Voila.
The great wooden door creaked open with a slow, ominous groan, and every head inside the training arena turned toward it.
A heavy presence drifted into the arena like a shift in the wind—stern, powerful, and unmistakable.
Instructor Heiron.
His tall frame was clothed in a sleek dark-blue battle coat, the long silver trim trailing behind him like the edge of a blade.
His black leather gloves were stained faintly with dried beast blood, and the twin sabers across his back glinted faintly with residual mana traces.
The deep-set eyes under his thick brow were the kind that had seen far too many battles and buried far too many students.
His boots echoed through the chamber as he stepped inside with the kind of silent dominance that only a true Knight Instructor could exude.
Wesley stood up straighter than he ever had in his life.
Gabe, who had just finished his mana-induced victory monologue, suddenly looked like a schoolboy who forgot to do his homework. And every janitor nearby instinctively stiffened as if Heiron's gaze could strip paint from walls.
"INSTRUCTOR HEIRON!" Gabe and the other cleaners chorused at once, voices wobbling between forced cheer and pure, uncut fear.
They bowed quickly. Gabe even dropped his mop mid-motion, fumbling to recover it before anyone noticed. Wesley bowed, too—deep, precise, careful not to let his nerves show.
"Sir!" one cleaner called out. "We didn't know you were returning this early!"
Another added, "We were just, uh, sparring! Minor training, sir!"
Gabe nodded rapidly, wiping nonexistent sweat from his brow. "Just a friendly bout! You know, camaraderie-building and all that. Sir."
Heiron didn't even flinch. He simply raised an eyebrow at the small gathering of mop-wielding young men standing at attention like clumsy soldiers. Then, he stepped aside.
Behind him, the students of Class Silver Fang began to pour in. Uniforms clean but slightly scorched, weapons sheathed and grumbling. The arena suddenly felt smaller. Filled.
They were loud. And opinionated.
"Hey, look who finally broke through!" one boy called out as he pointed at Gabe, his smirk wide enough to split his face.
Another one snorted. "Took him long enough! We thought he'd be stuck at Fifth Stage till next winter!"
"Did he finally stop eating meat pies before sparring?" someone added, and the group burst into laughter.
"Or did one of the janitors hit him so hard he leveled up out of fear?"
"Was it this one?" a boy gestured to Wesley and gasped dramatically. "Our mighty mop warrior!"
Gabe groaned. "Oh, come on. I just hit Knighthood. Can't I bask for five minutes without you guys turning into wild dogs?"
"You'll bask when you win a real duel," one said.
"Or finish a dungeon raid without screaming."
"Hey, I didn't scream—" Gabe started.
"—you yelled," another corrected. "There's a difference."
Laughter erupted again, not malicious, but teasing. They crowded Gabe, some slapping his shoulder, others ruffling his hair like he was still an academy first-year.
Wesley stepped back subtly, trying to shrink into the background. Unfortunately, it didn't work.
A group of girls emerged from behind the boys—elegant, armored in sleek silver-blue, eyes sharp and alert from training. They swept their gazes across the room like practiced archers sighting targets. Their leader, a tall girl with striking green eyes, stopped and tilted her head toward Wesley.
"Is that the janitor?" she asked aloud, her brows lifting.
"Wait—he fought?" another girl said, her tone slightly breathless.
"Ugh, we missed it?" someone else cried out, clearly annoyed.
"He fought? Really?" one girl leaned over to peer around the others, squinting. "The silly one with the cleaning mop?"
Another nodded rapidly. "I heard he parried Gabe's sword with a mop handle."
"No way. We missed it? We were barely out for a raid for an hour!"
"I can't believe this," one girl groaned. "We go fight beasts in a dungeon and the arena gets more exciting?"
They all turned toward Wesley at once, creating a barrage of bright-eyed stares that made his neck tense. One girl stepped forward. "Can you do it again?"
Wesley blinked. "Huh?"
"You know—the fight. The moves. Show us how you parried him," she said eagerly.
Another chimed in, "Yeah! Gabe just said it pushed him to Knighthood! That must've been insane!"
"Was it a hidden technique?"
"Are you actually a rogue knight disguised as a janitor?"
"C'mon, mop warrior, give us a demo!"
Wesley stared, face blank, mind swirling. This is a nightmare. This is a nightmare. He felt heat rise in his face. He wanted to melt into the floor. Or sweep himself into a dustpan.
He mumbled, "It was just sparring... nothing special…"
"Oh come on," one of the girls whined. "We missed it!"
"We saw you flip him over a bench the other day!"
"Wesley, right? Just fight him again. Please?"
Before he could respond, Gabe, now enjoying the attention, puffed up and asked, "Sir, are you done with the dungeon raid?"
Heiron, who had been quietly observing the chaos unfold, sighed and finally spoke. "We were supposed to complete a low-tier dungeon for familiarization." He ran a hand through his greying hair. "I underestimated the beasts. Mana deviation in the region stirred up mutations. They were faster. Smarter. Hungrier. A student almost lost an arm. So I pulled them out early."
Gabe nodded seriously, the smile dropping from his face. "Good call, sir."
Behind Heiron, the boys who'd been laughing just moments ago began grumbling.
"Ugh. Those damn beasts came out of nowhere."
"My shield cracked like it was made of ice."
"Not gonna lie, I may have cried a little."
"You screamed, not cried."
"Shut up, Davin."
"I tripped over my own cape," one boy admitted. "Who the hell fights in capes?!"
"I saw you swing backward. Backward, like you were attacking the wall."
They were cracking up again, despite the trauma—joking through the fear like boys often did when they had to pretend they were braver than they were.
The girls, however, were not interested in the boys' whining. They were focused entirely on one thing.
Wesley.
"We still want to see him fight."
"Please, Instructor Heiron," one girl said sweetly. "We missed it, and everyone's talking about it now."
"It's just a short bout!"
Another added, "We'll even help clean the arena after."
"No," Heiron said flatly.
"Pretty please?"
"No."
"You always say we should study every style—his must be a rare one!"
"No."
They looked at each other, regrouping like seasoned tacticians. One girl stepped forward with a bow, the others following. "Instructor, we respectfully request permission to observe a short sparring match between the janitor Wesley and Gabe. As a supplemental field observation."
Heiron raised an eyebrow. "You are not field observers."
Another girl tried. "But he's the one who triggered Gabe's breakthrough. That makes him a valuable training stimulus!"
"No."
Their smiles faded.
Heiron's voice hardened. "Do you girls remember what happened in the dungeon?"
The group fell quiet instantly.
The humor drained from their faces. Eyes dropped. Lips tightened. One or two looked toward the ground, recalling the near-disaster that had almost claimed a friend's life.
"We are not here to be entertained," Heiron continued, voice like a cold wind. "We are here to train. To improve. To survive. Let's focus on that."
The girls gave a slow nod, chastised but not angry.
Heiron turned then, his hand motioning toward Gabe. "You. You'll be joining the next raid party. Make preparations accordingly."
Gabe straightened like he'd just been knighted again. "Yes, sir!" he beamed.
His classmates gave mock salutes and playful grins. "Guess someone's getting promoted."
"Don't forget us little people!"
"Just don't scream again, please."
Heiron waved a hand, dismissing the crowd.
The students began to disperse, laughing, nudging each other, already returning to their casual teasing.
Meanwhile, Wesley and the other janitors, who had remained in formation the entire time, bent at the waist and bowed deeply.
Wesley didn't say a word.
He simply turned and walked out of the arena, mop in hand, heartbeat pounding like war drums, hoping—begging—that this was the last time anyone would ever call him a warrior again.