The silence in the corridor was a battlefield. Ren stood in the doorway, a ghost in a threadbare tunic, looking at the box in Anya Volkov's hands. A Grade-4 Spirit Core. To a commoner initiate, it was a fortune, a treasure capable of accelerating one's cultivation by months, or even years. To Ren, whose body passively absorbed Aether of a quality that made this core look like a muddy puddle, it was useless. But the offer… the offer was a weapon, and it was aimed directly at his carefully constructed persona.
Anya's gaze was unwavering, her expression that of a scientist observing a fascinating, unpredictable chemical reaction. She was not offering a gift; she was proposing a transaction. The core for data. Her for him.
He could not accept. To accept would be to legitimize her "research," to invite her scrutiny, to allow her keen intellect to get close enough to see the cracks in his façade. A genius like Anya would not be fooled for long by simple observation. She would want tests, controlled experiments, data points. It was a path that led directly to his exposure.
He could not refuse. A poor, powerless commoner, a supposed "Aether-deaf" dud, would leap at such an opportunity. To refuse a treasure of this magnitude would be an act of profound, suspicious irrationality. It would be an admission that he was not what he seemed.
He was trapped. Her logic was a perfect cage, as inescapable as the Aegis net.
He looked from the exquisite wooden box to her clear, intelligent eyes. He saw no malice there, only an insatiable, almost predatory, curiosity. She was the most dangerous person in the academy to him, not because she wanted to harm him, but because she wanted to know him.
He had to find a third path.
"Why?" Ren asked, his voice flat and quiet, breaking the silence. It was the only question that mattered.
Anya seemed to appreciate the directness. "Because you are an impossibility," she replied without hesitation. "You registered an IAP of 95, yet you present as Aether-deaf. You won a combat spar without landing a blow. You destroyed a reinforced training dummy with no measurable force. You navigated the Aetheric Loom with zero sensory output. These are contradictions. The principles of Aetheric science, as we know them, cannot account for you. Therefore, the principles are incomplete, or you are… something else."
She was laying her cards on the table. She wasn't accusing him of hiding his power; she was stating that his very existence was a scientific paradox she was determined to solve.
"I want to observe you," she continued. "I want to be present during your training sessions. I want to cross-reference your results with my own calculations. The Spirit Core is merely an incentive to secure your cooperation. A variable to encourage a positive outcome."
Ren's mind raced, searching for an escape from the logical trap she had laid. He couldn't accept the deal, and he couldn't refuse the core. So he would do both.
He looked at the box, then back at her. "The core is valuable," he stated, his tone neutral. "A student of my standing has no right to refuse such a thing. To do so would be an insult to your House."
He reached out and took the wooden box from her hands. Its surface was smooth and cool to the touch. Anya's eyes lit up with a flicker of triumphant satisfaction. The subject was cooperating.
"However," Ren continued, holding the box, "I cannot accept your terms."
The triumphant flicker in Anya's eyes was replaced by confusion. "You accept the core, but not the conditions? That is illogical."
"I am not a research subject," Ren said, his voice taking on a cold, hard edge. "My training, such as it is, is my own concern. I will not be studied like an insect under glass." He met her gaze, his own eyes holding the unyielding stillness of a mountain. "Take this core as a gift, if you wish. But it buys you nothing. It does not buy you my time, my cooperation, or my attention."
He had inverted her proposal. He had accepted the object but rejected the transaction, turning her "research grant" into a simple, unconditional gift. He had taken her weapon and disarmed it.
Anya was speechless. Her brilliant, logical mind, so adept at equations and Aetheric dynamics, struggled to process this completely irrational, human maneuver. He had accepted the payment but refused to provide the service, an act of such audacious, illogical confidence that it bordered on madness. It was another impossible data point.
"You… that is not how this works," she finally stammered, her composure cracking for the first time.
"It is how it works now," Ren said simply. He gave her a slight, almost imperceptible nod. "Thank you for the gift."
He closed the door, leaving Anya Volkov standing alone in the corridor, her perfect logical cage shattered, holding nothing but a new, more confounding piece of the puzzle that was Ren. Inside his room, Ren looked at the box in his hand. It was a problem. A Grade-4 Spirit Core was too valuable to simply possess. If found, it would raise questions he couldn't answer.
He couldn't use it. He couldn't keep it. He couldn't return it.
He walked over to his small, rickety desk. He opened the box. The Tempest Wolf core within pulsed with a soft, stormy light. With a quiet, pragmatic resolve, he placed his palm over it. He extended a fine, resonant blade of will into its heart and, with a single, silent pulse, shattered its internal matrix. The light died. The Aether dissipated into the air. The priceless treasure became a pretty, useless rock.
He had accepted the gift, and then he had erased it. It was the cleanest solution. The first piece of Anya's puzzle was now a handful of dust.