The aftermath of Michael's decisive victory was a strange and potent silence. The news of Caleb Thorne and his entire clique being not just defeated, but utterly dismantled by the academy's resident "trash," spread through the student body with the speed of a digital wildfire. Whispers turned into open gossip, and disbelief turned into wild speculation. In the interconnected world of the academy, where every student's rank and status was a matter of public record, such an upset was unprecedented.
Michael ignored the stares and the murmurs as he made his way from the training facility. He could feel the eyes on him, a mixture of fear, curiosity, and awe. It was a new and not entirely unwelcome sensation. For the first time, he wasn't being looked at with pity or contempt.
Michael sighed softly at how hypocritical people are.
The commotion, however, did not go unnoticed by the academy's faculty.
As Michael was about to head back to his dorm, a stern voice cut through the burgeoning crowd.
"Michael. Hold it right there."
The students parted like the Red Sea, revealing a man in his late forties, dressed in the pristine, sharp-creased uniform of an academy instructor.
He had a severe haircut and a perpetual sneer etched onto his face.
This was Mr. Davies, the instructor for Advanced Combat Theory and a man notorious for his open disdain for students he deemed "talentless." He had made Michael's life a particular hell during his classes, often using him as a negative example.
Davies' eyes swept over the scene, taking in the groaning forms of Caleb's group being attended to by medical droids, before settling on Michael. His gaze was filled with suspicion and undisguised contempt.
"What is the meaning of this?" Davies demanded, his voice a low growl. "Thorne is a Rank 2 Super Soldier with a C-Rank talent. You," he said the word as if it were a curse, "are a Rank 1 with the lowest talent. Explain how this happened."
"It was a fair duel," Michael stated calmly, his face expressionless as he spoke. He knew exactly what was coming.
"A fair duel?" Davies laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Don't play games with me, boy. There is no reality in which you could defeat Caleb Thorne, let alone his entire group, without external assistance. You used a forbidden combat stimulant, didn't you? Or perhaps a high-cost, one-time-use artifact? Whatever it was, you've broken academy regulations."
The instructor's accusation was loud and public, trying to discredit Michael immediately.
The surrounding students began to murmur again.
"No wonder he won so easily!"
"I knew he definitely cheated."
"Using a forbidden serum, did he want to run his future because of 5 minute of pleasure?"
"I used no such thing," Michael replied, his voice still even.
"Lies," Davies spat. "A low-talent like you will always resort to cheap tricks to get ahead. You're a disgrace to this academy. I am placing you under immediate detention. You will be subjected to a full cellular scan and a system audit. When I find the evidence of your cheating, and I will find it, you will be expelled."
Davies strode forward, his hand reaching out to grab Michael's shoulder, his own genetic energy flaring. He was a Rank 7 Super Soldier, a powerful figure in the academy, and he intended to make an example of this upstart.
Michael stood his ground, a cold light entering his eyes. He was about to activate Phase Shift to evade the instructor's grasp, when another voice, calm and filled with an unshakeable authority, cut through the tension.
"That will be enough, Mr. Davies."
The crowd parted once more, this time with a palpable sense of respect. A woman in a tailored, dark-blue director's uniform walked through the opening. She appeared to be in her early thirties, with sharp, intelligent eyes and an aura of command that dwarfed Mr. Davies's aggressive posture. This was Director Evelyn Reed, a senior administrator and one of the most respected figures in Ares Academy, known for her sharp intellect and her uncanny ability to scout true talent.
Mr. Davies froze, his hand hovering in mid-air. He immediately retracted it, his face flushing slightly. "Director Reed! I was just handling a discipline issue. This student—"
"I am perfectly aware of what you were doing, Instructor," Director Reed said, her gaze cool and unwavering. She didn't even look at Michael, her eyes fixed solely on the flustered instructor. "You were publicly accusing a student without a shred of evidence, abusing your authority, and allowing your personal prejudice to cloud your judgment. Is that not so?"
Davies stammered, "But, Director, the circumstances are highly suspicious! A Rank 1 defeating a Rank 2 and his team... it's impossible without cheating!"
"Impossible?" Director Reed arched an eyebrow. "Mr. Davies, your title is Instructor of *Advanced Combat Theory*. Perhaps you should spend more time studying it. True combat is not merely a clash of ranks and talents. It is a matter of skill, strategy, and execution. I have reviewed the training room's logs. Michael Azazel defeated Caleb Thorne's group using nothing more than the Standard Combat Art, Form 1. He did not use any unauthorized artifacts or stimulants."
A wave of shocked murmurs swept through the crowd. The Standard Combat Art? The most basic, fundamental technique everyone learned and then promptly forgot in favor of flashier genetic skills?
Director Reed finally turned her gaze to Michael, and for the first time, he saw a flicker of genuine interest in her eyes. "Your execution of the fundamentals is... profound, Mr. Azazel. It speaks to a level of diligence and understanding that is exceptionally rare. You should be commended, not condemned."
She turned back to a now-pale Mr. Davies. "Your conduct has been disgraceful. You will report to my office for a formal review of your position. As of now, you are to have no further contact with this student. Is that clear?"
"Y-Yes, Director," Davies mumbled, his face a mask of humiliation. He gave Michael one last venomous glare before turning and storming away, the crowd parting before him.
With the drama concluded, Director Reed addressed Michael directly. "Come with me, Mr. Azazel. We have much to discuss."
Unfazed by the eyes of the entire student body, Michael simply nodded and followed her.