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DATE:6th of June, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
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I woke up on the floor. It was the first time I ever fell from my bed, so I was really surprised. I stayed there thinking about all that happened. It wasn't that comfortable. The door kept in its frame only by good wishes and prayers made me remember I had a lot of work to do.
After I finished my classes and helped Alice to look around the outside of the library (or another pointless survey), I got around to fixing that damned door.
The heavy door lay awkwardly against the wall, its hinges dangling from the frame like loose teeth. Where the knob once stood, there was now an empty hole, its mechanisms removed and scattered. The wood around the hinge slots looked worn, with a few screw holes stripped from my past mistake.
I surveyed the damage, taking a moment to gather what I needed: a fresh set of screws, a screwdriver, wood filler, and the new knob that would soon replace the old, broken system. The work was straightforward but required precision.
First, I propped the door back into its rightful position, aligning the hinge mortises with care. The hinges were still intact, but the screws, weakened by what happened, had lost their grip. I took a few toothpicks, coated them in wood glue, and gently packed them into the stripped holes. It was a simple trick but an effective one, giving the new screws something to bite into. Once the wood filler set, I drove in the screws, this time longer and stronger than before, securing the door back into place. The hinges settled comfortably, and the door stood once again, hanging straight and steady.
Next came the knob. The gaping hole where the old mechanism had been was a reminder of my ability's power. I worked carefully, inserting the new latch and threading the spindle through, then fitting the knob on both sides. With a few turns of the screwdriver, the knob was in place, firm and functional.
I tested the door, watching as it swung smoothly on its hinges and clicked shut with the satisfying turn of the new knob.
Mr. Perfect seemed genuinely surprised by how 'capable' I was. I wasn't sure what he'd expected. He jokingly suggested that I should become the administrator's assistant after my temporary stint as a substitute teacher ended. I thought it was in poor taste, personally, because I wanted to stay here as little as possible.
Alice also went on to praise me for how amazing I was, but I disliked being treated like one of her idols. Expectations often hurt people when results aren't delivered.
Between my work, I also got a call from John regarding the case of the Vampire. The police found her in the villain database as... Well, I didn't remember. I honestly didn't care to listen. I mean, if she were still on the loose, the information would have been valuable, but I'd already killed her. Why would I fill my head with all this meaningless stuff? To remember her? I certainly wouldn't. I've always said that people should learn from tragedies, because otherwise tragedies turn into trauma and hold them back. The world is already against us. Why make life harder?
Still, our conversation wasn't entirely fine. The doctor had an almost strange tone... Scared? That wasn't good. I was sure the scene had been gruesome, and it must have shocked him, but I doubted a superhero doctor with so many years of experience would be rattled by some gore. No, this was something different.
As I took a smoke break on the bench outside the main school building, I couldn't help but think deeply. I watched this 'new generation of heroes', and it was hard not to... disgusted?
Then my thoughts were rattled by incessant noise.
Alice came to berate me about the dangers of smoking like some dork. Realizing that I was ignoring her words, the girl then sat to my left and also joined in watching the students.
As I was saying,
Sure, not all heroes come from Zenik, but the ones with the most influence do. UltraMan was the exception.
I'm having a hard time imagining that maniacs like Blazer or the Crusader came from this Academy. These men killed people without a second thought. Just like an assassin like myself.
But I never was a normal teen. I never experienced what these children did, pulling pranks and hanging out with my friends, having a crush... All of these are a mystery to me, and it wasn't even that I was some sort of loner. I just was brought up in a different environment. A different country for that matter.
The place I grew up in, you could die if you looked wrong at a man on the street. He would stab you right there. So how can these privileged fledgling heroes go from normal humans to monsters? Shouldn't that be studied? Or is this the point? That they are actually monsters and they let their urges control them when there isn't a Dean to punish them anymore?
Should I just kill everyone here to do the world a favor? The girl sitting beside me would never imagine the kind of thoughts I had. But really, why was she so dependent on me?
I went back to the dorms and spent the rest of the day training my breath-holding capacity. It wasn't the first time I'd done this, but I never liked the sensation. My time was about four minutes, but I'd always wanted to reach five like the royal gendarmerie. At first, I'd gone to pools to practice, but cleaning myself of chlorine got old fast. Nowadays I just hold my breath wherever I am.
