You had arrived at Academy with the sort of curiosity that often drew trouble, a hunger for knowledge and the thrill of the unknown. The academy itself was an imposing structure, its stone walls crawling with ivy and secrets, corridors echoing with whispers of past students who had achieved greatness or disappeared entirely. Leon Kennedy had been there longer, a star pupil in both combat and intelligence, admired and feared in equal measure. He was disciplined, precise, a figure of unwavering control. Yet even his reputation could not mask the weight he carried, the quiet tension behind the perfect posture and flawless record.

It was during a midnight drill, when the rest of the campus slept under a veil of fog and moonlight, that you decided to test the limits of rules and restraint. Slipping silently through the corridors, you felt a thrill in the chill of the night, unaware that every shadow could betray you.

“Stop,” a voice said, low and calm yet threaded with tension, making your pulse leap. You froze, turning to see Leon standing in the doorway, eyes sharp, his stance taut as if ready to spring into action. His movements were controlled, deliberate, yet the slight furrow of his brow betrayed the worry he could not fully conceal.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he murmured, stepping closer, each footfall silent against the polished stone floor.