The Grand Assembly Hall was alive.

Banners from every club hung across the vaulted ceiling like colorful veins of ambition—golden lions for the Hunting Club, crimson phoenixes for the Royal Club, silver bows for the Archery Club, and so on. Students flooded the marble floor, their voices weaving into a storm of laughter, whispers, and tense arguments.

The room smelled faintly of ink and parchment, mixed with the sharp polish of steel swords strapped to the sides of combat-focused students.

Michael adjusted the collar of his academy uniform as he entered with Leon and Aiden.

He could feel the weight of the day pressing down on him—the kind of day where futures were decided, alliances forged, and enemies born.

"Whoa," Aiden muttered, craning his neck at the banners.

"Feels like walking into the Colosseum before a blood match."

Leon smirked, crossing his arms. "That's basically what this is. Politics in the Academy? More brutal than any dungeon."

Michael didn't reply. His gaze drifted to the stage at the front of the hall. There stood a lectern carved of black obsidian, flanked by two towering Academy guards. Behind it, the curtains shifted, as though preparing to reveal something monumental.

And then—silence.

A hush rippled across the hall as the figure appeared.

Vice Principal Sophia Emberheart.

Her name carried weight. Her crimson hair, tied back in a severe braid, shimmered under the magical lights overhead. Her uniform bore the insignia of the Emberheart bloodline—flames etched in silver across the breastplate. But it wasn't her attire that silenced hundreds of students. It was her aura. Calm yet commanding, as though the air itself bent to her presence.

She reached the lectern, her eyes scanning the hall. For a heartbeat, Michael felt her gaze flicker over him, and it was like standing beneath a volcano.

Sophia's voice rang out, clear as crystal, each syllable cutting through the air:

"Students of Arcade Hunter Academy, today marks the beginning of a tradition as old as our halls. The Student Union nominations. Here, your voices will decide your representatives—those who shall carry the weight of justice, order, and ambition."

The hall vibrated with applause.

Sophia raised a hand, and silence fell again.

"There will be no bribery, no coercion, no shadow-dealings. The Union is the spine of our Academy, and the candidates must prove themselves with honor. Today, the clubs declare their chosen representatives. Tomorrow, the trials begin."

Michael exhaled slowly. He could already hear the murmurs swirling, the shifting of nobles in their rows, commoners clenching their fists tighter.

Sophia's lips curved into something faintly sharp. "Let us begin."

A clerk to the side unrolled a long parchment, his voice magically amplified.

"Nomination for the position of Student Union President. Candidate: Emily Lionheart."

The roar that erupted was deafening.

Cheers thundered from half the hall as students stamped their feet and raised banners marked with the golden crest of the Lionheart family. Emily stood in her seat, calm amidst the storm. She wore the uniform as though it were a tailored suit of armor, her blonde hair catching the light, eyes sharp yet steady. She lifted a hand—not to wave, but simply to acknowledge.

"Backed by six clubs," the clerk continued. "The Hunting Club, the Royal Club, the Archery Club, the Gymnasium Club, the Cooking Club, and the Alchemy Club."

Michael caught sight of Maria, clapping politely beside Aurelia. And just behind Emily, a figure sat composed and unshaken: Alice Nightveil.

Her long black hair framed a pale face, her presence far quieter than Emily's, yet no less striking. Former Vice President of the Union, Emily's closest friend, and the sharp dagger to Emily's radiant sword. When Emily rose, Alice remained seated, her dark eyes sweeping over the hall as if memorizing every reaction.

"They already control six clubs," Leon muttered beside Michael. "That's half the Academy."

Michael said nothing. He noticed how Emily didn't bask in the applause. She simply inclined her head once, a soldier receiving her orders. That calm restraint, Michael realized, was exactly why people followed her.

The clerk waited for the cheers to die before continuing.

"Nomination for the position of Student Union President. Candidate: Magnus Daven."

Another storm hit the hall.

But this applause felt… different. Louder, rougher, full of confidence rather than reverence. Magnus Daven, tall and broad-shouldered, stood with a grin that bordered on arrogance. His auburn hair glinted like fire, and his emerald eyes sparkled with charisma. He raised both hands like a conquering hero.

"Backed by seven clubs," the clerk announced.

"The Trekking Club, the Mage's Club, the Noble Society, the Treasure Hunting Club, the Exploration Club, the Scholar's Circle, and the History Club."

