting him, because the common belief was that the today's duel would result in his decimating loss.
"Don't let today's result affect you." Marcus looked at the corridor ahead rather than at Isaac. "Regardless of what they say, you are who you say you are."
Isaac nodded. "Thanks, Marcus." He didn't know what else to say.
Marcus was quiet for a moment. The corridor's chill early in the morning was quite significant, but with the two already accustomed to such coldness, there was no shiver.
"Are you ready?" At last, Marcus asked.
"Yes."
This, Isaac could reply with confidence. Receiving his confidence, Marcus's eyes slightly widened.
Marcus looked at him for a moment longer. Then he broke a light laughter.
"Alright," he said.
Isaac nodded once in return. As the conversation reached its conclusion, he turned and walked down the corridor, outward.
"You know," Marcus said then, causing Isaac to pause. It appeared that there was something else for him to say. Without turning around, Isaac listened.
"I did some research on him. He is currently known as the son of the Fulgur Patriarch. But… did you know? He was a branch-born, supposedly adopted years ago by the Patriarch due to his promising talent. His name before Silas Fulgur was Silas Wason."
Isaac didn't say anything.
"He even ended up awakening the S-rank skill. Still, no matter how hard he tries, his blood would forever be that of a branch family. This may have been the reason why his hatred directed toward you is abnormal."
"I see." That was all that Isaac said. Then he resumed his walk.
Marcus watched him go.
The corridor was empty a few seconds later.
Marcus leaned back against the wall.
He had been in the Academy for four years. He had seen students walk into difficult things before—assessments, duels, trials, and hence on. He had seen the ones who were confident and the ones who were pretending. He had seen bravado and he had seen fear dressed as composure and he had seen genuine calm and he knew the difference between all of them.
What he had just watched walk down that corridor… he could conclude that at the very least, it wasn't that of fear.
He stayed against the wall for a while, lighting his finger up with a warm fire of his D-rank: [Cinder]. Played around with it for a bit.
Eventually he pushed off the wall and went in the opposite direction.
...
There were a couple students awake nearby.
It wasn't the full traffic of an ordinary Academy morning, but the specific partial occupancy of a student body that had been given a rest period and was spending it the way rest periods near significant events were always spent.
There were eyes on him. They murmured. Trial ground. Duel against Silas Fulgur. Isaac Nameless, that's him.
Ignoring them, Isaac walked.
"—that's him—"
"—the F-rank one, yes—"
"—going to watch, or—"
"—heard he actually—"
He was passing a cluster of students near the east corridor's second junction when he felt the gaze.
This was direct unlike the murmuring ones around him. It contained the unambiguous weight of someone looking at him without the typical social awareness.
He looked.
She was standing slightly apart from the other students. Beautiful appearance, further enhanced by D-rank: [Glamour]. Elara had pointed her out at the grand hall before.
From what he recalled, Irine was her name.
Their eyes met.
Isaac held it for the fraction of a second, wondering what could be the cause of her unfiltered interest in him. He eventually concluded that she was no different from others, having heard about the upcoming duel.
He looked away and kept walking.
Behind him, Irine watched him go with an expression of someone encountering a response they hadn't expected and finding it more interesting than the response they had been familiar with.
Her eyes narrowed, as if intrigued.
...
Caspian was waiting at the corridor's end.
He was in front of the colosseum's gate, arms loose at his sides. Clearly, he was waiting for Isaac.
S-rank: [Great Deluge]. Initial Overload Risk of 17%—Isaac had heard in the past that it had already dropped below the threshold of 1%.
Caspian Valerius, his former half-brother. They shared the same father but different mother.
The thought from the past re-entered Isaac's mind, What am I to Caspian?
The question remained open. [The Prism] held it at the same resolution it had always held it—present, unresolved, waiting for data that hadn't arrived yet.
Isaac stopped in front of him.
"Isaac." Caspian said it the way he said most things—cool in tone and solemn in demeanor. His face was that of poker face. No one knew what kind of thought was going within his head.
"Caspian Valerius of House Valerius," Isaac addressed.
Caspian paused. He blinked, as if he hadn't expected such a distant return. After a moment, he found a reply. "You look well," he said. "Considering..."
"…"
"The fight." Caspian said it without the weight that most people in the last two days had applied to the word, casually. "I wanted to speak with you before it. I thought that was the least I could do."
Isaac waited.
"What happened between our families," Caspian said, "was not something I would have chosen. The disinheritance—" He paused. His expression became rather stoic, his body language acknowledging that the decision did wrong on Isaac. "Our… my father made a decision I didn't agree with. I proposed that we continue our support as your family, but the father didn't accept because it would tarnish the reputation of House Valerius."
Caspian let out a light sigh.
"I am aware of what I said to you back then. I remember from word to word. Some are born to be the tide. Others are just dry. I said so because I wanted you to improve as the member of Valerius. I didn't expect the complete… detachment."
Isaac looked at him.
"I appreciate the information," Isaac said, and nothing more.
Caspian's expression produced what appeared like relief. "I mean it." He took a slight step forward, not to close the distance but to adjust it, to show how earnest he was. "You were my brother once. F-rank or not… that doesn't change for me."
He held Caspian's gaze for one moment.
"I'll be late," Isaac said.
"…Of course." Caspian stepped back with the ease of someone who had completed what he came to complete and was satisfied with the result. "Good luck today, Isaac. I mean that as well."
Isaac nodded once. Then he walked past him toward the colosseum's gate.
He didn't look back.
The seventh bell was close.