Chapter 120: Eighty

“Who are you?”

Muen frowned as he asked.

He’d been at the Academy long enough by now, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t provoked any random girls.

Was this some karmic debt from the original body?

No... with the original guy’s taste, there’s no way he’d be interested in a girl like this.

“M-Muen Campbell, you don’t remember me?”

The girl stood up from the bushes, dead leaves still tangled in her hair. She nervously adjusted her black-rimmed glasses, which had gotten crooked from her excitement, and spoke in a soft voice:

“I’m Sari Flandre. I’m also a second-year student like you. I was there during the last martial arts class.”

“Sari Flandre?”

Muen rubbed his chin in thought. The name rang absolutely no bells.

And martial arts class... at the time, he’d scanned the student crowd so many times, trying to find the source of that strange hostility—he should’ve noticed a girl like this, even in passing.

Was she really that invisible?

“You might not remember my name, Muen Campbell, but... but if I mention something, I think you’ll know who I am.”

Sari dropped her gaze, clearly too timid to meet his eyes, and stammered:

“L-Library... the after-school tutoring?”

Muen blinked.

Wow. That was an unfortunate combination of keywords. The kind that instantly sparks all kinds of weird associations.

And this girl, dressed like the model student, saying that kind of line to someone with his current reputation—was she trying to start something?

Really? Are you not afraid of what that sounds like, Miss Honors Student?

Muen couldn’t help muttering sarcastically in his mind.

Still, something about what she said clicked.

Wait... wait a second.

Those words...

“Oh—you’re that girl from the library who misunderstood me?”

“Y-Yes!” Sari nodded hard.

“So it was you.”

Muen scratched his chin again.

Back when he’d just entered the Academy, he’d gone to the library looking for someone who could help tutor him—and found this girl. But his reputation back then had been so awful. Playboy, heartbreaker, womanizer with thirteen different ‘girlfriends’... he was practically a walking scandal. So naturally, this naive little girl assumed he was up to no good and kicked him in the shin out of sheer panic.

“So... why were you following me?” Muen asked, still puzzled.

“B-Because... I wanted to apologize to you.”

Sari’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Apologize?” Muen blinked.

“I’m really sorry, Muen Campbell. I completely misunderstood you back then.”

She clasped her hands tightly in front of her and bowed deeply, sincerely.

“At the time, I was swayed by the rumors. I thought you were the kind of guy who’d deceive girls, so... I reacted that way. But after everything that’s happened recently, I realized... you’re not like I thought. And looking back, I understand now... maybe you really just wanted help with your studies.”

“Well, yeah. That was exactly it.”

Muen gave a helpless smile.

Though thinking back on it now, he was actually kind of grateful for her misunderstanding.

Because if that hadn’t happened, he wouldn’t have ended up meeting senpai.

“I usually don’t get the chance to run into you, so when I saw an opening, I just...”

“So you ditched martial arts class?” Muen asked, surprised.

“W-Well, Instructor Kaide already left, didn’t he?” Sari blushed.

Then, as if remembering something, she reached behind her and pulled out a small bamboo basket covered in a red cloth. She held it out to him with both hands.

“What’s this?”

“It’s... a little something from me.”

Clearly embarrassed, Sari started nervously tracing circles on the ground with her foot.

“I couldn’t just come and apologize empty-handed, so I... brought a gift.”

“That really wasn’t necessary.”

Muen smiled.

“I forgot about that whole thing a long time ago. It’s nothing to apologize for.”

“But... if I don’t, I’ll feel really uneasy.”

Sari raised her voice. “So please, Muen Campbell—just accept it.”

“...Alright. What’s inside?”

“S-Some pastries I made myself.”

She looked even more embarrassed.

“My family isn’t well-off... I couldn’t afford anything expensive, so this was all I could do.”

“Homemade pastries...”

Muen lifted the cloth. A delicious, sweet aroma wafted out instantly, making his mouth water.

He could tell just by the smell—Sari’s baking skills were impressive.

“In that case, I’ll accept them.”

