Solflare: The Painter's Secret-Chapter 48: Marked as a Target

"...sparring with a rat, can you believe it?"

"A Dusthollow rat, no less! Should’ve stuck with Kang T."

"Guess she likes them desperate..."

Zoe slammed the door shut, sealing Leon inside with the echo of their scorn.

Leon stood there, breathing heavily, the stink of the rotten apple still on his palm. He closed his eyes, exhaled deeply.

He walked to the bathroom, stripped off the filthy hoodie, and stepped under the shower sprayer.

He didn’t turn it on. He just stood there, letting the cold silence press down on him.

"How did she cast it on a video?" He squeezed his eyes, thought of all other possible ways. He shook his head when the faces of the guys that walked in the field reeled in his mind.

A bone-cracking sound erupted around him, his jaw tightening.

After a minute, Leon swung the shower lever to the left. "Oouch..." then to the right.

Evaporated air gushed out as the cold water replaced the feeling the hot one brought.

He washed the sweat, grime, and the sticky juice away. He scrubbed the blue sponge harder until his skin was raw.

Click... snap...

The water stopped abruptly as he turned the lever.

Drip... drop...

Beads of water fell from his foot as he walked out of the shower. He walked lazily to the steamy mirror.

A stranger with hard, brown eyes and wet, jet-black hair stared back.

Tiny golden electric sparks flickered deep within his irises as Vera’s smirking face flashed in his mind.

He blinked, once, twice. Then, the spark vanished.

For a split second, a faint, Y-shaped mark shimmered like a brand in the steam on his forehead. He wiped his brow with the back of his left hand, and it vanished.

’This mark again?’ A smile tore on his lips.

He turned, grabbed a blue towel from the rack, leaving the white one Zoe had used, then wrapped it around his waist.

When he opened the bathroom door, Zoe was right there, leaning against the opposite wall.

A soft chuckle escaped her as she jumped. Then, her gaze dropped, taking in the towel slung low on his hips.

Her laugh died in her throat when her eyes flickered to his chest, where the beads of water were.

A faint, genuine pink flushed her cheeks as her eyes snapped back up to his.

Leon’s own face heated. "What’s the time?"

He brushed past her, swinging his left arm at his side, while the right held the top of the towel, where it had been tied.

"14:50." Zoe’s voice came in low.

"14:50?!" His face shimmered with shock. ’I have only ten minutes to reach there.’ He blinked.

His gaze scanned around, searching for his damp clothes.

"Your clothes," Zoe said, her voice echoing in a strained tone. She pointed a finger at the lower drawer of the wardrobe without looking at him. "They kept your kit in there."

Leon dashed closer. "It’s stuck." He wrestled with it for five minutes before it gave way.

Screeeech...

Inside was a neatly folded set of standard-issued black training gear.

He pulled them out, dressed in a frantic, clumsy hurry. His belt was crooked. One shoelace was tied in a haphazard knot, the other trailing. He didn’t have time to fix it.

Leon burst out of the room without a word.

"See him," Zoe’s voice traced to him as he stopped at the front of the door.

The hallway became a tunnel of eyes and suppressed laughter. He felt their stares on his crooked belt, his mismatched shoes.

The video had painted a target on his back, and now every flaw was magnified.

In the elevator. In the main lobby. He was a storm of sweat and disarray rushing through the polished platforms of the academy.

Cold air flew across his face, but he felt it hot. Following the map on the datapad was like swimming in the ocean without a compass.

The proctor’s building loomed ahead, a severe structure of wine-colored stone.

Dust swelled up when he stopped at the base, where thick fruit-bearing trees were.

At his front stood Mr. Lee. His eyes raked over Leon—the sweat, the crooked uniform, and the untied lace.

He didn’t ask for an explanation. He didn’t applaud the completed task. He simply looked at his own wristwatch, then back to Leon.

"What’s the time?" Mr. Lee’s voice came in like a blade of absolute zero.

Mr. Lee turned without waiting for an answer and opened the black twelve-foot door he stood beside.

Entering the room was like stepping into a lion’s den. The walls weren’t just walls.

They were galleries of stern, life-sized portraits of past Head Proctors and decorated military figures.

As Leon passed, their painted eyes seemed to flare, tracking his movements. It felt less like a corridor and more like a gauntlet of ghosts.

A deep weight slammed onto Leon’s shoulder—Mr. Lee’s hand.

"Hurry up!" It didn’t sound like a comforting tone, but a command.

The soles of Leon’s mismatched boots made no sound on the thick, obsidian carpet.

After what felt like ten minutes of pressurized walking, they halted.

Before them was an unmarked door of dark, polished wood.

Mr. Lee opened it. A silver clinical light cut into the dim hallway.

"Enter," Mr. Lee’s voice sounded in a tone that was undiluted.

Three people stood at the side of the room when Leon entered, their backs turned to him.

The walls at their backs were lined with data-screens scrolling with biometric feeds and combat analytics.

Images flared to the screen, but Leon’s ears were already tingling with the whispers.

"Lieutenant... are you sure he’s the same boy that was sent to the hospital seven months ago?"

"Yeah. Look at his face," the other proctor, a man with a scar across his chin, said. "Why do you see him differently?"

The female proctor turned. Her eyes scanned Leon up and down with clinical detachment.

She leaned closer to her colleague, her voice dropping to a hiss.

"Nah. But per what I heard about the catastrophic event that happened at WinJi Hospital... the energy signature was off the charts."