"Hmmm hmmm hmmm~" Alice was humming a tune that reminded me of that ghost from yesterday. What kind of ability could throw someone's soul out of their body? And if such a thing was real, how was the math teacher's body still alive?
Even if she'd gotten uglier with age, the most significant impact on her appearance came from her own superpower—the one she used to create a protective layer of fat. Hell, a pencil sent at ultra speed just got stuck in all those layers; it didn't even hurt her.
What I meant was that her body's degradation was mostly mental, not actually physical. If someone like Mr. Perfect were hit, he would... Actually, I wasn't sure. He was such a maniac—wouldn't having his soul taken out make him a better person?
In any case, why would someone even do such a gruesome thing? Information, probably. The teacher must have stumbled across something she shouldn't have, something like... Nah, it couldn't have been the Dean. Weren't the teachers like family?
Except a family with a multi-generational conspiracy like the Zilliams would be exactly the type of people to do something like this. It would be easier to just ask the ghost, but I didn't want to meet her, and I didn't even know how I could. In the first place, I'd only seen her because of an overdose—I was basically dead at the time.
Then I thought about the gardener. He must have known something was strange with the garden if he decided to take care of it. A foreign language teacher doesn't just 'pick up' such a hobby. Even if he didn't actually see the spirit, he must have been affected. In the worst case, he may enlighten me about the math teacher. He was around her age and joined the Academy at about the same time.
I searched for the name I barely remembered—Aku—ignoring Alice's insistence on going together. I told her that we should cover more ground by splitting up.
The most obvious location to find him was the garden, but he wasn't there.
After calling Alice in frustration, I learned he usually took a nap at noon. It was 5 PM, so I had no idea why he'd still be sleeping, but I had no other leads.
Logically, I went to his room in the dorm. Pressing my ear against the door, I could hear him weeping. A grown man crying? I couldn't have that. My hand knocked on the door by itself.
It took a bit of persistence to catch his attention.
Eventually, he bothered to open it to his guest, revealing a middle-aged man with Chou characteristics.
"W-what is it? William?"
"Aku, I was searching for you! I had something to ask. Do you know anything about Linda... Or was it Pamela... Whatever her name was?"
"Who?" He was quite confused by my lack of care. I should probably have asked Alice how she was actually called beforehand.
"The math teacher. Do you know why she's always so grumpy?" I lowered my voice, glancing toward the doorway. "Everyone says she used to be the complete opposite."
"Yes—" He straightened abruptly, leaning out of the room to scan the corridor with quick, nervous movements. His eyes darted left, then right, searching for any sign of an eavesdropper. But the hallway remained empty, just as I knew it would be. I wasn't that careless.
Besides, with only eight rooms on this floor, there weren't exactly crowds of people milling about in the corridors at this hour.
Apparently satisfied, he stepped back and gestured for me to enter, his expression grave, almost troubled. The lightness had completely drained from his face.
His room looked like something out of a detective thriller—photos and handwritten pages plastered across the walls with tape, connected by a web of red strings that crisscrossed in dizzying patterns. How was he able to decipher this conspiracy board without getting a headache?
"I saw you looking around the Academy," he began, his tone urgent. "But you were always moving, so I didn't get the chance to approach you one-on-one." He stepped closer, his eyes intense. "I wanted to warn you—what you're doing is dangerous. Extremely dangerous. And involving Alice..." He paused, his jaw tightening. "She shouldn't be part of this."
I held up a hand, irritation flaring in my chest. Wow, hold on there, cowboy. Where was this boldness coming from?
"First of all, I didn't involve Alice," I said firmly, meeting his gaze. "She's the one who dragged me into this mess. Second, I'm perfectly aware of the danger—that's exactly why I'm here talking to you." I crossed my arms. "Now, what happened to the teacher?"
He looked away, silent for a moment, as if weighing something heavy in his mind. Finally, he moved to his desk and pulled open a drawer, retrieving a worn photograph. He held it out to me without a word.
Three people stared back from the faded image. One was unmistakably the math teacher—but a version I barely recognized. Her face was softer, younger, genuinely happy. The second figure made me pause. Small, narrow eyes... I think that was Aku? I didn't know many people with that particular feature. The third was a Caucasian man with blonde hair that mirrored the teacher's golden locks.
"I think you remember Claid, Pamela's husband?" he asked carefully.