If it had been anything too extravagant, he would’ve had to refuse. But with this much sincerity behind it, rejecting her now would feel wrong.

“T-Thank you!”

“I should be the one thanking you. These look really good.”

“T-Then... I won’t bother you anymore. Goodbye!”

Sari bowed deeply.

“I’ll bring fresh ones next time too!”

“...Huh? Next time?”

Before Muen could react, Sari turned and bolted, practically tripping over her own feet.

She was clearly nervous the entire time.

“Sari Flandre, huh? Pretty sweet girl.”

Muen couldn’t help smiling as he watched her run off.

He glanced down at the basket in his hands.

“Guess I won’t be needing the cafeteria today.”

With that, he turned and headed toward the dorms.

Carrying the basket, his steps light.

“I really do feel like Little Red Riding Hood in the forest or something...”

He muttered to himself, a joke only he would understand.

A breeze picked up from somewhere, rustling the leaves throughout the woods.

With that breeze came the early sting of autumn, slipping through his sleeves and pants, greedily licking at his skin.

Muen shivered.

He was just about to hurry back to grab a jacket—when he stopped cold.

His expression sharpened.

Once again, he felt it—that presence lurking in the autumn wind.

“...Not Sari?”

Muen frowned as realization hit.

Sari had only followed him to apologize. That presence—there’s no way it belonged to her. It was too cold. Too sinister. It made his skin crawl.

“Feels like... it’s not just some pervert either.”

Just then, the bushes and branches beside him began to rustle.

Something was approaching.

“Who’s there?!”

Muen snapped, his hand already drifting behind his back.

The bushes parted—and the first thing he saw was a pair of glowing green eyes. Cold. Merciless.

A...

“...Wolf?”

He blinked, thinking his eyes were playing tricks.

But no—it was a wolf. Half as tall as a person, covered head to toe in blood-red fur.

And even though its coloring was so garishly vivid, Muen hadn’t noticed it at all until it stepped into view.

“What the hell?”

Muen glanced at the red-cloth-covered basket in his hand and twitched his lips.

“So Little Red Riding Hood does run into the Big Bad Wolf, huh...”

Sarcasm aside, he didn’t let his guard down.

This was Saint Maria, after all. Who knew what weird crap this wolf might be.

A teacher’s pet?

One of those infamous escaped beasts from the Magic Beast Club?

Either way, Muen’s instincts told him something was seriously off.

The crimson wolf didn’t rush in to attack—it just paced slowly a short distance away from him.

Like it was sizing him up.

Muen didn’t dare blink. He shifted his stance, inch by inch.

No matter where it came from, fighting this thing was not the smart move. Getting the hell out was.

This was an Academy campus. Even if he didn’t run into a cute little first-year, the old janitor would be enough to help him against a stray wolf.

Plus, this path wasn’t that isolated. Once class let out, other students would...

In that instant—chill swept over him.

It was that death sense—the kind honed through dozens of bloody deaths inside the Black Book.

A sensation like a brat from your cousin’s house yanking on your scalp.

Behind you!

Turn around!

Danger!

No hesitation.

Muen whipped around—just in time to see a crimson shadow lunging from the trees.

A second wolf?!

The first one was bait—to lure him!

Fuck—how smart are these things?!

No time to think.

Muen hurled the bamboo basket at the charging wolf.

Of course, the basket itself wasn’t going to do any damage.

But the red cloth fluttered mid-air—blinding the wolf for a split second.

Sweet-smelling pastries scattered in all directions.

No time for regrets.

With one hand, Muen grabbed the wolf’s head. His other hand, the one he’d kept hidden, shot out—short blade gripped tight—and stabbed into the beast’s throat.

Blood spurted.

The wolf let out a weak howl and collapsed, twitching a few times before going still.

But Muen didn’t relax.

He could already feel the foul breath of the first wolf, charging in behind him.

It hadn’t been idle this whole time.

As Muen focused on the second one, it had pounced—claws out, fangs bared, aiming straight for the kill.

Muen didn’t turn back.

