{Back at the Academy}
Donna Lein. Since birth, she had been called a prodigy by everyone around her—and she had proved it countless times.
From discovering a new equation that became the foundation of the barriers protecting humanity from the Corrupted Lands, to countless other breakthroughs, her name had already been etched into history.
But brilliance comes with burdens.
Now, she was tasked with solving the Eleven Impossible Problems, ancient equations left unsolved since the Old World. Each one was said to be a doorway into magic's deepest laws.
And today, she thought she had found a crack in one of them.
Donna marched through the academy halls, papers clutched tightly in her hands. Her pace was so fast she nearly barreled into several cadets, muttering only a curt "Sorry" before continuing without pause.
Her destination: Kaelen Noctar's office.
Without so much as a knock, she kicked the door open, scattering the litter of wrappers that covered the floor.
Kaelen, hunched over a flask of swirling violet liquid, barely glanced up. His sharp gaze flicked to her for an instant before he sighed and turned back to his potion.
"…What is the reason for your visit?" His voice was even, calm, as though intrusions like this were an everyday occurrence.
"I want to borrow one of your students." Donna replied, adjusting her glasses with a brisk motion.
Kaelen's brow arched, though his attention never left the glowing liquid in his hand. "Borrow? My students are not books from the library, Professor Lein. Who is it you're after?"
Donna's eyes gleamed behind her lenses. "Rank 101. Kylen Noor."
Kaelen froze for a heartbeat when he heard the cadet's name. Slowly, deliberately, he set the flask down onto his desk. The soft clink of glass on wood was the only sound in the room as he rose to his full height.
Donna straightened, but the difference in stature was impossible to ignore. Kaelen loomed over her, tall enough that she had to crane her head back to meet his gaze.
And what she met were eyes the color of burning emeralds—sharp, unblinking, like blades pressing against her skin.
"You know," Kaelen said, his voice low but cutting, "one of the Academy's rules concerning cadets." He stepped closer, each word heavy, deliberate. "Students cannot be treated as tools. They are not pawns to be borrowed, bartered, or played with for your experiments."
Donna adjusted her glasses again, more to steady her hand than for the lenses. "This isn't about using him as a tool. It's about discovery. What Kylen Noor did in my classroom wasn't coincidence. You and I both know it."
Kaelen's gaze narrowed, the air between them thickening with pressure. "That boy has already gone through more in a week than most cadets face in years. A Gate, the loss of an arm, and now you want to drag him into your obsession with the Impossible Problems?"
She didn't flinch. "If he truly solved—or even reshaped—one of the Eleven, then hiding him would be the greater crime."
For a long, tense moment, neither spoke.
Then Kaelen exhaled slowly, the weight of his glare easing just enough to let her breathe freely again. "…You'll have him. But only under my conditions."
Kaelen Noctar was what the Academy called a Warlock.
On paper, that was a class. In practice, it was a curse.
Warlocks had a reputation older than the Academy itself: liars, manipulators, villains in waiting. Even when they stood at humanity's side, suspicion clung to them like a second shadow. In stories told to children, warlocks were the betrayers, the ones who always chose power over people.
Kaelen knew this better than anyone. It was the reason he remembered every single regulation, every single clause in the Academy's handbook. Where others could bend rules, he could not. Where others could act on impulse, he had to measure every step.
Because for someone like him? One mistake, one accusation, and he wouldn't be seen as a teacher. Or a scholar. Or a hero.
He'd be seen as exactly what the world already whispered: a villain in disguise.
That was why his glare at Donna carried such weight—not just as an instructor defending a student, but as a warlock who could never afford to let others treat his cadets as disposable.
"Donna Lein," he said, his voice colder now, every syllable deliberate. "You may think you see potential. But understand this: if Kylen Noor becomes broken under your hand, the blame won't fall on you. It will fall on me. Because I am his instructor."
Donna hesitated, fingers tightening around the stack of papers she held. The prodigy of mathematics, used to having her way, suddenly found herself pinned beneath the presence of a man who had lived his entire life under suspicion—and survived it through iron discipline.
◇◇◇
Sneaking through the underworld is easy when your clothes swallow the light. Noah's suit did that for me—soft fabric that drank neon and shadow both.
I hope there'will be more person like Noah out there.
I kept my steps steady, quick, and quiet. Stalking is less about speed and more about patience. Wait until the wrong breath shows up.
John Pedroplie moved like a nightmare in the moonlight: once a hero, now a name people spat in alleys. The bounty board didn't do his crimes justice. The number said one thing; the stories said another. I'd read both and still felt a chill at how small the reward looked next to what he'd done.
I checked the proof list against my palm like a mechanic checks his tools.
___
1. Quiet end — suffocation or blood loss, nothing theatrical.
2. No scene. No witnesses. No screams to echo down the tiles.
3. Deliver proof in the exact form the guild demanded.
___
No poetry. No mercy. The underworld liked efficiency.
I picked up the dagger and hurled it toward John. He reacted instantly—far too fast for a man his size. With a grotesque leap, he vaulted from the street onto the rooftops, the girl still clutched in his arms like a grotesque trophy.
His pace was monstrous, legs pumping with unnatural strength as he bounded across tiles and beams, carrying the child as if she weighed nothing.
"He runs disturbingly fast for someone built like that," I muttered, my tone flat, my eyes locked on his back.
I sprinted through the crowded street below, weaving between bodies, but every second cost me ground. Even when I picked up speed, the press of pedestrians slowed me.
Another obstacle. Another delay.
"I've had enough of this."
From my coat, I drew the coil of silver thread Victoria had entrusted to me. Wrapping it with mana until it gleamed faintly in the dark, I whispered:
[Secret Art of the Spider]
The thread shot forward, hissing through the night air. It struck the corner of a rooftop beam and clung tight, shimmering faintly. With a single pull, my body launched upward, ripped from the suffocating crowd and hurled into the air.
My coat snapped in the wind as I landed lightly on a rooftop, the thread retracting in a smooth motion back to my hand. The crowd below vanished into meaningless noise.
Now it was just me and him.
John glanced back mid-leap, his eyes widening when he saw I had closed the gap. The grotesque smirk that twisted his face deepened, revealing jagged teeth beneath his beard.
He carried on, leaping to the next roof, clutching the girl tighter.
I walked forward, each step steady, deliberate.
"Run as much as you like," I called coldly, my voice carrying through the rooftops like a verdict. "But the night has already chosen your grave."
The thread in my hand thrummed with restrained power.
Tonight, Leonardo Auditore would make his name known.
To Be Continued...