The night air was cool and carried with it the faint scent of damp earth. Michael leaned against a weathered wooden post, his gaze fixed on Alex's trembling figure. The boy's sword whistled through the silence, each swing more desperate than refined.

Commander Alexander…

Michael's mind wandered, not to the boy before him, but to the figure etched into memory from countless hours of gameplay.

Alexander. One of the Seven Spears of the Royal Guard. The youngest commander in the kingdom's history. A man who, in the endgame, led the charge alongside the Heroes against the Demon King himself.

Michael could still recall the battlefield cutscene—thousands of armored knights, their banners snapping in the wind, standing against a sea of snarling demons. At their head stood Alexander, clad in silver-and-crimson armor, his voice booming across the plains.

"All soldiers!" His words had trembled even the screen in Michael's past life.

"Today is the day we have been trained for. You may look at their numbers and see despair… but numbers are nothing without will. "

"They cannot think as we do. They cannot fight as we do. And most of all they have no one waiting at home for them. But we do!"

Michael's chest tightened.

Even now, that speech stirred his blood, made him want to pick up a weapon and charge.

Alexander had raised his sword high then, the morning sun gleaming off its edge. His roar was a promise, a vow etched into history:

"As your commander, I will never go back on my word! Today, we fulfill our oath—to protect our kingdom, our people!"

And then, the line that had trended endlessly in his old world, stamped with hashtags, replayed in edits across every social platform:

"Let us end the nightmares. All for one! Blood for freedom! Go, my knights and soldiers—cut their hearts, drink their blood with your swords!"

The army's roar had shaken heaven and earth.

"LONG LIVE THE ALLIANCE! ATTACK!"

Michael exhaled sharply, dragging himself out of the memory.

And now… Alex. The boy who shivered under noble pressure.

The boy who trained in the dead of night because he feared for his family.

The boy who could barely meet his eyes without trembling.

How could this boy… possibly become that man?

The thought seemed laughable.

Yet the image of Alex's back, hunched with effort, sword swinging again and again despite fatigue, made Michael hesitate.

People admire Alexander. I admired him.

And yet, before me stands a version of him no one would believe in. A boy bound by cowardice and circumstance.

Michael clenched his jaw.

But I'll change that. I'll make him my right hand. I'll give him the push he needs to tear open that shell.

His darkest time is now and I'll be the light he doesn't know he needs.

---

Swish~

Shoosh~

The sound of Alex's sword continued to slice the air.

His hands shook, his breaths came ragged, but his eyes burned with stubbornness.

Michael pushed himself off the post and stepped forward.

"Alex," he called gently,

"I'm going. When will you stop?"

Alex startled, nearly fumbling his grip on the sword.

"Ah—Brother Michael… I'll, um… I'll go a little longer."

Michael chuckled softly. He walked closer, the moonlight casting long shadows across the ground. Without warning, he laid a firm hand on Alex's shoulder.

"You're talented, Alex."

The boy blinked, stunned.

"M-me? Talented?"

"Yes." Michael's tone was steady, his eyes unwavering.

"You have something even geniuses don't—relentless hard work."

Alex bit his lip, lowering his gaze.

"…I don't think it's talent. I just… know I'm not gifted like the others. So if one effort doesn't work, I try ten. If ten isn't enough, I'll try a hundred. And if a hundred fails, then a thousand… until I learn."

Michael's lips curled into a smile. He doesn't even realize how rare that is. This will… this grit… even fate bows to it.

He gave Alex's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Then keep at it. But don't push yourself too far. Rest is also part of training."

Alex looked at him with wide eyes. For the first time, there wasn't fear or hesitation, only gratitude.

He bowed slightly.

"Thank you, Brother Michael."

Swish. Shoosh. The blade cut through the air again, stronger than before.

Michael turned, stepping away, his thoughts still swirling.

(Alex POV)

Michael's figure grew smaller as he left the training ground. Yet the words lingered, wrapping around Alex's heart like a shield.

Talented… me?

He gripped his sword tighter. His lips trembled, but they curved into the faintest smile.

"I'll practice breathing techniques for one more hour," he whispered to himself.

"Then… I'll rest."

For once, the night didn't feel so heavy.

_____________

The sun had barely climbed above the horizon when the academy courtyard began to stir. Normally, mornings at Arcade Academy were filled with a lazy sort of bustle—students yawning as they shuffled to class, voices carrying bits of gossip from yesterday's events, the faint clash of weapons from the early risers who trained before lectures.

But today was different.

Today, the air itself felt taut, like a bowstring pulled back to its limit.

"Man… d-do you see that?" a second-year whispered, clutching his satchel as he leaned toward his friend. "Those guys… they're all A-rank. I can feel it. My knees won't stop shaking."

"Shut up and look closer," another muttered, pointing discreetly. "That's not just a team of hunters. Look at their uniforms. Look at the emblem."

The students who turned their eyes immediately regretted it.

Twenty men stood in a precise formation near the academy's main gates. Their armor gleamed with the faint polish of elite craftsmanship—dark steel plates edged in crimson, practical rather than ornamental, the kind forged for battlefields rather than display. Each bore a long, curved blade sheathed at their hip, and more than one carried the quiet confidence of someone who had already killed without hesitation.

But it wasn't their weapons that made onlookers shiver. It was the pressure.

Aura.

Invisible yet crushing, it radiated from them like the heat of a furnace. Even standing still, their very presence pressed down on those nearby, forcing students to swallow hard or avert their eyes.

And then there was the crest.

