Summoned as an SSS-Rank Hero… with My Stepmom and Stepsisters?!

The café still smelled the same: burnt beans and warm dust. Except today, it wasn't a quiet corner anymore. It was a social battlefield.

My table… the one that had once been almost mine in silence, was overflowing. Cups, files, training gloves, laughter as loud as punches.

The Azure Pact had settled there like a colony of conquerors.

To my right, Miyu burst out laughing, unable to finish her story, her cheeks pink. She gestured wildly, nearly spilled her cup, and Hikari — poised, impassive — caught it with one hand before the liquid could touch the table.

Hikari simply sighed, her clear gaze barely hiding a trace of affectionate exasperation.

— Still as clumsy as ever, she murmured.

— Still as cold, Miyu shot back, sulking.

Their bickering set off another burst of collective laughter.

Reina, sitting across from me, lifted her eyes from her notes, looking like a headmistress surrounded by hyperactive children.

— You do realize the café isn't going to pay us for cleaning hours, right?

Her tone was dry, but her lips betrayed a discreet smile.

— Too late, I said, pointing at the table. It's already a wasteland.

Beside her, Sylvara was sipping her drink without a word. It wasn't coffee — she claimed bitterness led only to arrogance. Her cup of hot chocolate steamed softly, and she held it like a weapon or an offering, every gesture measured, calm, ritualized. Even while drinking, she seemed to command the entire room.

— At least, she said, your humans know how to appreciate simple things. Where we're from, a hot drink is rarely shared — it's a symbol, not a habit.

— Then enjoy it, Captain, I replied with a smile. You've earned a truce… or two.

She lifted her eyes, a golden gleam crossing her pupils.

— A truce? she murmured. You call this a truce?

I shrugged.

— As long as none of us tries to kill the other before the second cup, yes, I call it a truce.

She gave that rare half-smile — the kind that made you think she was about to strangle me or applaud me; I never knew which.

Kaelthys, seated next to her, let out a quiet laugh — a clear, almost metallic sound, like an echo on a polished blade.

Talyra, leaning lazily against the back of her chair, stirred her spoon in a slow, precise motion, eyes half narrowed.

— You talk about truces and victories… she sighed. You forget you're still in an academy, not on a battlefield.

- Academy or war… I breathed with a shrug. Honestly, I no longer know which one is more exhausting.

A ripple of laughter ran across the table, mingling with the clink of cups and the scent of cocoa. And for the first time in a long while, I felt like even dragons knew what it meant to share a human moment.

Everyone laughed, even the cold ones.

Then, a little farther down, the six new faces — our human recruits — had slipped in among the old draconic heroes as if they'd always been there.

Lyss was already jotting something down in a notebook full of explosive diagrams.

Erius, stiff as a board, watched Sylvara's every move, no doubt analyzing the set of her back for a strategic weakness.

Kairen was telling a desert anecdote with the tone of a seasoned mercenary, while Luno punctuated his lines with double-entendre jokes that made Hikari roll her eyes.

Naël, for his part, stayed silent, slowly chewing bread as hard as a block of iron.

And Rynelle, of course — the quiet shadow — wrote down every word in her corner, back straight, golden gaze unmoving.

A warm buzz filled the room. Other tables watched from afar, caught between jealousy and fascination. We were no longer a curiosity, nor even an anomaly: we had become the heart of this Academy.

I took a sip of my coffee. Still as bitter, still as burning.

— Funny, I said to no one in particular. A few days ago, I drank my coffee alone. Now I need military clearance to find a free chair.

Miyu stuck out her tongue at me.

— That's the price of success, boss.

— Boss, huh… Somehow it still sounds wrong coming from you.

— That's why I say it, she replied with a smile.

Reina raised an amused eyebrow.

— At least we're not alone anymore. That's progress.

I looked at her.

In that instant, I realized just how much everything had changed.

This club had been enough to turn an idea into a family. A crooked, noisy, but solid family.

I set my cup down and watched the group.

Kaelthys was discussing runes with Lyss; Talyra was provoking Kairen into a verbal duel; Sylvara was talking with Naël about the fusion of mana and metal. And me, in the middle of it all, I just wanted to breathe for a moment, to etch this scene into myself. Because this was the real miracle. Not magic. Not power. But the fact that races, peoples, and impossible egos could laugh around the same table.

And that was only the beginning. As the weeks went by, the Azure Pact took root throughout the Academy.

The weeks that followed passed in a kind of trance.

No more quiet coffee, no more calm evenings. Just the infernal cadence of a mechanism we'd set in motion and could no longer stop.