There was no time.

He twisted his body on instinct.

Crack crack crack crack—

His bones snapped and shifted like beans in a frying pan. Joints bent unnaturally. His entire body contorted in ways that defied logic.

And somehow—he dodged the lunge.

The wolf’s claws still scraped his shoulder, tearing open ragged, bloody lines.

The pain burned. His shoulder throbbed.

But Muen’s eyes hardened.

He reached straight into the beast’s mouth.

Rough, barbed tongue scraped his skin. Fangs tore through flesh.

Pain screamed from both his shoulder and hand.

But Muen didn’t let go.

He gripped the wolf’s lower jaw like a club handle.

Then twisted—swung—slammed.

The beast flipped, spun a clean 180, and smashed spine-first into the ground.

Exposing its vulnerable underside.

No hesitation.

Muen pinned it and drove his short blade deep into its heart.

It thrashed once—twice—then fell limp.

He yanked the blade out and leaned against a tree, gasping.

Barely a few seconds had passed since the second wolf’s ambush.

But the danger was so sharp, it made his heart pound.

Because he hadn’t sensed the second one at all.

He only reacted because of that trained instinct.

“I need to get out of here. Now.”

Those wolves weren’t just strays.

The way they attacked—targeted, coordinated—it was deliberate.

And that gaze from before...

He glanced at his bleeding shoulder and torn-up hand.

His expression turned grim.

But just as he calmed his breathing and prepared to leave—

He heard it.

Flowing water.

A soft, trickling sound.

But there was no water here.

Where was it coming from?

Muen looked down.

The wolves’ corpses—were melting.

Like honey under a torch.

Turning into puddles of blood.

The blood bubbled. Boiled. As if an invisible fire was cooking it.

Then—from the center of those blood pools—new wolves rose.

Shaking their heads. Baring their fangs.

Four of them.

Two had become four.

All of them exhaled foul, stinking breath.

Their green eyes gleamed with cold brutality as they circled in on him.

Muen froze.

Not from fear.

Just shock.

That ambush earlier? That only happened because he was unsure of their origins—and decided to play it safe.

Now that he had a sense of their strength, he knew:

These things were weak. Basic-level magic beasts at best.

Even surrounded, he could still get away.

After all, running was one of his specialties.

But that wasn’t the issue.

Now—he recognized what they were.

These weren’t magic beasts.

They weren’t pets either.

They were born from blood. Without real flesh. But with real aggression and killing intent.

As long as there was enough mana, they could keep respawning—stronger, and in greater numbers.

A unique summoning spell.

And in Muen’s memory, only one person could use that spell.

Not him—no.

The original Muen had known this caster very well.

“...Eamon?”

Muen looked toward the depths of the forest.

“...Is that you?”

“......”

No one answered.

But then—footsteps.

A gaunt figure stepped forward, treading on fallen leaves that blanketed the forest floor, and stopped before Muen.

“...Long time no see, Muen Campbell.”

His face remained hidden in shadow, unreadable—but the corner of his visible mouth curled slightly, as if in a mocking smile.

“Didn’t think you’d still remember me. I’m honored.”

“You—”

Muen froze for a beat, then anger rose like fire in his chest.

“...Why are you doing this?”

In Muen’s memory, Eamon Biandy had always been one of the closest people to him—or rather, to the original Muen. Eamon had been the most loyal of his lapdogs, aiding in countless cruel acts. They’d called him the “Wolf of Campbell”—Muen’s sharpest tool, his fiercest henchman. He had even been responsible for much of the harassment Ariel Bugaard had suffered.

Like when the semester began—Eamon had challenged Ariel directly, though Muen had stopped him then.

That’s why—this ambush, this attempt on his life—was completely unthinkable.

This wasn’t just a scuffle. Eamon was genuinely trying to kill him.

And that betrayal hit like a punch to the gut.

“...Answer me, Eamon. Why? Were you being controlled? Or is this...”

“Hah. Why?”

Eamon cut him off, his voice hoarse—dripping with bitter sarcasm.

