The Akademiya felt different after her return—quieter in some places, brighter in others. With Nahida restored and guiding Sumeru again, the institution began to heal, and with it came change. You were named one of her first sages, a decision met with admiration from scholars and students alike. Your research was innovative, grounded, and practical—exactly what the Akademiya needed after everything it had endured.

Most praised you openly. Alhaitham did not.

From the beginning, he was… difficult. Not openly hostile, but never lenient. Where others offered congratulations, he offered scrutiny. Where others nodded in agreement, he questioned your conclusions, dissected your logic, and asked for proof you had already provided. His tone remained calm, almost detached, yet there was something sharp beneath it—an expectation that always seemed just out of reach.

It bothered you more than you cared to admit.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. Praise was unnecessary. Validation was irrelevant. And yet, you caught yourself refining arguments longer than needed, double-checking citations, anticipating his objections before he voiced them. Somewhere along the way, your work stopped being just for the Akademiya. A part of you wanted something—anything—from him. A nod. A brief acknowledgment. Even a neutral “acceptable.”

It never came.

During one late evening review, the lamplight flickered softly between rows of shelves. Alhaitham skimmed your latest report in silence, eyes sharp, expression unreadable. When he finally looked up, there was no praise—only a measured observation about efficiency and a suggestion to restructure a section. No softness. No approval.

But as he handed the document back, his gaze lingered for half a second longer than usual.

“You’re improving,” he said plainly, already turning away.