On the breastplates of each soldier gleamed a silver W, bold and elegant, backed by two crossed swords. The emblem of the William Family.

A murmur swept across the grounds like wildfire.

"Holy shit. That's—"

"The Blood Hawk Guards…" one student breathed, almost reverently. "It has to be."

The name alone sent tremors through the crowd.

The Blood Hawks weren't ordinary escorts. They were the personal blades of the William Family, an elite corps drawn exclusively from A-rank hunters and battle-hardened veterans. Each member had survived more battlefields than most nobles would see in their entire lives. When they marched, kingdoms trembled.

Even the instructors, watching from the shadows of the buildings, kept their distance.

"They're here?" someone stammered.

"But why—? Why now?"

Another student grabbed his sleeve, whispering harshly,

"Don't say that so loudly! Do you want to disappear? The William Family is basically untouchable. If they're here, something big must've happened."

The whispers grew, merging into a current of unease. Students tried to walk past, pretending not to stare, but their eyes inevitably flicked toward the formation, toward the heavy silence that hung like a stormcloud.

And then, movement.

The line of Blood Hawks parted seamlessly as a single figure stepped forward.

He wasn't armored. He didn't need to be.

The butler's silver hair gleamed in the morning light, slicked neatly back.

His suit was immaculate, every button perfectly aligned, every crease sharp enough to cut.

In his gloved hands rested a simple cane not a weapon, yet somehow more intimidating than the swords of the guards behind him.

His gaze swept the grounds, calm and assessing.

Those who met it felt as if their souls had been stripped bare. More than one student looked away, paling.

"That… that's an S-rank," a girl whispered, trembling. "Just from standing there, I… I can't breathe."

The butler didn't speak. Didn't need to. With measured steps, he walked past the crowd, entering the academy gates. The Blood Hawks did not follow. They remained stationed outside, their silent presence a reminder that the William Family had cast its shadow over Arcade Academy.

The buzz of whispers grew frantic.

"Did something happen on the frontlines?"

"Maybe the demons broke through?"

"No, no. If it was that serious, the Academy would have been shut down already."

"Then… It's about their heir. Eric William. It has to be."

The name hung in the air like a spark in dry grass. Everyone thought it, but few dared to say it.

Inside, the corridors weren't much calmer. Even the most composed students couldn't keep their curiosity buried. By the time Michael arrived, the academy was practically boiling with speculation.

He ignored it. At least, he tried to.

The Blood Hawks appearing here… that wasn't supposed to happen yet. In the game timeline, nothing like this occurred during the early academy years. Is this the butterfly effect? Or something bigger…?

Michael's thoughts were interrupted as he pushed open the door to Class A.

The room was buzzing with its own chatter. Everyone was present—Leon, Aiden, Elara, Lyra, Selena, Chris everyone except Eric William himself.

"Michael!" Leon waved the moment he spotted him, grinning ear to ear as if they hadn't seen each other in years instead of hours. "Over here!"

Suppressing a sigh, Michael threaded through the rows of desks and joined their group. Leon leaned forward immediately, his voice a conspiratorial whisper.

"Did you see them? The William Family's Blood Hawks! Right outside the gates!"

Michael kept his expression neutral. "Yeah. I saw."

Leon's grin faltered. "That's it? That's it? They're the Blood Hawks, man! Do you know how rare it is to see them outside the battlefield?"

Before Michael could reply, Aiden leaned back in his chair, smirk tugging at his lips.

"Hah. Relax, Leon. Of course Michael isn't impressed. He probably doesn't even understand the significance."

Michael arched his brow.

"Oh? And you do?"

Aiden's smirk widened, clearly relishing the attention. He crossed his arms, speaking with the ease of someone who enjoyed lecturing.

"Families like mine," he began,

"have private guards. Yes, they're strong. Yes, they're loyal. But even my Stromfang family's guard wouldn't compare to them. The Blood Hawks are frontline soldiers. Each one of them is worth a hundred common knights. I don't even have the privilege of their protection."

Elara tilted her head, her silver hair glinting softly in the light.

"So… they only guard one family?"

"Not just any family," Aiden corrected with a small flourish of his hand.

"The family. The William Family. The descendants of the first Hero who slew the Demon King ten thousand years ago. They don't lend their strength unless it's a matter of utmost importance."

Lyra, who had been silently observing, frowned slightly. "Then their presence here… means the Academy itself is involved in something critical?"

Aiden shook his head, smug. "No. It means Eric William is. Their heir. If the Blood Hawks are here, then it's not about us, not about classes or duels or exams. It's about him. Something must've happened, something worthy of twenty A-ranks and an S-rank butler."

The group fell silent, his words sinking in. Even Leon's usual enthusiasm dimmed under the weight of the explanation.

Michael, however, remained still, his mind whirring.

Eric William. The Antagonist has many routes of the game. But this… this wasn't in the script. If the William Family themselves are moving pieces this early, then… something has shifted. Something big.

He exhaled quietly, eyes narrowing.

Butterfly effect or not, one thing's certain this academy is no longer predictable as the original main plot .

Everyone nodded to Aiden's statement with his logical answer and theory.

Unknown to them it was someone with love towards Eric,who made waves at the academy.

__________

In a private lounge within the Academy, Eric William lounged on a sofa, expression cold as stone. The butler stood opposite him, posture impeccable, head bowed.

Eric's jaw tightened as he listened to the report.

When the butler finished, silence weighed heavy in the room.

Finally, Eric spoke, his voice low but brimming with steel.

"…I don't accept it."

(To be Continue)

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