I blinked, obviously not in the loop.
"The biology teacher?" His expression shifted to genuine shock, as if my ignorance was somehow inconceivable. "Really?"
.
"Haaah." Aku released a long, weary sigh, rubbing his temple before continuing. "We all came to this Academy around the same time. I heard about the job opening myself when I was drifting between countries like some rootless wanderer." His gaze grew distant. "But Pamela and Claid? They actually attended this school in the past. They were colleagues of the current headmaster, Zilliam, back in their student days."
"Yes, of course I remember!" I was told this information, but I never cared. I assumed this connection was why 'Pamela' was afforded so many favors by the Dean. It seems that the favours were true.
"There's a secret at this Academy," he said, voice dropping like we were in some spy movie. "Something about the Zilliam family. Something ugly—the kind of thing that could destroy their reputation forever."
Sure. Because powerful families definitely get their reputations destroyed by scandals. That always happens.
He turned back to face me, looking like he was about to deliver the world's saddest monologue.
"Claid found a laboratory when he was searching for a private place to cultivate some mushrooms." Of course he was growing mushrooms. "Something tucked away where it shouldn't have been. I don't know exactly what he saw in there, but after he told me about it..." His voice wavered. "He disappeared. Just like that. One day later."
Aku's hand clenched into a fist. A tear actually rolled down his cheek—apparently we were going full melodrama now.
"The man I'd known for five years was just... gone. And the Dean?" He let out a bitter laugh. "The Dean acted like nothing happened. Like Claid never existed."
Yeah, that tracked. Institutions protecting themselves? Shocking. Truly unprecedented.
"Pamela, she... She confronted the Dean. Why wouldn't she? Her soulmate who she knew all her life was gone, and yet nobody even realized. Afterwards, she became like she is now. I don't know what the Dean did to her, but it was unholy. I'll tell you. Get Alice to stop pursuing this. I don't want that girl to suffer." It's not really up to me. She doesn't listen when her curiosity is piqued. Sometimes I wonder if she is autistic. I've heard they have hyperfixations just like this...
"We can't just let this go if it's something so dangerous. The lives of all these students could be at risk." Didn't think I would ever defend Alice, but what if the Dean randomly decides to do what she did to Pamela to me? What would I do?
"Where is the laboratory?"
"No, William. You don't understand!"
"I don't care about my life, Aku, and apparently neither does Alice for hers. Aren't we supposed to be heroes?"
The Chou was left silent, and he kept looking at all the pages littering the room.
"I... Understand. Go to the warehouse building. The entrance is somewhere in there."
"Yes, thank you, Aku. We'll do a lot of good with this information." Probably. Maybe. Who knows, really.
I turned toward the door, already mentally mapping out the route, but his voice stopped me just as my hand reached the handle.
"And William?"
I glanced back. "Yes?"
"Aku isn't my name." He looked uncomfortable, like he'd been carrying this around for a while. "It's... it's actually just a slur Akerman uses."
I blinked. Well, that was awkward. For him, anyway.
"Ah." I gave a casual shrug, hand still on the doorknob. "Guess you aren't like that anymore, then!"
Before he could respond—or worse, start another emotional moment—I pulled the door closed behind me and stepped into the corridor. Problem solved. Moving on.
I stopped by the nearby handyman store and picked up an IR flashlight before heading back to the warehouse.
Honestly, I was surprised a place like that even existed here. Wouldn't rich people just order everything online or pay someone to fix their problems? Then again, maybe the staff needed somewhere to buy screws and duct tape. Not my concern.
The warehouse sat off to the side like an afterthought—a small auxiliary building distanced from the main academic circus.
While the rest of the campus seemed obsessed with looking impressive, this place was purely functional. Weathered brick, reinforced steel beams, the works. Large metal-framed windows lined the sides, letting daylight flood the interior during the day and probably making it freezing at night.
Someone had clearly thrown money at renovating it—the attempt to blend industrial practicality with the Academy's aesthetic was obvious enough. Fresh paint trying to hide old bones. Standard rich-people nonsense: making even the storage buildings look presentable.
I approached the entrance, IR flashlight in hand, ready to find whatever secret laboratory rich families apparently hide in their schools.
