The Extra's Rebellion

Seconds bled into minutes. Minutes into hours. Hours into days. Days into weeks. Weeks into months. It had been three months since Zephyr set his foot on the grounds of Elden Vow.

A lot had changed since then. He was no longer a naive, scared boy. He was now a brooding bitter—sharper, colder. Frustration had left its taste on his tongue, and bitterness had become his language. All in all, failure had made him bitter.

He originally thought he’d stockpile Hollow Arts, maybe blaze past the curriculum. Reality laughed hard in his face. It took him two whole months—two damned months—to modify a single Hollow Art. One. And even that felt like a fluke. Every time he thought about it, he came close to tearing his own hair out. Now he understood why students bolted from that class the moment the tournament announcement was made.

But not everything had gone sideways. He had climbed to Grade 3 Zeta. Endless hunts, endless Aether hearths devoured—it had paid off. He was close to a breakthrough, one foot hovering over the edge of Epsilon. But his soul lagged behind, too newly ascended, too raw.

And then there was the cleaning committee.

One miserable afternoon after a particularly humiliating Weaving class, Zephyr had stormed into the cafeteria to vent over cheap tea and eggs muffins. He barely had time to sit before two officials in black uniforms flanked him, their eyes devoid of warmth. They’d come for the loan he’d taken two months prior.

The choice they gave him? Simple— join the cleaning crew, and seventy percent of his earnings would be funneled straight back to the academy until the debt was paid.

Or

Get an extended time period of seven days and risk being taken to the prison school where he would have to work hard and all the earnings funneled into the school until he paid his dept.

That was how he ended up sweeping halls with a crooked broom, cursing louder than some beasts could roar.

But perhaps the greatest change wasn’t within him, but around him.