The noise signaling the grace period before class faded swiftly, swept away by an organized silence that settled like a shroud over the auditorium. Within this hush, the rhythmic tapping of a cane echoed, each deliberate step resonating through the hall and signaling the commencement of the demonology lecture.

The professor—Garen Henry Orkal, the esteemed father of demonology—paced across the stage with a stern expression etched upon his weathered face. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, scanned the sea of students before him.

"As you are all aware," he began, his voice slicing through the silence, "you were supposed to submit your demonology reports before today's class. For most of you, this venture was successful. It is you whom I applaud." Resting his cane against the lectern, he brought his hands together in a measured clap.

Others joined in, and soon the entire auditorium rumbled, erupting into a sea of cheers and congratulations. The sound swelled, enveloping the room like a rising tide.

"Yet there are some," the professor continued, his tone immediately quelling the rowdy crowd, "who, for one reason or another, have failed to submit their assignments. Do not fret, however; not all is lost. You still have time until the start of next week. But if I do not receive your work by then, know that I will be forced to fail you, and that is something I truly wish to avoid." Leaning on the lectern, his gaze swept over the students, examining each one with gallant scrutiny.

"But enough of that," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "Let's cease discussing what you didn't do and focus on what you did." He cleared his throat, the sound reverberating softly. "You were tasked to conduct research using every available source to uncover the truth—the truth about demonic creatures. I wanted you to read between the lines, to solve these beings like riddles, speculating on their habits, traits, weaknesses, and strengths. And among all of you, a single soul shone brighter than I ever expected."

Retrieving his walking stick, the professor stepped closer to the edge of the stage, his presence commanding undivided attention.

"Do you know the defining difference between dragons and drakonians?" he asked, his eyes glinting with a hint of challenge. "This was a question I posed to all of you many months ago at the start of our lectures. I'm sure most of you can answer it now without issue. But back then, it sparked an intriguing debate between two students—a debate about which creature is harder to hunt. At the time, I stated that dragons are more difficult due to their intelligence. Yet I deliberately omitted something, hoping one of you would read between the lines."

Garen held up a printed report, the pages rustling faintly. "And so this student wrote:

'The core of the dragon is not what we expect. These creatures are undoubtedly powerful and intelligent, but that is not all they possess. In their nature, they are closer to demons and angels than any other demonic beast. As such, I propose they possess certain angelic or demonic traits. Firstly, I surmise they have the ability to speak, converse, and write, based on archaeological findings of ancient Babylonian texts near their lairs. Secondly, I believe they can transform—perhaps into humanoid forms—given their abilities and sensitivity to mana. Thirdly, they likely can control mana irrespective of element and have a natural immunity to magic. Lastly, I theorize these creatures can manifest something akin to a soul, inferred from the structures of their hearts.'

"Wonderful, simply wonderful!" Garen exclaimed, raising his hands. "Let me say this: from all the data I currently possess—most of which is classified," he added with a sly smirk, "everything this student wrote is correct." A warm smile spread across his face. "And to my even greater surprise, this came from a student who missed most of my classes. Now, please, stand up, young man. I wish for you to bask in this glory just this once!"

Not a single soul moved. Over 150 students glanced around, twisting their necks to catch a glimpse of the remarkable scholar. Finally, one person stood up.

"Good to see you, Zeke!" Garen exclaimed, tossing his cane aside. He clapped his hands together with fervent enthusiasm, igniting the auditorium into another round of thunderous applause.

Zeke stood motionless, disbelief washing over him like a tidal wave. "Is this real?" he wondered. His heart quivered as the roaring applause swelled around him, filling the air with electric energy. A single tear traced a path down his cheek—a surge of longing and validation he could no longer suppress.

As the applause subsided, the class resumed. The professor meticulously reviewed the mistakes and nuances of each submitted work. Soon, the lecture concluded, and students began gathering their belongings, gratitude evident on their faces. Yet amidst them, a single student remained seated, his expression dark, knuckles white as he clenched his fist.

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"Excuse me, professor!" Fredric stood up. "I'm a student who recently transferred in; I have some questions regarding the final project."

The professor's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "Yes, sure," he mumbled, momentarily off-guard. "Zeke, you stay too, okay?" he added upon noticing Zeke seated beside Fredric.

Shortly, the auditorium emptied, silence settling once again like a heavy cloak.

"Hi, Garen. How have you been?" Fredric asked, approaching the professor with a warm smile.

"Fine. I've been fine," Garen mumbled, his gaze shifting away. "And you?"

"Better than ever," Fredric replied, leaning casually on the lectern.

"Wait—you two know each other?" Zeke asked, confusion etching his features.