Inside, the warehouse was a model of organization. Towering shelves reached toward the high, sloped ceiling, their contents carefully cataloged. Rows of crates and bins held everything from sports gear to art supplies, while neatly stacked boxes contained laboratory equipment and other teaching essentials. The scent of cardboard and wood lingered in the air, accompanied by the occasional whiff of old papers from the archive section. A small office space at the far end housed a simple desk and computer, where an administrator kept track of the inventory. Luckily, said administrator was away, so I was free to look around. Security cameras mounted discreetly in the corners watched over the valuable items, ensuring nothing went missing.
The concrete floors were polished and marked with yellow safety lines, guiding anyone walking through the warehouse to the various sections. Though the building was purely functional, it played a vital role in the academy's daily operations, quietly ensuring that all departments had what they needed to keep the institution running smoothly.
That was the whole point of coming here—recon for security we'd need to disable later. Sure, I'd already spotted the obvious cameras, but experience had taught me there was always a catch. Always some extra layer of paranoia from people with too much money and too many secrets.
Did Zilliam actually bother placing hidden cameras around campus? Maybe, maybe not. Honestly, I didn't care about most of them. But here? In the warehouse where hee family apparently hid mysterious laboratories? Yeah, I couldn't afford to be caught doing anything remotely suspicious.
At least I had a decent cover story. I was supposed to pick up some maps for my classes from the warehouse—a task I'd been putting off for over a week now because, well, who cares about maps? But it worked as an alibi.
I flicked on the IR flashlight without bothering with the main lights. The beam cut through the darkness, revealing the telltale infrared glow of any hidden cameras lurking in corners. The standard security cameras were easy enough—we could just disable those from the security room next to the Dean's office. Simple. But these secret ones? These I'd have to deal with immediately using my ability. No second chances, no room for mistakes.
I swept the flashlight methodically across the walls and ceiling, looking for that distinctive shimmer.
There were about 6 of them.
I grabbed the maps and headed back to the dorm, where I found Alice waiting in the lounge. Crying. Alone.
Did these people do this as a hobby or something?
I sat down nearby, and she immediately launched into a stream of worries about the operation—what could go wrong, what might happen, the usual spiral of concerns. Aku must have gotten to her too. Great. Just what we needed.
She pressed herself against my arm, shivering. I didn't really get the gesture since I was also cold—seemed counterproductive, honestly. I awkwardly patted her back with my free hand, going through the motions.
Why was I supposed to be her moral support? She was the one who dragged me into this mess in the first place. Now suddenly I'm the emotional anchor? The logic didn't track, but whatever. People seemed to expect this kind of thing, so I kept patting. Maybe that's what you're supposed to do when someone decides to have a breakdown in the middle of a conspiracy investigation.
"If you don't want to continue this, I can understand."
"N-no, we have to! What would Kevin think if I ran away, just like I have been doing up until now?" Was this about UltraMan? Was she talking about how she almost committed suicide? What is my deal in all of this?
"I... Thank you, Will. I really do. I wouldn't be able to continue my life without you..." Fuck off. Is this a confession? I was having a hard time not cringing at what she said. So corny...
Apparently, she interpreted my hard-earned silence as some kind of heartfelt gratitude. "Thank you~" "Oh myyy!" or whatever was going through her head. I honestly had no idea what her thought process was, but she leaned in and gave me another peck on the cheek.
I really should just slap her one of these days. Then I remember that I literally can't. I think She beats me in physical strength. Perhaps under the caffeine supplement I could muster a victory? A man can dream.
The only reason I put up with this much from her was simple pragmatism: she knew about 'my' secret identity.
Antagonizing someone with that kind of leverage seemed like a spectacularly bad idea, even by my standards.
Come to think of it, I didn't even know what her superpower was. We were planning a potentially dangerous infiltration together, and I had no clue what she could actually do.
Actually, why don't I just ask?
"Hey, I've been thinking, what even is your power? I mean, you are UltraMan's apprentice."
"Haha, that is a long story... It's about the moon." Yes, I could tell that much. "It's not that I don't want to tell you, but it's getting late, and we need to be rested for our... 'mission'. These days you've barely even slept, so I want to make sure you go to bed. We should continue this tomorrow."
Damn, what a cliffhanger! And who the hell does she think she is to say that to me? My mother? No, not her… I don't want to think about her.
Even then, what else could I do?
I went to bed unsatisfied.
That night I slept well.
But tomorrow... I would break this school.
***