“Shouldn’t you, Young Master Muen, know better than anyone?”

“Me?”

Muen frowned in confusion.

Had he... done something?

But no. Ever since deciding to change, Muen had completely cut ties with his old rotten social circle. He hadn’t even contacted Eamon again—not even once.

He never intended to treat him like a lackey again.

So then... why?

“Ha... hahahaha...”

Seeing the blank look on Muen’s face, Eamon suddenly laughed. A shrill, broken, bone-chilling laugh. One filled with desolation.

“So you don’t get it, huh, Muen Campbell? You really... don’t understand?”

“You don’t get how much I hate you now!”

“I want to skin you alive. Break your bones and suck out the marrow!”

As those words left his mouth, killing intent exploded from him.

The four blood wolves turned to blurs and lunged at Muen all at once.

They were faster. Stronger.

In just an instant, they had cut off all routes of escape.

From the outside, it looked like Muen was about to be torn limb from limb.

But—

Muen knew this spell too well.

He’d seen Eamon summon those blood wolves countless times. And he knew exactly how to deal with them.

—The wolves were hard to kill. With speed and strength that outclassed even most Second Rankers, they could wear down even a Third Rank Warrior.

Mages? These beasts were their worst nightmare.

But at the end of the day, this was a specialized summoning technique. Its offensive power was formidable, but its defense was lacking.

Especially when the caster had to pour mana into maintaining the wolves during their attack.

As they closed in, Muen raised his hand—fingers curled like claws.

Thunderclap!

A deafening boom erupted.

A violent shockwave exploded forward, battering the charging wolves.

They howled in pain.

Muen surged forward. In the instant of their hesitation, he drove his short blade straight into one wolf’s eye.

It sank all the way to the hilt.

The wolf crumpled instantly.

—Summons or not, a vital hit still meant death.

But Muen knew it wouldn’t stay dead for long. The blood would revive it soon.

No time to waste.

He grabbed the wolf’s head—then spun like a professional hammer thrower.

One and a half rotations—and threw.

The corpse crashed into the other three wolves, disrupting their momentum.

He got a brief window.

But this wasn’t time to rest—it was time to move.

Shadow Step!

Muen vanished.

Leaves exploded upward as if caught in a storm.

The next moment—he appeared directly in front of Eamon.

Eamon hadn’t expected Muen to slip past his summons so quickly.

A flicker of shock passed over his face—

—and then, a fist the size of a stewpot came flying straight at it.

“EAMON!!”

Muen roared as he punched.

The blow struck Eamon’s cheek, twisting his once-smirking mouth into a snarl of pain.

“Tell me WHY?!!”

Eamon’s thin body flew backward from the force, crashing to the ground.

But before he could recover—

Shadow Step again.

Muen was on top of him, straddling his chest. Another punch came down.

“Why?! Why would you attack me?!”

Anger roared in his chest.

His eyes were burning red.

It was the fury of betrayal.

Not like betrayal. It was betrayal.

To the former Muen Campbell, Eamon had been more than a lackey. He was his right hand, his closest subordinate, his most obedient dog.

The old Muen had never once considered the possibility that Eamon would betray him.

So this—this pain, this confusion—it bled into his bones, bled through the memories, and now burned inside this Muen Campbell too.

“Who ordered you?! What are you trying to gain?!”

“Why would you betray me?!”

He punched again. And again.

Until his fists were wet with blood.

But even then—Eamon’s mouth still curled into a mocking grin.

“Me, betray you? That’s funny, Muen Campbell.”

Eamon spat a mouthful of blood at him and laughed.

“Weren’t you the one who betrayed me first?”

“...What?” Muen froze. Then growled, “When did I ever betray you?!”

“You abandoned me!”

Eamon’s eyes went wide, screaming.

“You abandoned me! ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) Isn’t that betrayal?!”

“Abandoned...? I set you free! I let you stop being a dog! And that, to you, is—”

Muen grabbed Eamon’s collar, shaking him furiously.

