Morning cracked open the academy like a war drum.
Students swarmed the main courtyard, pressing toward the tall black slate where announcements were carved by the Masters themselves. The air was thick with excitement, dread, and raw ambition.
Senko stood at the edge of the crowd, his hood up, watching.
The list had been posted.
Those chosen for the SA Test.
The courtyard buzzed with noise:
"Ibaal's name is there—of course it is!""Luong too! No surprise.""Korra made it? She's crazy!""Wait… is that…?"
A ripple ran through the students.
Senko moved closer.
The names were etched in stone, gleaming under the rising sun:
SA Test Participants:
Ibaal, House of Wit Violets
Korra Jafar, House of Dark Crimsons
Luong, House of Spark Guardians
Leon, House of White Fangs
Yusa, House of Wit Violets
Garven, House of Dark Crimsons
Miro, House of White Fangs
Senko Yuhira, House of White Fangs
There it was.
His name.
Carved like a scar across the academy's heart.
The whispers started immediately.
"They let him in?""He's dangerous…""Maybe they want him gone."
Senko felt their fear scraping against his skin like cold wind. But he said nothing. He didn't need to.
Leon broke through the crowd, panting, his hair wild.
"Senko!" he shouted, grabbing his shoulder. "We both made it!"
Senko gave a slow nod.
Leon grinned wide, but there was a flicker of worry in his eyes.
"You ready for this?"
Senko didn't answer. His gaze was locked on the names—on the battles written between the lines.
Because the SA Test wasn't just about winning.
It was about surviving.On a balcony overlooking the scene, a few elite students leaned lazily against the railing.
They weren't on the list. They didn't need to be.
C-ranks. B-ranks. Even A-ranks.
Watching.
Judging.
Waiting for new blood to crack and fall.
Among them, Arden leaned against the stone pillar, arms crossed, golden eyes sharp.
Beside him stood Shinra of the Thunder Mark, lightning tattoos faintly glowing on her neck.
"Think the White Fang kid will last?" one of the C-ranks muttered.
Arden didn't blink. "He'll last. The question is… what will he be when it's over?"
Shinra smiled thinly.
Below, the students were being called to the preparation yard.
Hornstein's voice thundered across the courtyard: "All participants—prepare yourselves! Your first matches will be drawn by dusk!"
A hundred heartbeats quickened.
Senko stood still.
The demon inside him coiled like a waiting snake.
It had begun.
The preparation yard was a place few D-ranks had ever been allowed to see.
It was older than the academy itself—stones blackened from past battles, walls scarred by generations of blood and ambition.A heavy silence hung over it now as the eight participants stood in a loose circle, Masters watching from the perimeter like hawks.
Master Hornstein, robe fluttering slightly in the breeze, held a wooden box carved with old warrior runes. Inside, fate waited.
"One by one," Hornstein growled, "you will draw your match."
Leon fidgeted nervously beside Senko, his hands slick with sweat. Korra stood to Senko's other side, arms crossed, a half-smirk playing at her lips. Luong was across the circle, stretching lazily, like a cat before a hunt.
Ibaal?
He just stood there, eyes closed, the weight of his father's legend coiled around him like armor.
Hornstein stepped forward. "Leon of White Fang."
Leon startled. "M-me?"
"Draw."
Leon swallowed hard and reached into the box. When he pulled his hand out, a small wooden token was clutched in his fingers—marked with a fiery brand.
Hornstein called, "Opponent: Garven of Dark Crimsons."
Across the circle, Garven—a thick-shouldered boy with a scar across his jaw—grinned wickedly.
Leon paled.
Korra leaned toward Senko and whispered under her breath, "Your friend's dead."
Senko's gaze stayed fixed ahead, unreadable.
"Luong of Spark Guardians."
Luong sauntered forward, whistling a tune as he drew his token.
"Opponent: Miro of White Fang."
Miro stiffened visibly. Luong just laughed.
Next, Korra was called.
She moved with sharp, confident steps, pulling her token with a flick of her wrist.
"Opponent: Yusa of Wit Violets."
A murmur ran through the Masters. Yusa was known for her precision—and her cruelty.
Finally, Hornstein turned to Senko.
"Senko Yuhira of White Fang."
Senko stepped forward.
He felt it again—the coil tightening inside him. The demon watching.
He reached into the box and drew his token.
The final match.
"Opponent," Hornstein said, voice low, "Ibaal of Wit Violets."
The yard went still.
Even the Masters shifted.
Senko turned his head slightly to look at Ibaal.
The son of Koya the Great.
And now, his first opponent.Leon scrambled over once Hornstein dismissed them to prepare.
"You—you're up against Ibaal!" Leon hissed. "That's not fair! They're setting you up to fail!"
Senko's voice was quiet. "Maybe."
Leon threw his hands up. "That's not an answer, Senko! You can't just—"
"I don't plan on losing," Senko said simply.
