Chapter 383: Red-Tipped Tail

News had spread through the entire academy, and now students and even teachers were swarming in from every direction to watch the spectacle.

What started as a small match had turned into a roaring arena.

The audience had multiplied fivefold, and now they weren’t even watching sides—they were watching Mika.

"Go! Go! Another one!"

"He’s unstoppable!"

"He’s not even trying anymore!"

Cheers and screams filled the air with deafening intensity.

And that wasn’t even the worst part.

The most humiliating aspect of it was the fact that Mika wasn’t even taking them seriously.

He wasn’t fighting to win.

He was toying with them.

Every time Nuri got frustrated about how the humans swarmed around her, she would flap her wings angrily and whine,

"Mikaaa! They’re bullying me again!"

And Mika would sigh and then slam the ball toward whoever was closest to Nuri.

Whack!

The sound would echo like thunder as it smacked right into the unlucky player’s stomach, face, or shoulder.

"AAAHHH!" One of them screamed as the ball knocked him off his feet.

"WHY DOES IT HURT SO MUCH?!" Cried another.

Soon, no one dared to come near Nuri.

The moment someone even looked in her direction, they flinched, remembering the terrifying sound of the ball.

Nuri noticed, grinned, and puffed her chest proudly.

"That’s right! Stay back! You’re all scared of me now!"

And when she pouted saying, "I wanna score too!" Mika would simply gesture for her to stand near the goalpost.

He’d flick the ball across the field, so precisely that it would roll perfectly beneath her feet, and casually,

"Kick."

She would stomp down, and the ball would soar—right into the net.

"Look! I did it!" Nuri cheered, jumping in excitement, her wings flapping. "Mika, I did it!"

And the crowd erupted every time.

"She scored again!"

"How’s that possible?!"

"He’s controlling it for her!"

It was no longer a match.

It was a massacre disguised as playtime.

Mika was literally orchestrating the entire field like a puppeteer, letting Nuri enjoy her game while the humans broke apart piece by piece.

And Astrid, standing on the sidelines, was seething.

Her face remained calm, but her eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes were trembling with fury.

She clenched her fists until her gloves creaked.

Every second of this humiliation stabbed at her pride.

But no one burned hotter than Vander.

When he saw the score—78–0—his blood ran cold.

This was supposed to be his moment.

His time to shine, to impress Astrid, to show off to everyone.

But now his dream of stepping into fame and respect was turning into a nightmare.

Now, all around him, people were taking pictures, laughing, and recording videos. He could hear the whispers.

"That’s Vander’s team?"

"They’re getting destroyed by a support class and a dragon girl who doesn’t even know the rules."

"He’s finished. Totally finished."

"This’ll go down in academy history!"

The humiliation was unbearable.

His pride screamed for vengeance.

Then, Regan’s voice boomed across the field.

"Final thirty seconds!"

The crowd chuckled. Even Regan himself smirked, shaking his head.

"The match is already over, but fine." He said, lifting the whistle. "Play your last seconds."

Tweet!

The ball rolled back into play.

But Vander’s rage finally broke.

"Give it to me!" He roared. "Give me the damn ball!"

His teammate hesitated.

"But it’s not your turn—"

"I SAID GIVE IT TO ME!"

Intimated by the scary look on Vander’s face, his teammate passed the ball to him.

And the moment he got the ball, Vander charged forward like a beast unleashed, his eyes locked on Mika.

"This is all your fault!" He screamed, his voice raw. "If you hadn’t shown up, none of this would’ve happened!"

He shot the ball with everything he had—straight toward the goal.

But Mika didn’t even blink. His hand shot out—thump—and he caught it effortlessly, as though the world had frozen around him.

Gasps echoed.

But then, shock struck again—because Vander didn’t stop.

He kept running.

He stepped into the goalpost—into Mika’s zone—and suddenly his entire body began to glow.

A faint yellow light crackled over his skin.

"Wait—!" Regan shouted, eyes widening. "That’s—"

BANG!

Vander slammed into Mika, and the world went white.

The impact ripped through the air and Mika and the ball flew backward together, smashing through the net, and tumbling into the field beyond.

Dust and splinters flew everywhere.

The crowd gasped.

"OH MY GOD!"

"HE SLAMMED INTO HIM!"

"HE USED HIS BLESSING! THAT’S CHEATING!"

"HE ACTUALLY USED HIS BLESSING!"

Screams rippled through the stands.

Even the human supporters—those who had been cheering moments ago—now looked horrified.

They weren’t supposed to use blessings.

It was the one rule Regan had made clear.

And yet, Vander had done it.

He’d actually gone that far.

Even those who weren’t supporting Mika felt a pang of dread, their eyes darting to where the boy lay.

He wasn’t a blessed. He wasn’t a fighter or a knight.

He was a support-class. He wasn’t built to take an impact like that, so they could only imagine the state he was after that brutal attack.

Nuri screamed, "Mika!" and launched herself into the air, flapping desperately toward him.

Regan’s whistle cracked through the air.

"FOUL! THAT’S A DAMN FOUL! STOP THE MATCH—STOP RIGHT NOW!"

He sprinted toward the collapsed boy, face twisted with fear.

"Mika! Mika, kid, talk to me—are you alright?!"