But just then—sunlight slipped through the leaves and lit up Eamon’s face.

Muen’s raised fist stopped mid-air.

The rage in his eyes slowly faded.

“...Eamon...”

What kind of face... was this?

Aside from the fresh bruises from Muen’s fists, Eamon looked utterly wrecked.

Unshaven. Haggard.

His eyes were bloodshot. Like he hadn’t slept in days. Deep eye sockets, jutting cheekbones. His face was gaunt like a corpse.

Why was he this thin?

He was the son of a viscount—technically nobility. And back then, when he was at Muen’s side, he ate and drank only the best.

So how could he look like this now?

And then—it hit Muen.

Eamon was weak.

He was a fourth-year. And not a weak one either. That’s why the old Muen had chosen him as a subordinate.

Even knowing the blood wolves’ weak points, it shouldn’t have been that easy to break through.

They should’ve been bigger. Stronger.

Which is probably why Muen hadn’t recognized them right away.

So... what happened?

“Eamon... what happened to you?”

“...What happened?”

Eamon’s bloodshot eyes gleamed.

“Of course you, noble son of a Duke, wouldn’t know what happened.”

“You wouldn’t know what I’ve been through since you abandoned me!”

He pulled open his shirt, revealing his chest.

And Muen saw.

Fresh wounds. Scabbed over. Ragged and deep. Dozens. Hundreds.

A map of cruelty carved into flesh.

He had been wounded. Badly. And his mana was depleted.

No wonder he was this weak.

“...These are...”

“Haha. You’re the Duke’s son. You’ve washed your hands of the past. Decided to sever all your ties. So naturally—you abandoned everything from before.”

“Even the dog you used to feed.”

“And that’s fine. Everyone cheered. The world gained one less villain.”

“But did you ever think—what would happen to that dog? That dog who bit everyone for your sake, who made enemies for you... what happens when it’s suddenly left on its own?”

What happens?

Of course—retaliation.

Those who hated Muen Campbell.

Those who envied him.

Those who despised him.

None of them had dared touch him before. Not even say a harsh word.

He was the Duke’s only heir.

Just like those thirty-five noble heirs who couldn’t even look him in the eye—his power was unmatched.

So that jealousy, that hatred, that disgust—it all fell on the dog.

The dog without a master.

Even with sharp fangs—without its master, what could the dog do?

A stray dog gets beaten.

“...So that’s what happened?”

Muen suddenly remembered what Celicia had told him:

“You’ve severed too cleanly from your past, Muen Campbell.”

“Not everyone is happy about your change.”

“...So that’s what it was.”

He’d been so obsessed with changing himself, that since the day he’d entered the Academy, he hadn’t looked back.

He’d never checked on the past.

So he never saw the shadow that had taken the punishment in his place.

“...I’m sorry, Eamon.”

Now, Muen didn’t even know what else to say.

All he could offer... was a hollow apology.

“Sorry? You think that’s enough?!”

Eamon howled, his voice cracking.

“You know how many times I apologized?! To them?!”

“It didn’t work! Not once!”

“I...”

Muen’s face crumpled.

His lips trembled.

“...Then tell me what I should do. What will make it right?”

“...Make it right?”

Eamon blinked.

That... wasn’t the answer he expected.

Silence fell.

Then—Muen saw his lips twitch again.

But this time, it wasn’t sarcasm.

It was... flattery.

That same ingratiating grin.

So natural.

Like a mask he’d worn a thousand times.

He gripped Muen’s hand tightly—and in that moment, Muen swore he could see the wagging tail behind him.

“Then... Young Master Muen—just take me back.”

“Let me be your dog again. Like before. I’ll do whatever you say. Bite whoever you tell me to.”

“Let’s go back. Just like before. Please!”

“...Be my dog again?”

Looking at that groveling grin—Muen felt sick.

How could he ever treat someone like a dog?

He wasn’t the old Muen Campbell.

“That’s not right.”

“...Huh?”

“That’s not right, Eamon. You’re a person. You’re not a dog.”

