Chapter 223: The Return of Seniors!
A line of carriages rolled to a stop near the terminal just outside the academy gates.
From them stepped the returning second- and third-year students, weary from weeks of field missions but proud to be back.
They had braved dangerous assignments, monster hunts, and harsh wilderness conditions—and they were ready to bask in the recognition they deserved.
Unfortunately for them, the academy gates looked more like a festival ground than a dignified homecoming.
Dozens of news reporters from Elaris City and beyond had crowded the entrance.
Microcrystals for recording floated above the throng, their lenses glinting in the sun.
Reporters held glowing notepads, some even climbing onto benches to get a better view.
"Look at that crowd," whispered a second-year archer.
"They must have heard of our mission to the Emberfang Wastes."
"They’re here for us, obviously," said another, a swordsman, Kayle Virehart.
"The mighty second years of Arcadia—heroes of the outer provinces! Prepare yourselves for applause."
Beside them, a group of third-year students exchanged confident smirks.
"They’ll want to hear about our hunt for the Obsidian Behemoth," a third-year mage said, adjusting her hat.
"Finally, recognition for the real elites of this academy."
The professors accompanying them, Professor Kaito and Professor Treneth, shared a quiet, knowing glance but said nothing.
Experience told them that expectation was the enemy of dignity.
The carriages halted. The second- and third-year students straightened their backs, flashing their most heroic smiles.
The reporters surged forward—quills ready, recorders hovering.
A young reporter with a sparkling crystal badge was the first to break through the crowd.
He dashed toward the nearest senior student with excitement.
"You there!" he called, pointing his recording crystal directly at Kayle Virehart.
"What’s your name and year?"
Kayle stepped forward with a triumphant grin, placing a proud hand on his chest.
"Ah, I am Kayle Virehart, Rank One of the Second Year. Defender of the—"
Before he could finish, the reporter’s smile flickered. His eyes darted to the side.
"Second year?" he repeated.
"Yes," Kayle said, puffing his chest.
"Second year, top rank. Our mission was—"
"Ohhh," the reporter interrupted, already turning away.
"Just a second year. Never mind."
He waved dismissively and spun on his heel toward the next carriage.
Kayle froze, mid-sentence, his hand still dramatically raised.
"...Just...a second year?"
Behind him, his classmates stiffened.
"What did he mean ’just’?" hissed a spear-wielding girl.
"We faced real danger out there!"
Another reporter jogged by, calling to a colleague.
"Not first years! Don’t waste footage—keep looking for the rescue team!"
The second-year students exchanged bewildered glances as more reporters passed them by without a second look.
"Wait—wait!" Kayle called after a woman with a floating quill.
"We fought a pack of frost wyverns! Do you know how rare those are?!"
"Second year?" she asked absently.
"Yes, but—"
She turned away with a polite but uninterested nod.
"Good work. Now step aside, please."
The second years stood frozen, their heroic smiles curdling into forced grins.
They were irritated.
Meanwhile, the third years watched with barely contained laughter.
"Looks like the mighty second years aren’t the main attraction," a third-year swordsman snickered.
"Perhaps they seek true heroes—third years like us."
But their smugness lasted less than a heartbeat.
Another group of reporters approached the third-year cluster. A middle-aged man with an oversized recorder crystal stopped in front of them.
"Are you first years?" he asked briskly.
"No," a tall third-year mage replied with a proud smile.
"We are third-year elites, returning from a mission to—"
"Third year?" the man interrupted.
"Yes, third—"
"Ohhh. Not first years." The reporter’s face fell flat as he turned to leave.
"Keep moving, folks, nothing here."
The third-year mage blinked. "N-nothing here?"
Another reporter popped up, checking her notes.
"Third year, right? Not the first year?"
"Yes, but we just fought an Obsidian Behemoth!" a swordswoman exclaimed, pointing at the scar on her cheek.
The reporter gave a sympathetic shrug. "That’s nice, but we need stories about the first years. Excuse me."
She hurried off without writing a single word.
The third years’ smug grins collapsed like punctured balloons.
"Did she just—ignore—our Behemoth hunt?" a male mage said in disbelief.
"Impossible," muttered another, clutching his staff like it might comfort him.
Growing Humiliation
By now, the second years were openly scowling. Kayle clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles whitened.
"First years, first years, first years," he mimicked bitterly.
"What is so great about first years? They probably just fought a few goblins."
"I heard they battled demons," a quiet student offered.
Kayle spun on him. "Demons or not, we faced death too! Frost wyverns are basically winged demons!"
The third years were no better. A tall swordsman muttered, "We fought a Behemoth the size of a castle. And they ask if we’re first years?"
A third-year healer stomped her foot.
"This is humiliation. Pure, deliberate humiliation!"
Professor Kaito cleared his throat gently. "Now, now, students. The public has a short memory. Today’s heroes are—"
But he was drowned out by another round of reporters shouting at the gates:
"Where are the first-year rescue team?"
"Did the first-year leader survive the Blackstone attack?"
"Is it true a first-year defeated over two hundred demons?"
Each question was a dagger to the seniors’ pride.
Kayle slapped a hand to his forehead.
"Two hundred demons? Two hundred? ..."
The third years exchanged dark looks. "They’re stealing our thunder," one muttered.
"This cannot stand," Kayle declared, his voice trembling with outrage.
"Are we, the seniors of Arcadia, to be forgotten? No. I will not allow it."
The second year muttered in agreement.
A third-year mage crossed his arms.
"If those first years think they can outshine us, they’re mistaken. Perhaps a...a fair duel will remind them of the hierarchy."
"duel?" another student said with a dangerous smile.
"I say we crush them."
The professors exchanged uneasy glances.
"Students," Professor Treneth began carefully, "the academy does not condone—"
"Don’t worry, Professor," Kayle interrupted, his eyes blazing with mock righteousness.
"We’ll simply...welcome the first years back with a proper senior greeting."
Professor Derith sighed. "That sounds suspiciously like a challenge."
"It’s called...tradition," Kayle said with a grin.
"You know our academy allows duels but not duels of hatred", said the professor.
Meanwhile, the reporters continued their frantic search for first-year heroes.
One particularly excitable young journalist ran past the seniors carrying a sign that read,
"First-Year Demon Slayers Sighted?" He didn’t even glance at the second- and third-year groups.
Another reporter, balancing a glowing recorder on her head, accidentally bumped into Kayle.
"Watch it!" Kayle snapped.
"Oh, sorry," she said absentmindedly. "Are you a first-year?"
"NO!" Kayle barked.
"Then excuse me," she said cheerfully and hurried away.
The seniors collectively groaned.
A Brewing Storm
By the time the crowd began to thin, the second and third years were seething.
The humiliation had united them in a rare alliance: second and third years, side by side, glaring at the academy gates as if the first-year rescue team might appear at any moment.
Kayle said, "we will show them the true strength of their seniors."
A third-year mage smirked. "...just to remind them of their place."
Another second year cracked his knuckles. "For the honor of the upperclassmen."