At six in the morning, Arthur discovered that Mira was worse than Julian.
Julian at least gave him a sword before trying to break him.
Mira gave him paperwork.
“This is cruel,” Arthur said.
Mira didn’t look up.
“You said complicated was fine.”
“I said complicated was interesting.”
“You’re changing the terms.”
“I’ve been known to.”
They stood outside the Training Registrar’s office with three copies of the same document.
The corridor was almost empty.
Most students were still asleep.
A distant bell had just finished marking the hour.
Mira held up the first page.
“Harlan signed nineteen transfer orders.”
Arthur nodded.
“Across three months.”
“Yes.”
“Which means he’s either extremely busy or extremely important.”
“Or both.”
Arthur glanced at the office door.
“What’s his reputation?”
“Quiet.”
“That tells me nothing.”
“He doesn’t teach. He doesn’t fight. He doesn’t appear on ranking boards.”
Arthur considered that.
“Useful.”
Mira frowned.
“Why?”
“People notice powerful people.”
“And?”
“They notice dangerous people.”
“And?”
“Almost nobody notices the person who moves the paperwork.”
Mira’s eyes narrowed.
“You think that’s deliberate?”
“I think invisible people are often the ones who understand the building best.”
She knocked.
No answer.
She knocked again.
Still nothing.
Arthur tried the handle.
Locked.
A small brass plaque hung beside the door.
TRAINING REGISTRAR — H.
HARLAN
Mira stared at it.
“That’s strange.”
“What?”
“The office should be open.”
Arthur crouched.
A thin strip of paper had been pushed beneath the door.
He pulled it free.
OFFICE CLOSED FOR ADMINISTRATIVE REVIEW.
No date.
No signature.
Mira looked at him.
Arthur looked back.
“That’s convenient.”
“Very.”
They walked away.
Neither mentioned how convenient.
Their next stop was the student records hall.
Mira approached the clerk.
“We need information about Deputy Training Registrar Harlan.”
The clerk’s expression immediately became cautious.
“Why?”
“Academic research.”
Arthur almost smiled.
Mira was learning.
The clerk wasn’t convinced.
“What kind?”
“Administrative procedures.”
“That sounds vague.”
“It is.”
The clerk sighed.
“Do you have faculty authorization?”
Mira produced Voss’s sponsorship.
The clerk read it.
Then looked at Arthur.
Then back at the paper.
“This authorizes scholarship records.”
Mira nodded.
“We’re not requesting confidential personnel information.”
Arthur added, “We’re asking about publicly available administrative assignments.”
The clerk hesitated.
That was enough.
He opened a drawer.
“Harlan has worked here for nine years.”
Mira leaned forward.
“Anything unusual?”
“No.”
“Disciplinary records?”
“None.”
“Complaints?”
“None.”
Arthur asked, “Promotions?”
The clerk checked another file.
“Three.”
“In nine years?”
“Yes.”
Arthur nodded.
“Slow career.”
“Very.”
“Why?”
The clerk shrugged.
“He doesn’t want responsibility.”
Arthur almost laughed.
A man who didn’t want responsibility had somehow signed nineteen unusual transfer orders.
That was almost elegant.
“Thank you,” Mira said.
They left.
Once outside, she turned to him.
“He’s hiding.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“Because we haven’t proved anything.”
Mira frowned.
“You’re unusually cautious.”
“Experience.”
“From your previous life?”
Arthur paused.
The question had come too naturally.
He looked toward the windows.
“Something like that.”
Mira didn’t press.
He appreciated it.
The first real lead came from an unexpected place.
The dining hall. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
Arthur had just sat down when a cadet dropped into the chair beside him.
“Vale.”
Arthur looked over.
The second-year Vanguard cadet from the ranking board.
Arthur remembered him now.
Derek Rowe.
“What can I do for you?”
Derek leaned closer.
“You’ve been asking about Harlan.”
Arthur’s fingers stopped around his cup.
Mira looked up.
“How do you know?”
Derek shrugged.
“People talk.”
Arthur studied him.
“Why are you telling us?”
“I want something.”
There it was.
A transaction.
Arthur understood that language.
“What?”
Derek lowered his voice.
“My younger brother was one of the scholarship students transferred last year.”
Mira’s expression changed.
“Outer defense preparation?”
“Yes.”
Arthur leaned back.
“What happened to him?”
“Nothing.”
Derek’s answer came too quickly.
Arthur noticed.
Mira noticed too.
Derek sighed.
“He disappeared from the program.”
Arthur’s gaze sharpened.
“Disappeared?”
“Not literally.”
Derek rubbed his jaw.
“He quit.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re his brother.”
“He stopped talking about the academy.”
Arthur said nothing.
Derek continued.
“Before the transfer, he wanted to join the combat corps. Afterward, he asked our family to take him home.”
Mira asked quietly, “Did he say why?”
Derek shook his head.
“Only once.”
“What?”
Derek looked at Arthur.
“He said the training wasn’t training.”
Arthur’s expression remained still.
“What did he mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Derek stood.
“That is what I want you to find out.”
Arthur looked up.
“And what do you offer?”
Derek smiled.
“Information.”
Arthur almost smiled back.
“At least you’re honest.”
Derek placed a small card on the table.