Every day was the same: more sweat, more mana, fewer hours of sleep. The stone walls seemed to vibrate with our breathing. Mana became our oxygen, our poison, and our fuel all at once.

I spent my mornings teaching, my afternoons getting hit, and my nights meditating until I felt my skull split. The Second Movement of the Crimson Art still resisted me. I almost had it, sometimes — the perfect sensation, the resonance between blood and blade — then everything collapsed, as if my own body refused to keep time.

The first time, I almost broke my wrist. The second, I nearly left an arm there. But the third… the third time, the spear vibrated. Just for an instant. And that tiny instant, that tremor of living metal, was worth every failure in the world.

Around me, the Azure Pact was being forged at the same pace.

Reina had turned chaos into method: schedules, rotations, analysis boards.

Sylvara, for her part, had taken on the role of natural instructor. Students of every race followed her with their eyes the way one follows a flame. Her presence imposed respect — no shouting, no blows, just that disciplined coldness that made even the most arrogant bend.

Sometimes I saw her correct a gesture with a simple movement of the hand, or set a weapon back on a student's shoulder without a word. And the student, frozen, understood at once.

Kaelthys trained the advanced magic units, Talyra oversaw the duels, and I… ran from one group to another, trying to keep up with the pace we ourselves had set.

We no longer lived at the Academy.

We kept it running, at least a part of it.

Garrum, meanwhile, remained absent.

At first, they said he was injured. Then that his mana had gone out of tune.

Very quickly, the word "illness" started to circulate.

Sylvara didn't talk about it, but I saw her gaze harden every time someone said his name. There was a shadow in her eyes — a mix of worry and contained anger. And that shadow, I knew it too well to mistake it for fatigue.

Despite everything, progress was there.

Humans held their own against dragonids in training. The elves were beginning to admit coordination wasn't some ridiculous human concept. And the dwarves… well, the dwarves still grumbled, but they forged for us.

That was already a victory.

The Pact was taking root, literally.

Flags with our emblem began to appear in the corridors. Rumors turned into hallway legends.

They whispered that "the human with the eye patch" had founded a new school of combat, that Sylvara of Azure was teaching humans, that even the Headmistress was watching us.

One evening, as I finished meditating, Reina came in with that characteristic expression — the kind of face that announces a normal day has just died.

— You heard? she asked simply.

— No. And I'm afraid to ask.

She tossed me a hastily scribbled sheet.

I unfolded it.

Official announcement: General Convocation – All clubs. Order of the Headmistress.

My stomach clenched before I even understood why.

The Academy's great hall was packed to the brim. Hundreds of students, banners hanging, murmurs everywhere. The torches threw dancing shadows on the walls, as if even the fire were holding its breath. Then the Headmistress entered.

Sahr'Veyra.

Her step made the slabs vibrate; her gaze, on its own, extinguished conversations. She crossed the hall like a sentence, straight, silent, sovereign.

Reaching the center of the runic circle, she raised her hand, and silence fell — heavy, absolute.

— A new phase of evaluation begins, she declared in a voice clear and sharp.

Her voice didn't need an echo: it created one.

— This time, there will be no grades or theory. You will measure yourselves against each other, directly.

She paused.

— A war of clubs.

A breath swept through the hall.

You could have taken it for a joke, but the Headmistress's eyes weren't smiling.

— This trial will take place at the end of the year, she went on. Consider it preparation for the battles to come.

Each club will have the coming months to organize, recruit, and train.

The exact terms of the war will be communicated before the official launch.

She paused slightly, letting her words sink in.

— Until then, show me what you're worth. Build your alliances, or your fortresses. In the end, only one will remain.

The collective murmur turned into a rumble of unease.

Students traded looks, already sizing each other up.

The Headmistress resumed, without changing tone:

— Each club will receive an assigned mentor.

The whispers intensified, a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Then she slowly turned her head toward us.

— And for the Azure Pact… that mentor will be me.

The silence that followed was so deep you could hear the torches crackle. Reina stiffened to my left, Sylvara slowly crossed her arms, straight as a blade. As for me… I stayed still, my heart pounding far too hard for a simple speech.

The Headmistress. In person. This wasn't a favor. It wasn't even an honor. It was a signal.

I felt it immediately: she had just placed us at the center of the crosshairs. In front of everyone. She could have announced it in private, in a closed meeting. But no. She said it here, under every gaze, every rival, every tongue ready to spread the news. She had just painted a target on our backs. And I knew why. Sahr'Veyra didn't just want to observe our progress — she wanted to test us.

A shiver ran through me.

She lowered her hand, turned on her heel, and left the hall in a rustle of scales and silk.

The uproar broke out at once.

