Slowly, I lifted my gaze and saw a small group towering over me. The girl sitting next to me had short, dark hair, sharp features, and eyes that flashed with hostility. A small, mocking smile played at the corner of her lips.
"Who the hell are you?" she asked, her voice cutting through the noise of the room.
I tried to ignore the blatant provocation and return to my meal, but before I could take another bite, she spoke again.
"What's wrong? Don't you have a name?" she raised an eyebrow. "Just because you put on the suit doesn't give you the right to ignore me."
Right. Staying composed at times like this was difficult, but Clara had taught me that the one who wins is the one who refuses to stoop to a certain level of behavior.
"I do. Avarka." I finally spoke, striving to maintain my composure while forcing a faint smile onto my lips.
It was ridiculously hard to always be nice, but I had to control myself if I wanted to fit in. These kinds of initial taunts could happen anywhere.
The girl beside me let out a mocking chuckle.
"Oh, so she does have a name!" she said theatrically before turning to her group. "Isn't that adorable?"
The whole situation clearly amused her.
The boy sitting next to me, who had been quietly observing until now, leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and grinned as he spoke:
"I know who she is. I saw her being brought into the city. Pretty interesting story…" he said to the others, glancing at me. "I'll tell you about it later. It's pretty pathetic…" he added, a half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
I felt the tension slowly building up in my chest. For a while, I said nothing, just twirling my fork between my fingers, trying to ignore them. The group chuckled quietly, clearly enjoying the situation.
"So?" the girl asked again, tilting her head to the side. "Aren't you going to tell us yourself how you ended up here? Or is it a secret?"
The others' laughter died down to a quiet giggle as they waited for my reaction.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment to swallow my anger. Then, slowly, I lifted my gaze to them.
"If someone doesn't meet my basic level of communication, I don't feel the need to talk to them," I said, my voice calm but firm. "So, if you don't mind, could you move away?"
The figures seated around the table exchanged glances, but of course, no one moved. If anything, they seemed to inch even closer to me.
Before anyone could make another remark, a loud bang sliced through the air. The table trembled as a strong hand slammed down onto it.
A figure dressed in dark clothing stood there, arms crossed, face stern. The group around me fell silent for a moment. But he wasn't the one I had to worry about.
Behind him, a familiar figure emerged.
Blonde hair, cold, sea-blue eyes. The same man who had been at the stairs when my suitcase had spilled open. The one who had made that cynical remark about how my belongings didn't belong scattered everywhere.
Of course, he was the only one missing from my already unwelcome dinner company.
But at least my intuition had been right—I hadn't seen the last of him back then.
Now, he looked at me with the same icy expression before slowly opening his mouth.
"So, do you feel like kicking my ass?" he asked, and though his voice was entirely serious, a barely noticeable smirk played at the corner of his lips.
For a brief moment, silence settled around the table as I spoke:
"It was Elis wish, not mine," I tried to respond firmly, but I felt a hint of restraint behind my words. It wasn't fear—more like cautious restraint.
I was wary of the situation, wary of the man, because I knew how easy it was to lose balance in moments like these. Maintaining that thin line between determination and anger had always been a challenge for me, and here, in this unfamiliar world, I couldn't afford to lose control.
For a moment, the silence weighed heavily on us. Then, the blonde man finally spoke, his gaze sweeping over those around me:
"You lot, get lost. Go back to your seats, or better yet, go run a few laps at the training ground before bed."
The others obeyed, albeit reluctantly. The dark-haired girl glanced at me once more before patting my shoulder and whispering softly in my ear:
"By the way, sorry, I was just messing with you a little. But be careful with the general—one wrong move, and you might not walk away."
There was no cynicism or malice in her words, only a genuine warning that made my throat dry and my heart pound harder in my chest.
As the girl left, the blonde man looked at me again. For a moment, I thought he had been bluffing when he had challenged me earlier, but now I saw that spark of determination in his eyes that shattered any doubt.
"Get yourself together," he said coldly. "Now come with me to the outer garden so I can assess what you're capable of."
The lump in my throat grew larger, but I didn't let it show. As I stood up and followed him down the hallway, I played out at least fifty different ways in my mind that he could finish me off.
I knew I had to fight. Against an opponent who was nearly two meters tall, eight times stronger and more skilled than me.
I had never been weak or timid. There had always been a strong energy raging inside me, and through years of training, I had learned how to harness it. Clara and Joan had prepared me for every possible situation, especially when it came to martial arts. I had learned how to defend, attack, and apply strategies. I wasn't someone who could be easily defeated.
Yet doubts gnawed at me.
Was I ready to face someone who wasn't just trained in defense but had built his entire life around fighting?
The motion-sensor lights flickered coldly as we silently followed each other down the corridor. The blonde man walked ahead with determined strides, never sparing me a glance.
As we stepped into the garden, and the cold air slapped against my face, one thing became clear: there were no rules here like back home.