The stranger frowned, clearly thrown by Rian's lack of reaction.
"That's it?" he growled, straightening with a sharp jerk that cracked his shoulder joints. "I expected more from you—you don't look like much." His voice notched up, fishing for a rise, and he stepped closer.
Rian tilted his head, blue eyes locked on the guy as he took another spoonful of soup and swallowed slow.
"It's good," he murmured, more to himself than as a reply, dipping a chunk of bread into the broth before popping it in his mouth. He chewed calmly, not breaking eye contact with the tough guy, whose fists were now clenched at his sides.
"What? You ignoring me?"
The kid let out a dry, disbelieving laugh and leaned in again, rapping the table with his knuckles this time. The water glass wobbled, spilling a few drops onto the wood.
"Thought someone who beat a professor would have more spine, but guess you just got lucky, huh?" His tone climbed louder, ringing through the cafeteria, and heads turned from nearby tables, murmurs fading bit by bit.
"Wait, Carla… isn't that…?" one whispered.
"They gonna fight?" another piped up.
"So that's really Rian?"
Rian blinked again, scratching his neck with one hand while holding the spoon with the other.
"Dunno," he said, voice flat but fearless, more focused on savoring his meal. He took another slurp of soup, the soft sound seeming to rile the guy up even more.
Students around them started whispering, some leaning forward with curiosity, others covering their mouths to stifle giggles.
"Who's throwing the first punch?"
"I bet Rian takes him out in one hit."
"You kidding? This guy's…"
The stranger narrowed his eyes, face reddening with frustration.
"Listen, punk!" he shouted, loud enough for the whole cafeteria to hear. "I'm gonna—" But before he could finish, a bigger figure loomed beside him, cutting through the air with firm, heavy steps.
"Hold up," a deep, steady voice said.
It was Toren Vahl, his short black hair a mess, broad shoulders straining his blue uniform.
He held a tray piled with food—roast meat and potatoes wafting a spicy scent—and his brown eyes carried a no-nonsense glint.
Toren planted himself between Rian and the stranger, his height and bulk making the other guy step back on instinct.
The kid scowled, fists tightening harder.
"And who're you?" he snarled, though his voice wobbled at the end, undercutting his bravado.
Toren tilted his head, one brow raised as he sized him up.
"Toren," he said, short and sharp, setting his tray on the table with a gentle but solid thunk. "And you? What's your name, huh?"
Toren's tone was calm, almost chummy, but his presence made the tough guy swallow hard again.
"Garrick," the kid spat finally, crossing his arms like he was clawing back some ground. "Get outta the way. This is with him."
He jabbed a shaky finger at Rian, but his eyes kept flicking to Toren, gauging his size.
Rian, meanwhile, kept eating, dunking another piece of bread in his soup with a calm that bordered on ridiculous.
He didn't say a word, just watched, blue eyes shifting between them like he was at a play.
Toren let out a low chuckle, a rumble deep in his chest.
"With him? For what? You wanna fight him or just make noise?"
He crossed his arms, mirroring Garrick's stance but with a weight that dwarfed him.
"What year you in, Garrick?"
Garrick pursed his lips, hesitating a beat before answering.
"Third," he said finally, lifting his chin like it gave him clout. But the cafeteria's murmurs swelled, students' stares pinning him like needles.
"What? A third-year here? Don't they spend all their time out on missions?"
"Probably on his break period…"
"Why's a third-year picking a fight with Rian?"
"Third-year? Cool," Toren said, nodding slow. "And your rank? What's that?" His tone stayed casual, but it felt like a jab.
Garrick gritted his teeth, face flushing again.
"Doesn't matter," he growled, taking a step back without realizing it. Sweat gleamed on his forehead, hands trembling faintly.
Toren tilted his head, letting out another chuckle that echoed in the tense silence.
"Doesn't matter? What's wrong, too embarrassed to say it in front of everybody?"
He swept a hand wide, taking in the students now gawking openly, some whispering behind stifled laughs.
"I'm Rank C, so what?!" Garrick burst out at last, voice cracking under the strain.
The cafeteria erupted in murmurs, some kids letting out low laughs while others covered their mouths, stunned.
"He's just Rank C? This is a no-brainer," one muttered.
"But he's been here a while—gotta know something, right?" another countered.
"My money's on Rian."
Garrick, hearing the crowd turn on him, rushed out:
"Don't get cocky just 'cause you're S-Rank off the bat! Evaluations'll knock you down!" He pointed at Toren, then Rian, finger quivering in the air.
Toren smirked, a slight but sharp curve.
"Wow, you're real worked up over that," he said, voice smooth. "Speaking from experience? How many times they drop you, huh?"
Toren's words landed like bricks, and the cafeteria filled with muffled giggles and louder whispers.
Garrick's mouth opened, but nothing came out. His dark eyes darted around, catching the smirks and mocking stares.
"Tch," he gritted his teeth, stepping back with a jerk. "Not wasting more time on you losers," he snarled, spinning on his heels. He stormed off, nearly tripping over a chair, the echo of laughter chasing him to the door.
The cafeteria settled back into its usual hum, though eyes kept flicking toward Rian and Toren.
Rian finished his spoonful of soup, swallowing calmly before looking up at Toren.
"Thanks," he said, plain and simple, scratching his cheek with one hand.
Toren let out a low grunt—more a sound of approval than a word—and nodded at the chair across from Rian.
"Can I sit?" he asked, balancing his tray in one hand while waiting.
Rian blinked, nodding slow.
"Sure," he said, nudging his tray aside to make room.