CHAPTER 156: MOST HANDSOME MEN

Nero finally rose from the mat, his body heavy and drenched in the sour scent of sweat and burnt impurities. Even the crimson flames that had shielded him earlier could not mask the pungent odor clinging stubbornly to his skin. He needed a bath. With steady, measured steps, he left the training ground behind and began the slow walk back to the boys’ dormitory.

The corridors and courtyards of the academy were lively. Some cadets were just returning from their own training, clothes torn, faces tired but determined. Others moved briskly in groups, heading out for evening drills or specialized classes. Weapons glinted faintly beneath the lanterns, boots thudded against stone pathways, and the faint chatter of conversations echoed between the dorm buildings.

As Nero walked among them, his presence drew more attention than it once had. There had been a time when such eyes carried only disdain—when whispers of "he doesn’t even have a Law" followed him like shadows, mocking his very place at the academy. Many had thought his enrollment a mistake, that he would eventually be forced out, another failure consumed by the ruthlessness of this world.

But that time was gone.

Ever since his awakening to the Law of Fire, his feats in training, and his accomplishments within the pocket world, those whispers had vanished. His victory, his strength, his composure under pressure—they had silenced every doubt. Now, as cadets passed him, no one dared sneer or mock. Instead, there was a quiet shift in their demeanor: subtle nods of respect, brief glances of acknowledgment.

No one spoke aloud, but the silence itself carried meaning. Recognition. Acceptance.

Nero, however, showed no pride in their newfound respect. His expression remained the same—calm, distant, unreadable. He returned their nods with the barest tilt of his head and continued forward without breaking his stride. He neither sought their acknowledgment nor dismissed it; for him, it was simply another step on his path.

At last, he arrived at the boys’ dormitory. The building loomed quietly, its lantern-lit halls buzzing faintly with cadets preparing for the night. Nero slipped inside without a word, the familiar atmosphere swallowing him. Entering his room, he tossed his sweat-soaked training gear aside before moving straight to the bathroom.

The scent of soap and hot water was already drifting faintly in the air, promising the cleansing he needed after such brutal refinement. Without hesitation, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

He closed the door behind him, shutting out the faint noise of the dormitory halls. The bathroom was quiet, the white tiles glistening faintly under the lantern light. He twisted the handle, and almost immediately, a rush of steaming water cascaded down.

The first touch of heat against his skin made him inhale sharply. The pain from his body refinement, buried beneath his composure during the walk back, came alive again. His knees to his waist felt as though they were burning from the inside out, the freshly tempered bones pulsing in agony beneath muscle and flesh. The water amplified it, as if scalding him from without while the remnants of the refinement fire still raged within.

He did not flinch. Instead, he stood there, letting the water wash over him, letting it sting, letting it cleanse. Slowly, the dark grime and faint traces of impurities began sliding down his skin, spiraling into the drain like faint shadows of the trial he had endured. The stench of sweat and char faded, replaced by the clean, sharp scent of soap as he lathered his body.

Muscles honed through endless training caught the light with every movement—taut, defined, but not without their story. Scars, small and scattered across his torso and arms, bore silent testimony of battles past. His tattoo, the strange marking stretching from his back to the side of his neck, seemed sharper in the steam, almost alive, its vivid lines glowing faintly as though it resonated with his growing strength.

As the minutes passed, the heat that had once felt like punishment began to soothe. The pain dulled into a heavy throb, a reminder of the price he paid for power. He tilted his head back, letting the water stream across his face, eyes closing as he sank into the silence. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply be—to breathe, to recover, to feel his body adjusting to its new state.

When he finally shut off the water, the bathroom was veiled in mist. He stepped out, drying himself with calm precision before pulling on clean clothes. His reflection in the fogged mirror looked back at him, sharper, stronger than yesterday.

Nero exhaled slowly, expression unreadable. The day was only beginning.

Switching into a light summer outfit, Nero decided it was time to test Lux’s availability. With the quarantine finally ending today and their departure scheduled for tomorrow, he realized his wardrobe was pathetically lacking. That was the simple reason behind contacting the silver-haired man—to have someone accompany him while shopping for clothes.

He sent the message, and within minutes they agreed to meet at the square not far from their dormitory in fifteen minutes.

Exactly on time, the two of them arrived.

"Thank you, Lux, for accompanying me to pick out some clothes."

"You’re welcome. It’s my pleasure," Lux replied, wearing his usual warm smile.

The reaction from the crowd around them was instantaneous. Female cadets’ eyes shimmered with barely contained excitement as they caught sight of the pair walking together. The contrast between the two was striking—Lux, with his flowing silver hair and serene silver eyes, exuded an almost saintly aura, dressed casually but with the elegance of someone who naturally drew attention. His smile was bright, benevolent, as if sunlight itself had taken human form.

Beside him, Nero stood in stark opposition. Dark blue hair framed his impassive face, his ominous red eyes glinting faintly under the summer light. Unlike Lux, he did not smile, nor did he offer warm greetings. His silence and sharp gaze carried a quiet weight that made it difficult to look away. The stark differences between the two—light and shadow, warmth and cold—only heightened their presence.

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that together, they were the most striking pair in the entire academy. Whispers followed them as they walked, some in awe, others in envy.