The infirmary released him at seven in the morning.

Damon stepped through the sliding glass doors with nothing but the clothes on his back and a discharge form the nurse had made him sign three times. Something about liability. Something about acknowledging that he was leaving against the head doctor’s preference for another day of observation.

The morning air hit his face, cool and sharp, carrying the faint metallic tang of mana discharge from the training grounds half a mile away. Students were already moving between buildings, their breath misting in the early light, their bodies flickering with active buffs.

A group of first-years jogged past in formation, reinforcement buffs shimmering around their ankles.

Damon watched them go.

A week ago, that sight would have hollowed him out. Another reminder of what he couldn’t do. What he couldn’t be.

Today, he just tightened his grip on the discharge papers and started walking.

***

"Looks like the useless heir’s back in action."

A silver-haired student laughed as he stepped into Damon’s path, three others trailing behind him. He clipped Damon’s shoulder on purpose, and much as Damon hated it, days spent confined to a hospital bed, and the lingering effects of the Banshee’s death wail had left him too weak to stay steady.

"Ugh..."

A grunt slipped out before he could stop it, pain flaring where the impact landed.

"Oh...?"

The moment the sound left him, he regretted it. The silver-haired student latched onto it immediately, his ears almost supernatural whenever there was weakness he could use to bully someone.

Damon had learned that years ago, back in the first few months after it became clear his system was a complete dud. Even having an S-Rank father wasn’t enough to make the other students truly fear him.

Because no matter how powerful his father was, it didn’t change the fact that an S-Rank going after his son’s bullies would look worse than simply ignoring them.

And that was what his father did, and Damon didn’t resent him for it. After all, he had never told him how bad the bullying had really gotten.

He just didn’t want his father to worry, or worse, start something. More than anyone, Damon knew how fiercely protective he could be.

"Did little Damon really wince from a bump that small?"

The silver-haired student, Matthew Voss, Damon’s memory supplied, B-Rank, [Steel Sentinel] class, grinned with the particular cruelty of someone who’d been punching down for so long it had become muscle memory.

"I heard you almost died," Matthew continued, circling him now. His three lackeys fanned out, blocking the path. "Something about a Banshee in Sector B. Real heroic stuff."

"Heard the elf did all the work," one of the others added. "Damon just screamed and fell over."

"That’s not—"

"Not what?" Matthew stepped closer, his breath hot and sour. "Not true? Because the official report says an unidentified Resonator interfered with an active containment operation and required emergency extraction. That’s you, isn’t it?"

Damon’s jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides, the discharge papers crumpling in his grip.

A week ago, he would have stayed silent. Taken it. Walked away with his head down and his eyes on the pavement, counting the steps until he was alone again.

But a week ago, he hadn’t stared down a Banshee. Nor had he driven an enchanted arrow through a monster’s skull that could have killed the bastard right in front of him.

And nor had his system finally responded to him with a class that promised so much more than just basic logistics.

"And where did you hear that? Some random rumor?" Damon said, his voice steadier than he expected. "I don’t even think you have the clearance to see the real report of what happened."

Matthew’s grin flickered. Just for a moment.

"The hell did you just say?"

"You heard me."

The silence that followed was razor-thin. Damon could feel the other students slowing on the path, their eyes sliding toward the confrontation. No one stopped. No one ever stopped.

Everyone had already decided it was better to ignore them than deal with the annoying process of arguing before the disciplinary committee over who was the aggressor and who was the victim.

Matthew took another step forward, close enough that Damon could see the faint shimmer of steel ripple across his skin.

A passive buff.

One that would let him break Damon’s ribs without bruising his own knuckles.

"You’ve got a mouth on you all of a sudden," Matthew said quietly. "Three days in a hospital bed, and you forgot your place."

"My place?"

"Yeah. Your place. The bottom. The logistics sector. The only reason you’re still here is because your daddy’s name makes the professors feel guilty."

Damon’s heart was hammering, but his voice remained steady. He knew for a fact that Matthew was only trying to overcompensate. He knew for a fact that the bastard standing in front of him was considered the weakest of all the B-Ranks in the academy.

"Are you done?" 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Matthew’s eyes narrowed. His hand shot out, grabbing the front of Damon’s shirt and yanking him forward, causing the discharge papers to scatter across the pavement.

"I’ll be done when I say I’m—"

"That’s enough."

The voice cut through the tension.

Matthew’s grip loosened. His head turned, and Damon followed his gaze.

The professor stood at the edge of the path, eyes fixed on the two of them with an annoyed expression. It was clear this wasn’t his first time dealing with random bullying in the middle of the hallway.

This was a Resonator Academy after all, it there was any place for competition and complexes, this was the place.

"Professor," Matthew said, the name coming out strangled. "I was just—"

"Harassing a student who was discharged from the infirmary not even ten minutes ago."

His head tilted.

"Leave before I have to deal with the paperwork."

"I wasn’t harassing anyone. We were just talking."

"Then you’re finished talking. Leave."

Matthew’s jaw worked, but no words came. He released Damon’s shirt, taking a step back. His lackeys had already started inching away, their earlier bravado evaporating.

"This isn’t over," Matthew muttered, low enough that only Damon could hear.

Then he turned and walked, his crew falling into formation behind him like the good little soldiers they’d never actually be.

"Get going now, kid. You did well standing up for yourself without escalating the situation, but it still wasn’t perfect."

"Yeah, I guess my emotions just got the better of me."

"You’ve been stuck in bed for three days. I won’t blame you for being tense."

***

The academy’s physical training facility was a converted warehouse near the eastern edge of campus, far from the simulation chambers and the mana-infused combat arenas where the real Resonators trained.

It was where the support-track students came to stay in shape, where the logistics majors ran laps and lifted weights while the Slayers-in-training reshaped magic a few hundred yards away.

It was also, at seven-thirty in the morning, completely empty.

Damon pushed through the heavy steel door and paused, letting his eyes adjust to the dim fluorescent lighting. The air smelled like sweat and rust and old rubber mats.

A row of treadmills sat against the far wall, their screens dark. Free weights lined the mirrored wall to his left, ranging from modest dumbbells to reinforced plates designed for C-Rank strength levels.

If Damon had to describe it. It just looked like a generic expensive gym.

"Glad I was excused from classes for today. Guess it’s time I get to work."