“But... but my only reason to live is to be your dog, Master!”

“No one’s reason to live is something that pathetic!”

Muen yanked his hand free.

Then extended it again.

“But don’t say things like that. Eamon—let’s be friends.”

“As my friend—no one will dare touch you again.”

“And everyone who bullied you... I’ll make them pay.”

“Friends...”

Eamon stared blankly at the offered hand.

“That’s right. Friends.”

“I...”

His gaze flickered—maybe tempted.

But the next second, rage twisted his face again.

“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!!”

“...What?”

“I don’t believe in that fake crap! ‘Friends’? What a joke!”

“It’s not fake! I mean it, Eamon! I want to be your friend!”

He didn’t know what “friend” really meant. But in his memories, Eamon had mattered to the old Muen Campbell.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so angry earlier.

“But I know you, Muen Campbell!”

Eamon screamed.

“I was your dog. I know what kind of person you are!”

“You never had friends. You didn’t need them. You only wanted dogs you could order, and toys you could play with!”

“...”

Muen opened his mouth.

No words came.

Because...

He wasn’t wrong.

That was the old Muen Campbell.

Or at least—that’s how the world saw him.

But...

“That’s the past.”

Muen’s expression hardened.

“You said it yourself—I’ve washed my hands of that life. I’m not that person anymore.”

“I’m not a scumbag!”

“Oh? So you’ve changed your behavior. But what about your nature?”

“Nature is what really matters, isn’t it?”

“...My nature has changed too!”

“Prove it!”

“...I...”

How do you prove something like that?

How do you prove your nature has changed?

You need something bigger. Something undeniable.

“...You know I scored a three on the Magic Theory midterm last semester, right?”

“...Huh?”

Eamon blinked.

Of course he knew. Everyone at the Academy did.

He just didn’t understand why Muen was bringing it up now.

“And you probably know this too... the Campbell family’s basically a clan of muscleheads. Not one of us has a talent for magic. Our library’s full of martial arts manuals and weird junk.”

“My ancestors would rather stock books on pig postpartum care than put in a single magic text.”

“...”

“It’s like we’ve got ‘bad at magic’ engraved in our blood.”

“But just a few days ago, someone told me...”

“That I had to pass the next Magic Theory exam.”

“First-year?” Eamon asked.

“Second-year!” Muen shouted.

“The second-year exam!”

“No way...” Eamon said without thinking.

From three to a passing score? That was insane.

“Exactly. It sounds impossible.”

Muen chuckled—then his face turned serious.

“But I’m going to do it.”

“I’m going to score sixty. Pass. Blow everyone’s expectations out of the water.”

“With the name Muen Campbell, I’ll stun everyone who thinks I can’t.”

He reached out again.

“Eamon. Let’s make a bet.”

“One month from now—if I pass. If I break the ‘curse’ of the Campbell family...”

“Will that be enough? To prove that I can change? That I want to change?”

“And when I do... will you become my friend?”

Eamon stared at him.

And in the golden-haired boy’s eyes—he saw a resolve that wouldn’t budge.

“...Sixty, huh? Even I could...”

“Not sixty?”

Muen smiled faintly.

“Then... eighty.”

Muen gritted his teeth and roared.

“If you think just passing isn’t enough—then I’ll aim higher! I’ll aim for excellence!”

“Eighty...”

Eamon’s eyes widened.

“...Are you insane?”

In any exam, if sixty was the baseline—a pass—then eighty was a completely different frontier.

One could be achieved with effort and study.

The other meant mastery—a grasp of the subject so thorough, it required more than hard work. It needed method. Precision. Even a bit of luck.

Especially in Magic Theory Fundamentals, where the sheer density of information caused even diligent students to hover forever in the high 70s.

Among all second-year students, the excellence rate for that subject barely reached 20%.

If scoring sixty in one month was like seizing Paris before France could surrender, then scoring eighty was like leading The Gambia’s army to storm and crush the UN Security Council. On Hell difficulty.

Even someone like Eamon, who wasn’t exactly the brightest, could instantly tell—this was impossible.

