Mr. Simon sat beside Akira, hands clasped, fingers fidgeting nervously. Akira remained on the bed, head bowed.
"Did you tell Dracula you're Malakar?" Mr. Simon finally asked, breaking the silence.
"No… I didn't." Akira's voice was unsteady.
"Then how did he know?" Mr. Simon pressed.
"I don't know, sir. He said something about me and Malakar having the same eyes."
Mr. Simon shifted closer, squinting as he examined Akira's gaze. "They look normal to me… unless he meant magic eyes?"
"I'm not sure. But… I saw something," Akira murmured.
Mr. Simon's stare sharpened. "What did you see?"
Akira raised a shaking hand to his forehead. "It's hazy. Like I was staring into a memory. Malakar was there… and Dracula too."
"Were they talking?" Mr. Simon asked.
"No. There was a dead body beside Dracula. Malakar was just looking down at him."
"So you killed someone important to him, and now he wants revenge," Simon concluded.
"I don't know," Akira whispered.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not sure… but Dracula looked relieved."
"Relieved?" Mr. Simon blinked. "Yeah, you're right. Your memory's a mess." He stood, ready to leave.
"I could feel it," Akira said suddenly.
Mr. Simon stopped. "Feel what?"
"His bloodlust."
"Dracula's bloodlust?" Mr. Simon asked.
"No… that's the funny part. Not once, during our fight or today, did I feel a single drop of bloodlust from Dracula." Akira swallowed. "But Val? If he made it into this room, I wouldn't be alive right now."
Mr. Simon inhaled deeply. "Oliver won't let Val touch you. And if Val gets past him, I can always drug him."
Akira let out a small laugh. "You'd make a great dad."
Mr. Simon's eyes widened, a heaviness forming in his chest. A warm smile broke through. "Thank you," he said softly before leaving.
Meanwhile, Mr. Oliver sat in his office, unease written across his face. A knock sounded before the door opened slightly—Mikage stepped in.
"Sir, you called for me?"
"Yes. Have a seat," Oliver replied. "How are you feeling?"
"Meh, it could've been worse. But I'm struggling to control my mana," Mikage said.
"It might be remnants of Dracula's blood."
"Yeah… but, sir—why am I really here? I doubt it's for small talk."
Mr. Oliver removed his glasses and leaned forward. "You're right. It's about Akira."
Mikage's stomach dropped. "Because of what Dracula said?"
Oliver didn't answer.
"Akira is under your supervision by Lord Hakuren. I want your honest report on his character."
Mikage straightened. "As for whether Akira is Malakar reincarnated—I don't know. I won't pretend to understand something I can't confirm. But if you're asking whether he's secretly evil… I've never seen anything like that. He has no darkness in him. But at the same time, no overwhelming goodness either."
"Explain," Oliver said.
"He doesn't care about magic or fighting, even though he learns quickly. He only uses his abilities when he has to. No grand ambitions, no desire for glory. He's simple. And for someone that talented, that level of apathy… looks selfish to some."
Oliver studied him quietly. "Very well. Do you, Edward, Yukiko, and Trixie trust him?"
"I trust him. And I believe the others do too. None of us see him as a threat."
Mr. Oliver's gaze drifted to the corner, where the dark silhouette with golden eyes silently watched before phasing through the wall. He turned back to Mikage with a gentle smile.
"Good. Go rest—you deserve it."
"Thank you, sir," Mikage said, leaving.
Outside the office, Val sat against the wall. He and Mikage exchanged a brief look before Mikage turned away.
"Isn't that Lord Magata's illegitimate son?" Val thought as he entered the office.
"You heard him," Oliver said.
"I did. But this stunt of yours might backfire," Val warned.
"And if it does?"
"Let's hope that day never comes."
Oliver smiled faintly.
Val stared at him. Oliver raised a brow. "What?"
"Nothing. You've changed," Val said.
"Time does that."
"I'm needed in Jamaica. Next time we meet, let it be on a good, festive day."
"Bring Mrs. Tachibana," Oliver added.
Val chuckled. "I'll try." He opened the window.
"Oh—one last thing." Val paused.
"Tell Akira to stop using necromancy. Before it went extinct, every sorcerer who practiced it ended up sick, barren, or homeless. Every soul you raise takes something physical from you."
"I'll tell him," Oliver said.
Val leapt out the window.
KABOOM.
A gust of wind swept through the academy grounds—Val vanished.
In a heartbeat, he arrived in Jamaica.
One Divine Visionary spotted him. "It's Val!"
"We're saved!" another shouted.
"Easy. Where's this Night Walker?" Val asked.
"In dere," one said in a thick accent, pointing toward a phantom veil.
Val eyed the veil. Evil mana seeped from it.
"Sheesh… that's strong." He exhaled. "I'll be quick."
He stepped through.
On the other side, a massive grotesque creature—ten feet tall—fed on people, its aura corrupt and heavy.
"You disgust me," Val muttered.
The creature grinned and lunged.
White brass knuckles with golden engravings formed around Val's fists. In a blur, he dodged and struck its abdomen—its upper body evaporated instantly.
Val looked at the remains with pity. "You couldn't handle the weight of your sins."