Michael heard the whispers already:

"Seven clubs? That's more than Emily—"

"He's got the nobles and the mages behind him—"

"This election… it'll split the Academy."

Magnus smirked, his gaze sweeping the hall until it landed directly on Emily. He raised his hand slightly, almost in a mocking toast. Emily's expression didn't change. But Alice's eyes narrowed, the faintest shadow flickering across her face.

Michael felt his chest tighten. This wasn't just an election—it was war, painted in school colors.

The roar of cheers for Magnus still shook the rafters of the Grand Hall. Students pounded their fists on tables, stamped their boots against the marble floor until the sound reverberated like drums of war.

If Emily Lionheart's support had felt steady, disciplined—Magnus's felt wild, like fire spreading through dry grass.

Michael sat straighter in his chair, his eyes moving between the two candidates.

On one side: Emily, who carried herself like a commander on the eve of battle. Her posture was erect, her chin slightly raised, but not in arrogance. Her every gesture spoke of control, of restraint. Emily didn't need to raise her voice or her hands. Her very presence did the work for her.

On the other side: Magnus, whose grin seemed almost too wide. He exuded confidence, soaking in the applause as though it were wine. He waved to the crowd, fist-pumping, slapping shoulders of his supporters. Where Emily inspired loyalty, Magnus stirred frenzy.

Michael felt the unease ripple through the room. The divide wasn't just political. It was emotional.

"This is dangerous," he muttered under his breath.

Leon, seated next to him, cocked an eyebrow. "What is?"

"The way the hall is splitting." Michael gestured subtly. "Half of them look at Emily like she's their anchor. The other half—Magnus has them on fire. Anchors and fire don't coexist."

Leon let out a short laugh. "That's politics. Anchors sink. Fire burns. Let's see which one lasts longer."

Michael didn't answer. His gaze drifted past Emily, to the figure who hadn't moved since the nominations were read.

Alice Nightveil.

She hadn't clapped. She hadn't smiled. She hadn't even blinked when Magnus's name was called. While the hall shook with chaos, Alice sat like still water in a glass, untouched and unnervingly calm.

Her dark eyes scanned the room, not with the passion of a supporter, but with the calculation of a strategist. Every cheer, every whisper, every shifting expression of uncertainty among the students—Michael had the strange feeling she was cataloguing it all.

When her gaze passed over him, Michael's chest tightened. For a split second, it felt as if she could see directly into him, past the surface, past the mask, into the core of who he was.

And then—she looked away, turning her attention back to Emily.

Michael let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Alice Nightveil," Aiden murmured, leaning forward from the seat behind Michael. "Former Vice President. Emily's shadow. You know they called her the 'Silent Blade' when she served?"

Michael frowned slightly. "Silent Blade?"

"Yeah." Aiden's voice dropped lower, conspiratorial. "Because she never raised her voice, never stood on the stage. But when someone crossed Emily, it was Alice who made sure their careers… disappeared."

Leon chuckled. "A perfect right hand. You've got a shining lioness and her shadow wolf. Fitting."

Michael wasn't so sure. There was something about Alice that unsettled him. Her restraint wasn't like Emily's noble discipline it was colder. Sharper. If Emily was the sun, Alice was the eclipse.

The clerk's voice boomed again, pulling Michael's attention back to the front.

"Thus, the candidates for Student Union President stand before you: Emily Lionheart and Magnus Daven. Backed by their clubs, by their reputations, and by your support, they shall face the trials ahead."

The hall erupted once more shouts of "Lionheart!" clashing with cries of "Daven!"until Vice Principal Sophia raised a single hand.

Silence fell instantly.

Sophia's eyes swept the crowd, her tone deceptively light. "A fine spectacle. But remember this an election is not won in cheers. It is won in trust you build , other trust in strength, in your vision. Choose not with your throat, but with your heart."

Her words dropped like stones into water, sending ripples across the crowd. Some students shifted uncomfortably. Others nodded, faces hardening with renewed resolve.

Emily inclined her head respectfully, as though accepting Sophia's challenge. Magnus only smirked wider, like he'd already won.

----

The clerk unrolled a new parchment.

"Next," he announced, "nominations for Executive Members of the Disciplinary Committee."

Michael straightened unconsciously. This was the moment.

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