"Remember that brother I told you about?" Fredric said, a sly smile playing on his lips.

"You're related?!" Zeke exclaimed, shock evident in his voice.

"Not by blood," Garen grunted curtly.

"You remember my last name?" Fredric prompted.

"Lacro, as I recall," Zeke responded.

"Remember Garen's?" Fredric smirked.

"Orkal," Zeke murmured, his eyes widening as realization dawned. "Oh, shit!" He covered his mouth.

"Quite clever, isn't it? This way, nothing I ever do will affect him, and vice versa," Fredric said, crossing his arms.

"Why are you here?" Garen asked, anger flashing in his eyes.

"Now? Just to say hi," Fredric replied, standing up and turning to leave.

"Don't trust him," Garen warned Zeke, his expression stern. "He's definitely up to no good."

"Yeah, I'll be careful," Zeke mumbled, chasing after Fredric.

As they exited the classroom, before Zeke could utter a word, they were intercepted by a familiar figure—a boy who had once tormented him.

"Hello, Chicken. Been a while," Ian smirked, flanked by Caleb, Michel, and Josh.

Zeke fixed them with a cold, emotionless stare.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me that," he replied, turning to face the group, while Fredric's smile grew ever wider.

Ian stepped closer, attempting to stare Zeke down—a futile effort at intimidation. "You think you're all tough now?" he sneered.

Zeke regarded him calmly, noting the stark difference in their statures. "Were you always this small?" he asked with a slight smirk.

"Bathroom. Now!" Ian barked, his face inches from Zeke's.

"Stop!" Keith shouted, stepping forward to intervene.

"Move away, Keith!" Ian growled.

"It's fine," Fredric said with a smile.

"It's you again," Keith remarked, recognizing Fredric.

"I'm coming along!" Fredric chimed in cheerfully.

Josh lunged at Fredric. "Are you dumb or something?" he snarled, getting in his face.

"Yeah," Fredric replied nonchalantly.

"Careful, Josh, he's a contractor," Caleb cautioned.

"Doesn't matter. He's one of Chicken's friends, so he's probably barely able to do anything," Josh scoffed, laughing irritatingly.

The group proceeded to the bathroom, entering with a menacing air. The delinquents banged on the stalls, kicking out anyone inside. Tiles gleamed coldly under the fluorescent lights, the scent of bleach mingling with a hint of apprehension.

As soon as Fredric stepped inside, Josh delivered a punch to his stomach, causing Fredric to double over. "Not so tough now, are you?" Josh sneered, grabbing Fredric's hair and yanking it.

But Fredric just kept smiling, an unsettling grin that made Josh hesitate.

"Hold that idiot so he doesn't do anything stupid," Ian ordered. Caleb and Michel seized Fredric, locking his arms tightly behind his back.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Zeke asked calmly, echoing a question from long ago.

"Because you're a piece of filth who doesn't deserve praise," Ian spat. "I told you before—the world has no need for people like you, so afraid of hurting others you'd rather get hurt yourself. You should just quit, Chicken."

"So if I play by your rules and win, will I be strong then?" Zeke asked, a faint smile on his lips.

"Like that would ever happen," Ian scoffed, extending his hand. A small flame ignited in his palm, swirling around his fingers—a dangerous dance of fire.

He moved in close, aiming to strike Zeke's shoulder.

In a flash, Zeke moved—grabbing Ian's shoulder and effortlessly squeezing until a sickening crack echoed through the tiled room. He looked at Ian with an odd pity.

Ian stared up, terror etched across his face. A surge of emotion filled his heart like a raging wildfire, his legs trembling uncontrollably.

"Please, let's end this. I don't want to humiliate you any further," Zeke sighed, turning to walk away.

Meanwhile, Fredric effortlessly slammed the two boys holding him to the ground, their bodies hitting the floor with a dull thud.

"If you try something like this again," Zeke said calmly as he left the bathroom, "I'll castrate you until you can no longer grow your dicks back."

Keith paced anxiously in the corridor, awaiting the conflict's end. His eyes widened in surprise as Zeke and Fredric emerged, completely unharmed.

"What happened?" he exclaimed, rushing into the bathroom. He found the thugs groaning on the floor, writhing in pain, while Ian sat motionless, collapsed onto his knees, clutching his injured hand.

"Nothing," Ian growled, his expression twisted into a furious scowl.

Outside, the hallway stretched ahead, the murmurs of distant conversations filling the air. Zeke and Fredric walked side by side, the tension slowly dissipating. Yet, beneath the surface, a new unease began to stir—a whisper of unfinished business, lingering like a shadow in the fading light.

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