But Vander...

Vander didn’t care.

He dusted his hands, straightened his uniform, and put on the fakest apologetic smile imaginable.

"Ah—sorry, sorry." He said casually, raising both hands. "Guess I got a little...frustrated. You know how it is in the heat of the moment, right?"

His tone was light, almost playful.

"I just tripped on the ball or something. Didn’t even mean to! My blessing must’ve, uh...triggered on its own. Hahaha, you know how it is!"

The silence that followed was horrendous.

"I’m really, really sorry about that."

Vander continued, bowing his head low.

"I promise it won’t happen again. I’ll even forfeit the match if that makes everyone feel better, alright?"

He straightened, smirking as he said it and everyone could see it.

He wasn’t sorry—he was proud.

After all, in his mind, he’d already won.

The match was over, and he had done something that no one would forget.

Even if he was punished, it would be a slap on the wrist.

His family’s connections would handle it.

His parents’ influence would smooth it out.

He’d walk away untouched.

’No matter what happens.’ He thought smugly, ’I’m in the clear.’

But then—

"You hurt my Mika."

The voice came from behind him.

Soft.

Feminine.

Slow.

But so cold it froze the marrow inside his bones.

The entire field fell dead silent.

Nuri stopped flying.

Regan stopped breathing.

The crowd’s eyes all jerked toward the same point behind Vander.

Someone whispered. "Oh no..."

Another trembled. "She’s here."

Vander’s skin prickled.

His breath hitched.

His heartbeat hammered like it wanted to escape his chest.

That voice—

That terrifying, gentle voice—

It sounded like death disguised as silk.

"You actually tried to hurt my baby brother..."

A shiver stabbed down his spine.

His hands trembled.

He didn’t want to turn around.

Every instinct told him:

If I turn...I will see the end.

But he had to.

So, his neck moved on its own—slow, shaking, unwilling.

He turned.

And he saw her.

Astrid.

Standing right behind him.

He hadn’t heard her footsteps. He hadn’t felt her presence.

She had simply appeared like death itself had decided to manifest behind him.

Right now, her seven tails drifted lazily in the air, their white fur gleaming faintly, but they didn’t look soft anymore.

They looked alive—moving with a predatory grace, coiling and uncoiling like serpents waiting to strike.

But it wasn’t her tails that paralyzed him.

It was her face.

Her expression was blank.

Her eyes, normally icy blue were now darkened, dimmed, stripped of all life.

No anger.

No fury.

No emotion.

Just...void.

A hollow, soulless void staring straight into him.

She wasn’t looking at him.

It felt like she was looking into him.

As though she could see every sin, every insecurity, every pathetic fear he’d ever tried to hide.

The air pressure around her dropped so sharply that it felt like the world was suffocating.

People in the crowd clutched their chests.

Her own subordinates took involuntary steps back.

Some students began trembling without even understanding why.

Vander felt it worst of all.

It felt like standing before the executioner on the day your name is carved into the guillotine.

Astrid leaned forward slightly, just enough to let her deadened eyes align perfectly with his.

Then her lips parted.

"Tell me..."

She whispered, her voice soft enough to sound almost loving yet so hollow it felt inhuman.

"Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?"

Vander’s throat tightened as he stumbled back, his face pale, eyes wide with terror.

He opened his mouth, his words breaking apart as they tried to crawl past his fear.

"I...I...I’m sorry—"

But before he could even finish, one of Astrid’s seven tails moved.

It didn’t slam or hit him.

It simply moved, a swift whisper through the air.

To Vander, it almost felt like a brush of wind grazing his chest, so delicate he barely even registered it.

He blinked in confusion, realizing he was still standing.

’W-Wait.’

He thought, a trembling smile flickering on his lips.

’Did she just...warn me? That’s not too bad.’

He dared a tiny breath of relief.

But then—

The crowd gasped.

A collective, horrified gasp that tore through the air like thunder.

Some students had their hands over their mouths.

Others turned away, trembling violently.

One or two had even fallen to their knees, retching on the side of the field.

"What...What the hell...?" The King of the Catz race whispered in pure shock.

Vander’s confused smile wavered.

"W-What’s...wrong with you people?"

"Why are you looking at me like I died or something?"

Then he looked down.

And everything stopped.

Right where his chest should’ve been—there was nothing.

A gaping, circular hole, wide enough to fit a bucket clean through, yawned open in his torso.

He could see the ground behind him through it.

He stared in disbelief, his mind refusing to understand it.

He tried to speak, but only a wet gurgle came out.

When he looked up again, his shaking eyes found Astrid—her tails floating serenely behind her.

One of them was bright red.

It dripped with his blood.

That was when the realization hit him like a lightning strike—

She hadn’t brushed him.

She had stabbed him.

Clean through.

"BLERGH!!!"

The pain hit all at once, white-hot and blinding.

He dropped to his knees, clutching his chest, choking on blood.

His lips trembled as he tried to form words, but nothing came out.

His eyes darted helplessly, searching for help, for mercy—

But Astrid didn’t even blink.

Her expression remained empty, calm, almost beautiful in its stillness.

It was the last thing he saw before he collapsed forward, hitting the ground with a dull thud with his organs scattered around him.