Chapter 30
The Weight of a Name
The announcement came during morning assembly.
A silence spread through the courtyard as the teacher's voice cracked over the microphone. "It is with deep regret… that I must inform you… Sung Ho has passed away." The words clung to the air like ash, too heavy to disperse.
For a heartbeat, no one reacted. Then the murmurs began — low, sharp, afraid.
"What? He was just here last week—""No way. Sung Ho? Dead?""Didn't he hang out with Xin Min right before he disappeared…?"
Dozens of eyes shifted. Slowly, inevitably, they landed on the boy standing among them — black-haired, sharp-jawed, eyes gleaming with a faint red glow beneath the morning sun. Xin Min did not flinch beneath their stares. His hands were tucked loosely into his pockets, his posture relaxed, as though the death of a classmate was nothing more than weather news.
That stillness unnerved them more than any outburst could.
Whispers thickened. Rumors that had slithered in shadows now gained flesh. Sung Ho had been seen with Xin Min's group before the disappearance. They had fought. Some swore Sung Ho had gone to confront him. And now Sung Ho was gone — dredged from the river, lifeless.
The air around Xin Min curdled with suspicion. He could feel it pressing against him, yet his expression remained unreadable. Inside, however, Ouroboros — the true self hidden beneath Xin Min's skin — smiled coldly.
Voldrack and Zaratul, unseen by mortal eyes, lingered like shadows at the edges of his consciousness.They're afraid, Voldrack murmured. Good. Fear keeps them from asking too many questions.Zaratul hissed with quiet amusement. Or drives them to dig deeper. Fear breeds curiosity as much as silence. Be careful, host.
The day dragged on, thick with tension. Teachers avoided looking directly at him, but their lectures faltered whenever he shifted in his seat. Students gave him wide berths in the hallway, their conversations cut short the moment he passed. Even the bravest among them avoided eye contact, as if afraid his gaze alone could curse them.
For Maverick, inhabiting Xin Min's body, this was both an inconvenience and an opportunity. He needed anonymity, to blend into the herd, yet his very nature resisted it. Power bled through his façade, demanding recognition, forcing mortals to acknowledge him even if only through fear.
By lunchtime, the silence around him was suffocating. He sat alone at the edge of the cafeteria, untouched food before him. No one dared share his table. Yet every glance, every hushed voice, was fixed on him.
This vessel is imperfect, Voldrack noted. Its past carries too much weight. Already they suspect you.Then let suspicion rot them from within, Ouroboros replied silently, his eyes flicking over the crowd. The more they fear me, the more I control the narrative. No angel will look twice at a mortal delinquent who inspires nothing but gossip.
Still, even as he dismissed their stares, he knew this was a fragile balance. Mortal society thrived on whispers, and whispers, once loud enough, could summon the very hunters he sought to avoid.
The day ended with a storm pressing against the horizon. Dark clouds gathered, and the corridors seemed dimmer than usual. Students hurried home, eager to escape both the weather and the shadow of Sung Ho's death.
Ouroboros walked alone, his footsteps echoing unnaturally in the emptied hallway. The silence suited him — until his phone buzzed.
He glanced down. The caller ID froze him in place: Father.
The name carried weight like iron chains. He had not spoken to the real Xin Min's parents since inhabiting the vessel. They had been absent during his first week back, traveling abroad for business. But now, on the very day Sung Ho's death was announced, they were calling.
He answered.
"Xin Min?" The voice on the other end was heavy with concern. His father's voice, deep and measured, yet tinged with suspicion. "Your mother and I just received word about Sung Ho. His family is devastated. We… wanted to hear your voice."
Maverick leaned casually against the lockers, though his grip on the phone tightened. "I'm fine." His tone was flat, controlled.
There was a pause. "Fine? That's all you have to say? You were close to Sung Ho, were you not?"
The lie had already spread into the family's ears. Maverick's lips curled faintly. "We weren't close."
Another pause. Then the mother's voice, softer but sharper, cut in: "Xin Min. We'll be returning soon. There are… matters we must discuss in person."
The call ended abruptly, leaving only static ringing in his ears.
For the first time that day, his expression darkened. The vessel's family — powerful, influential, and dangerously attentive — was now circling closer. Their scrutiny would be far more dangerous than that of his classmates. They had resources. Connections. Perhaps even ties to hidden forces.
Behind him, Zaratul manifested briefly in humanoid form, invisible to mortal eyes. "The noose tightens, Ouroboros. The dead boy's shadow stretches, and the vessel's family sharpens its fangs. What will you do?"
Maverick pushed off the lockers, slipping the phone back into his pocket. His eyes gleamed faintly crimson in the dim light of the hallway. "I will do what I always do," he murmured. "Control the board. Twist the strings. And if necessary… cut them all."
Outside, thunder cracked, rattling the windows.
In the unseen layers of existence, faint ripples stirred. The death of Sung Ho had brushed against the lower hierarchies of Heaven, setting off alarms that blinked briefly before dimming. For a moment, angels whispered of a disturbance — then it faded, swallowed as though it had never existed.
Only Hell lingered on the scent, watching, waiting.
And at the center of it all, walking calmly into the storm, was a boy named Xin Min — whose true name, whispered only in silence, was Ouroboros