Some clubs cheered, others protested, many were already trading looks of alliance. We stayed still, like a unit caught in the middle of a firing range. I could almost feel the weight of the stares on us, curiosity mixed with hate.

I drew a slow breath.

No prophecy was needed to understand what had just been set in motion: the Headmistress had loosed the hunt.

To my left, Reina was already taking notes again, lips tight. Sylvara kept her eyes fixed on the door where Sahr'Veyra had vanished. I looked at our hands on the railing, trembling with tension, and felt something harden inside me.

She wants to see how far we can hold? Fine. We'll hold.

That day, the Azure Pact stopped being a rumor in the corridors. It became a threat. A name spoken with caution, like a fire you watch burn without daring to approach.

From there, everything sped up.

The days that followed felt like a contained hurricane.

An organized disorder, a chaos we called progress for lack of a better word.

The Azure Pact was no longer a simple club: it had become a city within the city. Entire corridors of the east wing now belonged to us, turned into dormitories, training rooms, and workshops. The forge ran day and night; the library overflowed with books piled any which way; the kitchens looked like battlefields. Hundreds of humans already lived there. Too many to count, too loud to ignore.

And slowly, the other races began to cross our threshold. A dwarf first, curious about our methods. Then two elves who said they were "observing" before staying for good.

We aimed high, and everyone knew it. The War of Clubs would take place at the end of the year, and each new recruit came looking for their place on the future winning team. It was no longer zeal. It was faith.

Reina had taken command without anyone contesting it.

Her organization was military: ledgers, guard shifts, study rotations. Every student knew where to stand, what to do, and at what hour to breathe. A single note from her hand was enough to set several people in motion.

In three days, she had carved the Pact into divisions:

Sylvara, responsible for combat and discipline, Hikari, heading medicine and care, Ayame, for magic and runes, Miyu, managing logistics and supplies, Reina, of course, overseeing everything.

As for me, I moved from one group to another, observing, correcting, passing on what I knew, but the machine ran without me.

Weeks followed one another, swallowed by work. The corridors vibrated with a new energy: that of a world preparing for its own revolution. Students of every race came to learn with us: science, strategy, medicine, cooking, craftsmanship…

The Pact no longer trained only fighters, but minds. And without realizing it, it had become a model.

One morning, flying over the courtyard from the terrace, I froze.

Hundreds of students were training together — humans, elves, dwarves, dragonids. Strikes flowed, orders flew, mana danced in the air like a rain of embers.

Sylvara moved between the ranks, straight, imperious, correcting a posture with a word or a look.

Students straightened their backs just from sensing her pass.

Reina, at the top of the stands, observed everything with the cold precision of a general. A student dared to argue an instruction; she silenced him with a simple spell that pinned him to the ground without effort.

No one tried to imitate him.

Rumors were already circulating. They called us the Azure Battalion, the Madmen's Club, the Circle of Heretics. Some admired us in secret, others spat on us. But no one ignored us.

I watched them for a long time. Not with pride, not with arrogance. With that strange distance of those who realize their dream has slipped from their hands. I was no longer the center. I was the witness. The witness to a movement that had outgrown me, to a fire that burned brighter than I did.

Reina told me once:

"A true leader is the one who makes his presence unnecessary."

That day, I understood what she meant. The Pact no longer needed me every instant. But with every laugh, every shout, every spark, I felt something of me beating in their hearts.

I turned on my heel.

Behind me, the clamor of training mingled with laughter, with orders, with life itself.

I raised my eyes to the sky, and for a moment, I thought I saw the golden reflections of mana dancing.

We had started dreaming bigger. Further. And without realizing it, we were shaping an entire generation.

The training hall was empty, bathed in pale light. I sat at the center of the runic circle, as I had hundreds of times. Six months had passed since I arrived at the Academy. And I was no longer the same man.

Mana flowed through me with an almost unsettling precision.

I could see its path — golden filaments, thin as veins, winding beneath my skin before vanishing into the void. Each day, they seemed clearer, more ordered. And yet, with every meditation, the pain returned. Always the same.

Always there.

Under the bandage, my eye throbbed suddenly, violent, unbearable. Heat radiated into my jaw, then a filament of light slipped out, gliding along my cheek before fading into the air.

I breathed slowly, heart pounding too hard.

"I can perceive the flow better… but it devours me a little more each day."

The mana settled, like a sated beast. I stayed there, motionless, breath short, fingers clenched on my leg.

I rose, slowly, my eyes lost in the golden reflections still floating around me. Six months of effort. Six months of physical, mental, and social ascent. And yet, deep down, the same fracture. The same burn.

This world, my wounds, my pain… everything had blended together until it became one. And somewhere in that mix, the man I had been disappeared.