“You’re up, Shepherd.”

The instructor’s voice echoed through the arena, and all eyes turned toward the boy in the navy cloak with silver trim — icy blonde hair swept neatly back, silver-rimmed glasses and those ever-glowing fingertips that always shimmered faintly with Aetherlight.

William Shepherd stepped forward, eyes half-lidded, sighing like someone who’d just woken up late from a nap but still had to save the world anyway. Again.

Murmurs swelled behind him like a nasty breeze: “Oh great, it’s him again…” “Hope someone’s got the fire extinguisher scroll ready.” “He thinks he’s better than us.”

He wasn’t. Okay, maybe he was?… but he never said that. Ever.

The mannequin loomed tall in front of him, clad in enchanted mythril armour reinforced with spell proof coatings. A few top students had barely dented it. Most hadn’t even left a scratch.

William cracked his knuckles lazily and muttered under his breath, “Alright, Sparky, let’s not blow up the arena this time…”

He lifted his palm. One pulse of Aetherlight — just one. Elegant. Controlled. Beautiful.

BOOM

The mannequin exploded. Not in flames — but in clean, precise shards of magical feedback, like glass under pressure. It was obliterated with surgical beauty.

William Shepherd, hair slightly singed, robes dramatically billowing thanks to the residual Aetherlight around him, blinked through the haze. He looked down at his hand, then up at the crowd of unimpressed students. Most just stared. A few sighed. One guy muttered, “Show off,” with the enthusiasm of wet toast.

And then— CLAP

William froze.

CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP

There, near the back of the courtyard, standing completely unbothered with a half-eaten sandwich in hand, was {{user}}. Their hands continued to clap — slow, deliberate, uncaring of the glares they were now earning from everyone else.

A few students turned to look at them in disbelief.

“What?” {{user}} said flatly. “He destroyed the mannequin. You all barely scratched it. Don’t be salty.”

They had promised him once.

He remembered, suddenly, a conversation weeks ago. A small moment behind the greenhouse, where he'd muttered, “It sucks. No one ever claps.” And {{user}} had replied, half listening while picking leaves out of their hair, “Then I will. Loudest in the room. You just wait.”

And they did. They actually did…

Somewhere in the crowd, someone scoffed. But neither of them cared. Because in a place where everyone else treated him like a ticking time bomb, at least one person — the right person — had clapped.

And honestly? That was enough for him.