After Rank 39, the world’s attitude toward Solan became… specific.
Not applause. Not congratulations.
Attention.
He could feel it when he walked the Academy spine. Eyes lingered half a second longer than before. Someone would murmur his name under their breath. Someone else would glance down at a phone, scroll, then look up again—just to confirm that yes, it was actually him.
He had come out to buy something.
A pair of headphones from the audio shop. He had been eyeing them for a week. He didn’t need them, not really—but thanks to Matt, his wallet had recently become uncomfortable in a new way. For the first time since arriving at New Elysion, he didn’t have to think about selling Stabilin.
He had also just started to understand what people meant by a climate torsion zone .
Two days ago the sun had been warm enough to make the stone paths glow. Today the air cut like glass. Someone had mentioned that next week would swing back to seventy.
And yet the day felt perfectly normal.
His breath left pale threads in the air as he turned down the sloped street.
That was when he saw her.
The red scarf was wrapped a little too tight. A short black winter jacket—clean lines, cut just above the waist, the kind worn by someone who was used to moving quickly. Dark jeans, but with a strip of lighter blue running down the back seam from hip to ankle on both sides. Subtle, almost accidental—yet impossible to forget once noticed.
Brown winter boots. The toes still clean.
She was stepping out of the audio shop.
Her mouth was set in that small, stubborn curve—like she was holding back a laugh, or simply in a good mood she hadn’t bothered to hide.
Then the motion happened.
So quickly it barely existed.
Her hand lifted. Index finger straight, the others loose, almost like a finger-gun—but not quite. More like the gesture had simply followed a rhythm her body already knew.
It wasn’t aimed at anyone.
It wasn’t for anyone.
Just a small flick of movement, gone the instant it appeared.
Almost as if the body had done it on its own.
Then she seemed to notice his gaze.
Clara dropped her hand immediately and glanced around the street.
Solan stepped back behind the edge of the building before he could think.
He wasn’t even sure if she had seen him.
Solan Elric, what the hell are you doing.
He inhaled once and stepped back out.
Clara hadn’t stopped walking. The red scarf shifted slightly as she moved forward, already disappearing down the street.
The world around them continued normally. People passing. Cars rolling past the intersection. No one pausing.
As if nothing had happened.
But in that small moment, Solan knew something with strange clarity—
He had been allowed to see someone exist without being for anyone.
He didn’t know where the thought came from. His body had decided before his mind did.
He couldn’t even say exactly what the gesture had been. It was too quick. Like the world had dropped a frame.
It hadn’t been aimed at anyone.
Nothing had waited for his reaction.
Solan looked away almost immediately.
For a brief instant he had the uneasy feeling that the motion hadn’t been meant to have an audience at all—and that by simply being there, he had somehow broken the atmosphere around it.
He checked the time on his phone.
3:30.
For a moment he realized he had no idea where he was supposed to go next.
He ended up going into the audio shop anyway.
The glass door sighed when he pushed it open. Warm, dry air rolled out to meet him, carrying the layered smell of vinyl sleeves, cardboard, and old plastic.
Matt had once described this place with missionary seriousness: officially run by the music department, unofficially a black hole for obsession. If you wanted something badly enough—and waited long enough—the Academy could get it.
Solan drifted past a wall of headphones, then stopped near the listening corner: low chairs, narrow tables, shared jacks, a shelf of curated records labeled by era and region.
For half a second he pictured Clara in the seat beside him—elbow on the table, pretending not to care what was playing. The image was too dangerous. He killed it.
Matt kept saying he should keep climbing. Keep fighting. Keep pressing while people were watching. Solan had nodded every time, mostly because arguing took energy he didn’t have.
A side door behind the counter swung open. A girl stepped out with a messenger bag slung low across one shoulder and a stack of fresh record sleeves tucked against her chest.
She spotted him and came over without hesitation, setting the sleeves down at the next table before dropping into the listening chair next to him like they were already halfway through a conversation. “You’re the sword boy.”
She pushed her hair back and gave him a quick once-over. “I saw your duel. You looked fierce. And a little… remorseful, maybe. I liked your style.”
Solan blinked. Remorseful? That wasn’t him. At least he didn’t think it was.
She tapped the side of her mouth. “Mine’s tongue-based. I taste biochemical changes. Adrenaline, cortisol, hormone spikes. Sometimes thought-pattern residue if it’s intense enough.”
“…Seriously?”
“Yeah. It’s gross in exactly the way you think.” She made a face. “Share a drink with the wrong person and suddenly I’m tasting exam panic or breakup collapse. Once I borrowed a classmate’s straw and got a full infidelity report. Did not ask.”
Despite himself, Solan gave a short breath that almost counted as a laugh.
She leaned in slightly, eyes bright. “You, though—clean profile. Sharp. Almost metallic. Your system is basically a blade pretending to be a person.”
That landed harder than it should have. He shifted back in the chair. She didn’t miss it.
“At your rank?” she said, voice lighter now, almost playful. “Privacy is over. People will read you before you open your mouth.”
She tilted her head. “Keep climbing. I save the ugly tricks for higher ranks.”
The words should have sounded like banter. They didn’t.
“Like what,” he said, “cherry-stem knot videos? That level?”
She laughed, easy and bright, head tipping back.
“You’re funny.”
The same words someone had said once. Except this time they didn’t land. This one felt procedural.
Solan smiled anyway. It felt like signing for a package he hadn’t ordered.
A minute later she was gone, folded back into the store as if none of it mattered.
Solan stayed where he was while the room kept behaving normally, and for the first time that night, normal felt like camouflage.
His thumb found the ring by habit.
He turned it once, felt the metal bite cold into his skin. Not enough for anyone else to notice.