Sovereign of Hearts

Chapter 3

The bell signaling the start of the first period rang with a shrill, piercing electronic tone that reverberated through the stone walls of the Spirit Martial Academy.

In Class 2-Spirit, the chaos of forty teenagers finding their seats evaporated instantly. The chatter about weekend parties, new Spirit Beast sightings, and the upcoming Awakening Ceremony died in throats. Spines straightened. Eyes locked forward.

The room fell into a silence so absolute that the hum of the overhead ventilation system sounded like a jet engine.

The door slid open.

May Lewis didn't walk into a room; she invaded it. Her heels struck the floor tiles with a rhythmic, military precision—click, click, click—that sounded like a countdown. She wore her standard charcoal blazer and white silk blouse, an outfit that was professional yet terrifyingly severe. Her obsidian hair was pulled back, exposing a neck that was elegant but stiff with tension.

She moved to the mahogany lectern, placing her lesson plan down without looking at it. She didn't need notes. She had lived the curriculum.

"Books open," she commanded, her voice cool and crisp, carrying to the back of the room without the need for a microphone. "Page 342. Defensive Patterns of Solitary Predators."

Forty books opened in unison. The sound of rustling paper filled the air like a flock of startled birds.

May scanned the room, her dark eyes sweeping across the rows of students. She was looking for discipline. She was looking for focus.

And then, her gaze snagged on the back row.

There, slumped over his expensive wooden desk like a corpse on a battlefield, was Leo Shaw.

May’s left eyebrow twitched. A vein pulsed visibly in her temple.

She knew Leo better than anyone in this room. She knew him not just as a student, but as the boy she had practically raised for the last year—the boy who had sat in her office late at night devouring tactical reports, the boy who had sworn to her just yesterday that he was ready to take on the world.

On the anniversary of your arrival? May thought, her fingers tightening around the edge of the lectern until the wood groaned. On the day before the most important ceremony of your life? You decide to nap?

In the seat directly in front of Leo, Yuna Lynch was in a state of quiet panic.

She had tried. The moment the bell rang, she had reached back and nudged Leo’s arm. "Leo," she had whispered urgently. "She's here. Wake up!"

Nothing. He hadn't even stirred. He was heavy, completely limp, breathing in a slow, deep rhythm that suggested he was in a coma rather than a light snooze.

She had kicked his shin under the table. Hard. Still nothing.

Yuna bit her lip, glancing nervously at the Professor. She saw May’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits. She saw the "Ice Queen" mask slip just enough to reveal the simmering volcano beneath.

Oh no, Yuna thought. He’s dead. He’s actually going to die.

Three rows over, Jack Lewis was watching the scene unfold with a glee he struggled to suppress. He leaned back in his chair, a smirk twisting his face. Look at him, Jack thought. The 'Top Scholar.' The Genius. Sleeping like a pig. Let’s see his money save him from May Lewis.

May didn't say a word immediately. She turned to the blackboard, picking up a piece of white chalk. She began to write, the scratch-scratch-scratch of the chalk against the slate creating a rhythmic drone that lulled the class into a false sense of security.

"Mutated flora," she spoke as she wrote, her back to the class. "Often underestimated due to their lack of mobility. However, many species possess sensory organs capable of detecting vibrations from hundreds of yards away. They wait. They listen. And when the prey is distracted..."

Scratch. Scratch.

"...they strike."

May stopped writing. She didn't turn around yet. Her hand hovered over the chalk tray. Her fingers closed around a fresh, unused piece of chalk—a small, dense cylinder of compressed gypsum.

In her mind, she wasn't just a teacher disciplining a student. She was a high-ranking officer correcting a fatal flaw in a subordinate. Comfort is death, Leo, she thought. If you sleep in the classroom, you'll sleep in the grave.

She spun around.

The motion was fluid, a testament to her martial prowess. In one smooth arc, she channeled a microscopic amount of Spirit Energy into her fingertips. It wasn't enough to kill—she wasn't insane—but it was enough to turn the harmless piece of chalk into a stinging projectile.

Yuna saw the motion. She gasped, instinctively flinching.

Jack Lewis grinned, his eyes widening in anticipation.

May locked onto the target: the center of Leo Shaw’s forehead, currently resting peacefully on his crossed arms.

She flicked her wrist.

The chalk left her hand with a velocity that defied physics. It cut through the stagnant air of the classroom, a white blur aimed with the precision of a heat-seeking missile.

The class held its breath. The drone of the lecture had ceased. The only thing that existed was the trajectory of that small white bullet.

It flew past Yuna’s ear, disturbing a stray hair, and closed the distance to the sleeping boy in the back row.

And then...