Alex staggered back onto his feet, his chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. He wiped the thin trail of blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, the metallic tang still thick on his tongue. His eyes, sharp and defiant, flicked briefly to the shadow lingering at the edge of his consciousness. "Arthur," he whispered hoarsely, his voice low enough so only the presence within him could hear. "Help me get out of here." The reply came, cool and taunting, echoing in his mind like a hiss curling around his ear. "If you had said you wanted to kill," Arthur drawled, his tone carrying an almost amused malice, "then I wouldn't hesitate to lend you some of my power. But since you only want to run, to escape like a frightened rat? That isn't something I'm interested in." Alex clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together in frustration. His body still ached from the previous clashes, and the Dean stood in front of him, an immovable wall of authority and strength. Withou

"Then… do you know whose soul it is?" Alex asked, his voice low but firm, though his chest tightened with unease. The young man sighed as if the question were a burden and slid his glasses back over his unsettling eyes. "I don't," he said simply. Relief washed over Alex like a cool breeze. He exhaled heavily, though he tried to mask it with a faint smirk. "Then your ability isn't all that great after all," he said, forcing confidence into his voice. "If there's nothing else, I'll like to take my leave. My friends are waiting." Without giving the man a chance to respond, Alex turned sharply and walked out of the office. He could feel the man's gaze boring into his back until the heavy door closed behind him. Outside, Kelvin and Raphael were waiting, both wearing anxious looks. Kelvin stepped forward the instant Alex appeared. "What did he say to you?" he pressed. "Nothing out of the ordinary," Alex replied too quickly. His tone was flat, meant to close the subject, though a fai

After settling into his room, Alex showered and changed into the dark uniform provided by the school. The clothes felt stiff against his skin, like armor, though he knew they couldn't protect him from what this place demanded. He decided to walk, to breathe, to make sense of his new environment. His steps carried him toward the round building he had seen earlier: the practice hall. Inside, the air was thick with the sound of steel clashing, feet pounding, and voices barking corrections. Second-year students trained in small groups, blades flashing under the dim torchlight. But the instant Alex stepped in, movement ceased. One by one, heads turned. Eyes bored into him with suspicion, hostility… hatred. Even Klein stopped mid-swing, lowering his sword to watch Alex. 'Why are they staring? Am I not supposed to be here?' Alex wondered, heat prickling at the back of his neck. "Is that one of the first-years?" a girl's voice cut through the silence. "You don't need to be told," anothe

Klein hadn't been prepared for the way Betty slowly unwrapped herself, as though she knew every step of the unveiling would break down his defenses. First the shirt—each button undone with a languid flick of her fingers, her smile hovering somewhere between innocence and provocation. When the fabric slid off her shoulders and dropped to the floor, her breasts swung free, heavy and firm, the nipples already taut like ripe cherries begging to be tasted. His throat tightened with a loud gulp he couldn't hide, and he instinctively leaned back, as though distance could soften the shock. She only rewarded his retreat with a syrupy smile, lowering her hands toward the waistband of her skirt. The button popped open, the zipper slid down, and she pushed the garment past her hips with a teasing roll, showing off the curve of her mound barely contained in a whisper of pink fabric. His eyes tracked every inch of bare skin revealed. And then, without hesitation, she hooked her thumbs into the thi