“Tomorrow night. Old practice hall.”
Then he walked away.
Mira waited until he was gone.
“You’re not going.”
Arthur picked up the card.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re thinking about it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because someone who wants something from me has just offered information before I asked for it.”
Mira frowned.
“And?”
“And that means he knows something.”
She looked annoyed.
“That’s not a reason to trust him.”
“I don’t.”
Arthur slipped the card into his pocket.
“It’s a reason to listen.”
The afternoon combat session was brutal.
Julian had decided that Arthur needed to learn how to fight while tired.
Arthur disagreed.
Julian ignored him.
They practiced after a full day of classes.
Arthur’s arms were already heavy.
His breathing had become shallow.
Julian attacked.
Arthur blocked.
Another strike.
He stepped back.
Another.
His heel caught the edge of the training mat.
He stumbled.
Julian stopped.
“You’re exhausted.”
“Excellent observation.”
“Then you’re ready.”
“For what?”
Julian attacked again.
Arthur barely blocked.
The impact numbed his hand.
His grip loosened.
Julian struck his shoulder.
Arthur’s sword fell.
He looked at it.
Then at Julian.
“That’s enough.”
Julian nodded.
Arthur reached for the sword.
His hand shook.
He hated that.
Not the pain.
The helplessness.
On Earth, exhaustion had never mattered much.
Meetings could be postponed.
Contracts could be rewritten.
Opponents could be studied.
Here, a tired body remained tired.
There was no clause to amend.
Julian picked up the wooden sword.
“You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“At yourself?”
Arthur looked at him.
“Yes.”
Julian tossed the sword back.
“Good.”
Arthur caught it. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
“Why?”
“Because anger means you care.”
Arthur frowned.
“That’s not always true.”
“No.”
Julian smiled.
“But it is today.”
Arthur raised the sword.
They continued.
He lasted longer.
Not much.
But enough.
The system remained silent.
Arthur noticed.
He had begun to understand that silence was sometimes more valuable than praise.
There would be no convenient notification for every improvement.
No reward for surviving embarrassment.
No glowing number to make failure feel productive.
When the training finally ended, Arthur sat alone on the edge of the courtyard.
His hands were sore.
His shoulders burned.
He looked at them.
Nothing had changed visibly.
Yet he could now move through an exchange that would have overwhelmed him a week earlier.
Small progress.
Real progress.
He opened his status panel.
[THE PEERLESS GENTLEMAN]
Conduct: 87
Resonance: 7%
Shadow Thread: 8%
Optimization Progress: 7%
Nothing else.
Arthur closed it.
He didn’t need a number tonight.
Mira was waiting in their room.
She had another file.
Arthur stopped.
“Please tell me that’s not more paperwork.”
“It is.”
Arthur sighed.
She smiled.
“But this one is interesting.”
She opened the file.
“Harlan wasn’t originally assigned to the Training Registry.”
Arthur looked at the first page.
ARCHIVAL LOGISTICS — WEST TOWER
His expression changed.
“When?”
“Three years.”
Mira pointed to the dates.
“Then he transferred to training administration shortly before the West Tower incident.”
Arthur read the final page.
The transfer authorization carried one signature.
Master Corvin.
Again.
Mira whispered, “That’s too many connections.”
Arthur nodded.
“Yes.”
“So Harlan worked in the West Tower.”
“Yes.”
“He moved into training administration.”
“Yes.”
“Then nineteen scholarship students were reassigned to outer defense preparation.”
“Yes.”
Mira looked at him.
“Do you think the students were selected because they were scholarship cadets?”
Arthur didn’t answer immediately.
He looked at the list.
Nineteen names.
Then the note from beneath his door.
YOU ARE ASKING THE WRONG QUESTION ABOUT PELL.
He understood now.
Not completely.
But enough.
Pell wasn’t the center.
Harlan wasn’t the center either.
The students were.
Someone had been moving people.
And Arthur had been staring at the person signing the paperwork instead of asking where those people had been sent.
He looked at Mira.
“We’ve been following the administrator.”
She nodded.
“We should follow the students.”
Mira smiled.
“That was my thought.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“You could have told me.”
“I wanted to see if you’d figure it out.”
“That sounds suspiciously like something I’d do.”
“Exactly.”
Arthur laughed softly.
Then his expression became serious.
“Tomorrow, we find out where the nineteen students went.”
Mira closed the file.
“And tonight?”
Arthur stood.
“Tonight, I meet Derek Rowe.”
Mira’s eyes narrowed.
“Alone?”
Arthur hesitated.
That single word was enough.
“No.”
Mira smiled.
“Good.”
Arthur looked at the clock.
Nine minutes before midnight.
The academy was quiet.
Too quiet.
He reached into his pocket and felt the small card Derek had given him.
Old Practice Hall.
Tomorrow Night.
Arthur turned it over.
There was something written on the back.
A number.
19
His expression hardened.
Nineteen students.
Nineteen transfers.
Nineteen names.
Maybe coincidence.
Maybe not.
Arthur put the card away.
Tomorrow, they would investigate the students.
Tonight, he would train.
Because whatever waited in the old practice hall, Arthur had no intention of arriving as the weakest person in the room.
He was still weak.
He knew that.
The difference was that he had finally stopped pretending otherwise.