“I am insane. I know it’s impossible. But didn’t you say changing my nature was impossible too?”

Muen stared into Eamon’s eyes.

In the depths of his pupils, fire blazed—a fire that looked like it could burn the entire world.

“If that’s the case, then I’ll use one impossible thing to prove the possibility of another.”

His words rang through the forest like thunder, shaking the silence apart.

For some reason... seeing this completely unfamiliar version of Muen Campbell, the hatred and resentment that had piled in Eamon’s heart—all began to melt.

Like snow, melting under sunlight.

Without thinking, Eamon reached out his hand—toward that warm, reassuring hand.

Muen smiled.

Thank god.

This... finally...

...Huh?

Muen’s expression froze.

Their hands touched. But instead of reassurance—

He felt pain.

A terrifying pressure came from Eamon’s grip, like it was about to crush his bones.

“Eamon—what...?”

“Eh?”

Muen was about to demand an explanation—when he realized Eamon looked just as confused.

Then his face twisted in agony.

Blue veins bulged on his forehead. His whole body trembled like he was enduring unbearable torture.

“Eamon?! What’s wrong?!”

Ignoring the pain in his own hand, Muen leaned forward in alarm.

Eamon clutched his chest—dark, snake-like veins writhing beneath his skin.

“Potion...!”

“What potion?!”

“That woman... the potion she gave me... my mana had already dried up... I only had a little left thanks to that potion, but now—!”

“What woman?!”

“I don’t kno—ahhhh!!”

Eamon screamed in agony.

His already thin body swelled like a balloon, bulging grotesquely—bursting out of his school uniform.

From the surface of his skin, black hairs shot out—gleaming like steel.

Muen stood frozen.

In just a few seconds, Eamon had transformed into a hulking, monstrous werewolf.

“...What the hell. What kind of dark fairytale is this?”

So Little Red Riding Hood doesn’t just run into the Big Bad Wolf—she gets chased by werewolves now?

Where was Van Helsing when you needed him?

But no—there was no Van Helsing here.

Not even a third person in sight.

Eamon’s eyes turned crimson, utterly devoid of reason—and locked onto the only living human other than himself.

His killing intent was suffocating.

Muen stiffened.

He instinctively tried to retreat—to put some distance between them.

But—

He couldn’t move.

Because Eamon was still holding his hand.

Muen’s expression twisted. He tried to wrench himself free.

But Eamon’s grip now felt like an iron vise. Unbreakable.

Shit. What now? Do I... do I have to abandon the whole arm?!

Even that brief hesitation felt like enough to seal his fate.

His vision blurred—and the next moment, he couldn’t breathe.

Eamon’s other hand—no, his claw—closed around Muen’s throat.

The pressure tightened.

His windpipe crushed. His spine cried out in protest.

With the size difference, Muen’s feet dangled midair—completely helpless.

He raised his only free hand, gripped his second blade, and slashed at Eamon’s arm.

But the blade struck the black fur and let out a metallic clang.

What the hell?

Was that really steel hair?

He thought that was a metaphor!

Real, gut-wrenching despair surged through Muen’s chest.

He knew his strengths. He knew his limits.

And this—this was the worst possible matchup.

Eamon’s bloody-red eyes glimmered with savage joy, as if already seeing Muen torn apart in his grasp.

What now?

What could he do?

The pain grew sharper. His brain turned sluggish.

Muen’s thoughts raced.

The Black Book?

No—Black Book couldn’t enhance strength directly.

Then...

The Withering King’s Crimson Flame?

But—

They were in the Academy. And if he used a flame that burned everything to ash—Eamon would—

What else?

Nothing.

Dammit.

Was he really still powerless?

Was he still—

Was he—

“Sigh.”

At the brink of consciousness—Muen heard a sigh.

Not from the Black Book.

But—

“Freeze.”

A cool voice spread through the forest.

And with it—came a wave of pure cold.

Like a snowstorm that could swallow the entire world.

The green woods turned white in an instant.

