"Are you sure this will work?" the Dean asked, his tone strained, eyes locked on Derek.
Derek gave a firm nod. "It's been a month. The enemy will be ready for a second strike. That makes this our best chance to bait the mole. One move, two victories—flush the informant, and crush the enemy's attack in the same blow."
The Dean's brows furrowed. "And the students? After what happened… are they truly ready?"
"It's been a month," Derek repeated, his voice steady, almost cold. "They're stable enough. You shouldn't waste worry on them."
The Dean studied him for a moment, then sighed. "If you say so. Go ahead with the arrangements."
"I will," Derek replied, bowing slightly before striding out of the office.
The door clicked shut, leaving the Dean alone. He leaned back into his chair, releasing a long breath. 'A mole inside my school…'
The thought gnawed at him like a parasite. If word spread beyond the academy walls, his reputation—and the school's prestige—would be ruined.
His mind spiraled until the temperature in the office suddenly dropped, breath turning to mist. The shadows thickened.
Before he could react, a figure appeared beside his desk.
The Dean shot to his feet, his aura flaring—then froze. Recognition chilled him more than the sudden frost.
"…You."
The man smiled faintly, eyes glinting with amusement. "Brother, you don't look very happy to see me."
"What are you doing here?" the Dean asked, his tone laced with venom.
"Relax. Offer me a chair, maybe a drink?" The younger man strolled casually around the office, running a hand across the broken desk.
"I have no intention of hosting you. My time is too valuable," the Dean snapped, moving toward the door.
But in a flash, the man blocked his path, his movements impossibly fast. His smile widened. "Be careful, brother. Those you trust most… will be the ones who carve your back open. When that happens, don't expect me to console you."
The Dean stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"Just a reminder," the man said lightly, stepping back. His body dissolved into smoke, his chuckle lingering as his presence faded.
The Dean stood alone, fists trembling. His brother's words rang too true, striking where he was most vulnerable. Who among them would betray me? With no answer, he slammed a fist into the wall, cracks splintering through the stone, before sinking back into his chair.
---
Meanwhile, Derek entered the announcement chamber. He pressed the mic button and let his voice fill the campus.
"Attention, everyone! There will be an inter-house sport one week from today. You are all required to prepare thoroughly. Failure is not an option. Further announcements will follow."
He clicked the mic off, left the room, and immediately found Alex, Raphael, and Klein waiting by the door.
"Sir Derek, what's the meaning of that announcement?" Klein asked, brows furrowed.
"What else could it mean?" Derek replied curtly. "You heard me clearly. Start preparing. And this time, Klein, don't embarrass yourself by losing." He brushed past them.
The boys exchanged glances, then followed.
"Sir," Klein pressed, "isn't it too soon? After the monster attack—"
Before he could finish, Derek's hand shot out, slapping Klein across the face. The sound cracked like a whip.
"Follow me. All three of you." His voice was harsh, commanding.
They obeyed, trailing him to his office. Once inside, Derek sealed the room with a shimmering veil, shutting out the world.
"Did you notice?" he asked in a low tone.
"Notice what?" Klein muttered, rubbing his cheek.
"That we're being followed."
Alex's eyes flicked toward Raphael, who nodded. "I sensed it too."
Klein lowered his head, ashamed—he had missed it entirely.
"Good," Derek said. "Then you understand why I can't discuss certain matters openly. The announcement was a cover."
"So the inter-house sport is fake?" Alex asked, suspicion in his voice.
Derek shook his head. "It's real enough. But it's bait. That day, they'll strike again. This time, we'll be ready. And I'll need the three of you at your peak."
The boys exchanged uneasy glances.
"What if we refuse?" Alex asked, eyes narrowing. "You can't force us."
Derek leaned forward, his gaze sharp as a blade. "If I must use force to ensure your cooperation, I will. Take it as training—real combat. You'll learn faster with blood on your hands." Then, with a wave of his hand, the veil dispersed. "Win during the inter-house sport. Do not humiliate me."
Klein swallowed. "We won't."
"Good. Now go."
The three left, but the sensation of eyes watching them clung to their skin. They quickened their pace, then diverted into the more desolate side of campus.
Klein stopped, voice rising. "Show yourself!"
Silence—then a low chuckle drifted through the air, followed by deliberate footsteps.
In an instant, a figure appeared beside Alex, seizing him by the throat and slamming him into the wall.
"We meet again, nephew."
Alex's eyes widened in horror. His voice caught in his throat before he managed to rasp, "…D-Damon?"
Damon's smile widened, sharp and cruel. "That's right. Hiding from me was clever, but nothing hides forever. Tell me, how does it feel… seeing me again?"
Raphael and Klein surged forward, but with a flick of Damon's hand, invisible force wrapped around them, lifting them off the ground like dolls. They struggled, suspended helplessly in the air.
"Careful," Damon mocked, his grip tightening on Alex's neck. "You wouldn't want me to snap their spines. One squeeze is all it takes."
Memories flashed in Alex's mind—the night of his parents' death, Damon's bloodstained hands, the laughter that still haunted his nightmares. His pulse pounded in his ears. He couldn't let Raphael and Klein die the same way.
"What do you want?" Alex hissed, voice breaking.
Damon leaned in close, his eyes gleaming with malice. "A simple request. Let's have a little combat… right here, right now."
Before Alex could react, Damon released his throat only to drive a fist into his chest. The impact blasted Alex across the clearing, his body crashing into the ground with bone-rattling force.
The stone cracked under the impact, dust raining around him as his body slid to the ground. The force alone was enough proof—Damon's strength had surpassed what Alex remembered. Even after the month of training, Alex was still far behind.
Klein's eyes widened. "Bastard, I won't let you hurt him!" His sword appeared in a flash of steel, and he charged with Raphael at his side.
Damon didn't even glance their way. With a snap of his fingers, an invisible force slammed into them. Their bodies locked mid-stride, frozen as if the very air had shackled them.
"I'd kill you two," Damon said with a smug curl of his lips, "but where's the fun in that? You're not the ones I came for. Stay out of this—or die." His tone was casual, almost playful, but the malice in his eyes made it clear he meant every word.
He stepped toward Alex, who was already forcing himself back to his feet. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, which he wiped away with the back of his hand. His chest ached, but the fire in his eyes burned hotter.
"Oops," Damon said mockingly, "wasn't my intention to draw blood so soon. But since you're already bleeding, we may as well enjoy ourselves, don't you think?" His grin widened, and then, he vanished.