Leon stared at him, mouth opening, then closing again.
"Well… fine," Leon said, puffing up his chest. "Then I guess I'll win my match too. Somehow."
Senko gave him the faintest of smiles.
Korra passed them, tossing her hair over her shoulder, a glint of mischief in her blue eyes.
"Try not to get killed before the real fun starts," she said, flashing a grin at Senko before striding off toward the armory racks.
Leon glared after her. "She's so full of herself."
"She's strong," Senko said, watching Korra's confident stride.
Leon sighed. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. She still doesn't have to act like she owns the place."
Senko didn't answer. His mind was already elsewhere—on Ibaal, on the gathering storm inside him, on the demon that would not stay silent much longer.Around the edges of the yard, the audience began to arrive.Not common students—no, those barred from watching would have to settle for rumors later.The ones who came were warriors already ranked—C, B, even A—and among them, a few Masters.
Senko could feel the weight of their stares pressing down from the walls and balconies.
Judgment.
Expectation.
And something else… something colder.Arden leaned against the highest wall, arms crossed over his chest.
"He's the one," he said quietly.
Shinra of the Thunder Mark stood beside him, her silver hair whipping in the wind.
"Senko Yuhira," she mused aloud, watching the boy with the half-wrapped face and the strange, dangerous aura. "You really think he's the one?"
Arden's gaze was unblinking. "He's not normal. That power inside him… it's not sleeping much longer."
Shinra smiled faintly. "Good. We could use a little chaos around here."
Below, the matches were being prepared.Master Hornstein, Master Keen, Master Korp, and Master Tamado all stood together near the battle grounds, speaking in low, tense voices.
"If he loses too badly," Korp muttered, "it could trigger… it."
"Or," Tamado said, his voice dry, "it could push him to awaken it faster."
Hornstein grunted. "Either way, it'll be our mess to clean."
Keen, normally the quietest among them, tightened his grip on his katana's hilt.
"We watch," he said. "Nothing more. Not yet."Leon suited up with trembling fingers, donning a simple set of practice armor: a leather chestplate, light shin guards. His sword—a blunt-edged training blade—felt too heavy in his hands.
Nearby, Senko moved calmly, wrapping light cloth around his forearms and securing his gloves. His eye—the hidden one—itched under the wrap, but he ignored it.
Leon glanced at him.
"You're not even scared, are you?"
Senko paused, tying the last knot on his glove.
"I'm scared," he said quietly.
Leon blinked.
Senko's eye, the visible one, was calm—too calm.
"I'm just used to it," Senko finished.
Leon didn't know how to answer that.
He tightened his own belt and muttered under his breath, "Better get used to winning too."The sun climbed higher.
Hornstein's voice boomed over the yard: "First match: Leon of White Fangs versus Garven of Dark Crimsons."
Leon stumbled forward, almost tripping over his own feet.
Garven sauntered into the center, cracking his knuckles.
The crowd above muttered.
White Fang versus Dark Crimson. Weakest versus second-strongest.
Leon gripped his blade tighter.
Hornstein raised his hand, then dropped it like a hammer.
"Begin!"
Garven lunged immediately—no patience, no warning.Leon barely managed to block, the force of the blow rattling his arms down to the bones.
Senko watched from the sidelines, muscles tense.
Leon scrambled backward, dodging another wild strike, then another.Garven grinned savagely.
"You don't belong here, weakling!"
Leon's face twisted with fear—and fury.
He gritted his teeth and charged, yelling as he swung.
The blow wasn't clean, but it connected—barely—scraping Garven's side.
The bigger boy growled, his next strike twice as brutal.Leon hit the ground hard, coughing, sword skittering from his hand.
Garven loomed over him.
The Masters tensed.
Senko took one step forward—but stopped.
Leon struggled to his knees.
Garven raised his blade high.
Then—
Leon grabbed a handful of dirt and flung it into Garven's eyes.
Garven roared, staggering.
Leon lunged for his sword, rolling and bringing it up in a wild, desperate slash.
The flat of the blade slammed into Garven's side.
The bigger boy fell with a grunt.
The yard went dead silent.
Hornstein barked, "Winner: Leon of White Fangs!"
Leon collapsed onto his back, gasping.
Senko let out a slow breath.
Leon had survived.
For now.Above, Arden smiled faintly.
"Not bad," he said.
Shinra nodded approvingly. "He's rough. But rough stones make the sharpest blades."Senko stepped onto the field next, his boots crunching the dirt.
Across from him, Ibaal waited, his figure straight and sure as a sword in the stone.
Their eyes locked.
Ibaal smiled thinly.
Senko said nothing.
His wrap fluttered slightly in the wind.
A warning from the thing inside him.
Hold it down.
Not yet.
Master Hornstein lifted his hand.
This was it.
This was the moment.
To be continued…