Muen saw the werewolf’s eyes flash with fear—and then freeze.

Encased in brilliant blue ice.

A moment ago he’d looked terrifying, monstrous.

But now... he looked more like a caveman frozen in a museum exhibit.

Someone pulled Muen down—away from the clawed hand.

“Cough—cough...”

Muen clutched his throat, gasping for air, then looked up at the familiar silver-white figure beside him.

“...Celicia? What are you doing here?”

As he said it, Muen chuckled weakly.

It felt like he always asked her that question.

Celicia continued to stare at the frozen werewolf, lost in thought.

Then, at his question, she turned her gaze and replied coolly:

“If I told you I was here the whole time, watching you babble all that dumb crap with that idiot—would you be mad?”

“...Huh?”

Maybe it was oxygen deprivation—Muen’s brain short-circuited for a moment.

Celicia ignored him, turning back toward the frozen Eamon, murmuring to herself:

“I’d hoped we could bait out whoever’s behind this. But they’re more cautious than I thought. What a pity.”

With those words, a squad of red-uniformed Student Council elites arrived, quickly moving in to secure Eamon with layered seals.

“Wait—”

Muen called out, alarmed.

“What are they doing?!”

“Relax,” a voice piped up—round-cheeked Student Council secretary Veil, appearing out of nowhere.

“We’re just sealing Eamon temporarily, healing him up, and asking a few questions. Nothing harsh.”

“Well... maybe a tiny bit of punishment.”

“...I see.”

Muen nodded.

Then as if suddenly remembering something, he turned to Celicia.

“Um... Celicia, can I...”

“You want the names of the people who bullied Eamon, don’t you?” Celicia cut him off flatly.

“...Yeah.”

She stared at him in silence—then walked over, raised her leg—

And kicked him in the shin.

“OW—what the hell?!”

“If you’ve chosen this path, don’t look back. Or I’ll really beat you.”

“But I—”

“No buts.”

She leaned down, gazing into his eyes with her clear, serious ones.

“Punishing bad students is the Student Council’s job. Not yours.”

“...Understood.”

“Good. Then that’s settled.”

Behind them, the Student Council had nearly finished dealing with the aftermath.

Celicia stood up, ready to leave.

“Oh, do you want me to take you to the infirmary?” she asked.

“...No need.”

Muen glanced at his own shoulder and palm.

His recovery speed had always been freakishly fast.

The wounds were already scabbing.

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

“...Alright then. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

“...Oh, and one more thing.”

Celicia turned around—looking at him seriously.

“With your brain and your skill, getting eighty next month is basically impossible.”

“But...”

“...Do your best.”

“...”

Muen froze.

Then forced a smile more bitter than crying.

“...I will. Thanks.”

...

After Celicia left, the forest grew quiet again.

Muen lay sprawled in the white-frosted grass, staring blankly through the leaves at the distant sun.

Suddenly, as if the light hit his eyes—

He threw his arm over his face and muttered:

“Motherf—...”

Light footsteps approached—soft, feline.

A girl in a tightly-buttoned uniform, her graceful curves barely hidden, knelt beside him.

“Looks like I’m late again.”

Anna sat down beside the chaos, surveying the wreckage.

Then, without warning, she shifted slightly—

And lifted Muen’s head into her lap.

Lap pillow.

His arm over his eyes trembled slightly.

“There, there. No more crying, junior~”

Anna gently stroked his head, like petting a kitten.

“...I’m not crying,” Muen muttered.

“Mm. Of course not. You’re very strong.”

The leaves rustled. The sunlight flickered.

It was cold.

“...Senpai?”

“Hmm?”

“...I’m going to score eighty.”

“...Ah.”

Anna pressed her cheek thoughtfully with one finger.

“Junior, you scared me when you said sixty. Now eighty? That’s really too much...”

“But I will.”

“...Alright then.”

She lowered her gaze and smiled softly.

Her brows curved like a crescent moon. That little beauty mark at the corner of her eye shimmered.

“...You’re my adorable junior, after all.”