Salazar's words still lingered in my mind, echoing like a curse. Did they mean I was fated to become that shadow of mine—the one that had surfaced that day? Would I eventually lose control and succumb to the urge to destroy everything around me?
"Mr. Vernier?"
A tap on my shoulder broke the thought. I turned to find a middle-aged woman with streaks of gray in her hair, her brows furrowed. "You may begin."
Begin? Right. Today was the first day of school, and I was standing before the class, supposed to introduce myself.
There were about twenty students in the room, seated in six neat rows of single desks stretching toward the back. Too few, considering how large the classroom was. The extra space had been filled with displays—tables cluttered with arts and crafts, from simple trinkets to intricate silver miniatures.
"My name is Cain Vernier. I used to attend Riverdale High, but for certain reasons, I decided to transfer here. I hope we can all get along—"
A hand shot up. A brown-haired boy with dreadlocks leaned back in his chair, one foot propped arrogantly on his desk. "So, what made you transfer here?"
"Mr. Weinstein, that's a personal matter. And watch your manners—this is class time! Put your foot down!"
The boy, Weinstein, only shrugged. "We'll be spending the rest of the semester together. What's the harm in getting to know each other a little better?"
"Safety."
"Hm?" He raised an eyebrow.
"In this world, monsters can appear anytime, anywhere. Hunters won't always be there to protect us. So instead of waiting around and relying on others, I'd rather learn to defeat them with my own strength."
Weinstein stared at me for a long moment before letting out a short, dismissive snort. I couldn't tell if that answer satisfied him, but at least it kept the exchange from spiraling into something worse.
My homeroom teacher only sighed. "Mr. Vernier, there's an empty seat in the second-to-last row, on the right. Please take it."
I nodded and moved down the aisle. As I walked, I felt eyes on me—several of the students clustered around Weinstein watched every step I took, some smirking, some snorting under their breath. None of it felt friendly.
It reached a peak when one of them deliberately stretched out a leg, trying to trip me.
I glanced at the culprit, a bob-cut girl with jet-black hair. She only smirked and flashed me a peace sign with her fingers.
"Not a bad way to make a first impression."
I ignored her and stepped high over her leg. Unfortunately, my assigned seat was directly behind hers.
The moment I set my bag down, she spun around and held out her hand. "Freya."
I looked at the hand, sighed, and finally shook it. "Nice to meet you, Freya."
She grinned again. "Riverdale High, huh? That brings back memories."
"You went there too?" I had served on the student council at Riverdale and practically knew every face in my year, but I had never seen her before.
"Almost. I got my Hunter summons just before the entrance exams, so I transferred here instead."
That explained it. Freya seemed like she wanted to keep the conversation going, but a sharp voice suddenly cut through the room.
"HEY!"
I turned, annoyed by the volume.
A boy slouched in his chair, an oversized green blazer draped over him, ripped in several places. His face was hidden behind a notebook, showing only his thick, wormlike lips.
"I don't care what you and your little girlfriend are yammering about, but if I hear one more word—one more sound that disturbs my nap—I'll end you both."
Nap? In the middle of class?
"Got it?"
Tch. Whatever his deal was, his yelling so close to me was enough to make me sick.
"What's going on back there?" My teacher's voice carried over, sharp with warning.
But before I could respond, Freya shot up from her seat. "N-no, nothing! We were just introducing ourselves, yeah—just trying to break the ice." She forced a nervous laugh and scratched the back of her neck.
"Save the socializing for recess. This is study time, understood?"
"Y-yes. Sorry, Ma'am."
I frowned. Why was she apologizing, while the actual troublemaker sat there smugly in silence? Worse, the bastard had already started snoring loudly behind me.
Look who's being noisy now.
I was about to turn and call him out, but Freya's hand shot out, pressing against my arm.
I gave her a questioning look. She only shook her head. "Don't. It's for your own good."
I ground my teeth but forced out a sigh.
First day here, and I'd already stumbled into nonsense. Figures.
***
When the bell for recess rang, I finally felt free. Studying had never been a problem for me, but this—this was suffocating.
Our homeroom teacher, Ms. Emma Stinz, had been teaching Ether Theory, a subject on the magical energy said to have awakened within humans after the appearance of the Gates.
It could have been fascinating, if only she'd taught with some spark. Instead, her flat monotone droned on about obscure compounds and their correlations to internal organs.
The one clear takeaway was this: Ether grew stronger with the intensity of one's emotions.
Which was why, unsurprisingly, the strongest Hunters were often those who broke through their limits at the height of emotional extremes.
But that was for normal humans. What about me? What about someone like me—a half-demon?
"Wanna go to the cafeteria?"
Freya appeared again, her friendliness edging into suspicion. Too much, too soon. Maybe it was just the new-kid effect, harmless curiosity—human nature. Still, no one else had gone out of their way to talk to me.
Maybe it was the culture at Hunter schools. People here cared more about their own growth, leaving little space for trivial sympathy.
Still, when I agreed to join her, I caught those stares again.
Five of them this time. Three boys, two girls. And Weinstein.
He was even more brazen now, twisting in his seat to grin at me. I couldn't read his expression, but when our eyes met, I saw his lips move, forming silent words: Good luck.
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Some kind of hazing ritual for newcomers? I turned to Freya, ready to ask, when—
"N-no, it's just how they are. W-Weinstein and the others are really nice. Really, really nice."
That sounded less like reassurance and more like a rehearsed line. The real question was: was she with them, or not?
When we finally reached the cafeteria, I was hit with a shock. A big one.
Bianca—the girl who was supposed to be my girlfriend—was sitting with another guy.
And not just any guy.
As I closed in, Bianca's head snapped up. Her brown hair framed a face gone pale. She flailed her hands nervously in front of her. "C-Cain, it's not what it looks like—"
I ignored her. Sliding into the seat across from them, I kept my voice low, steady, and cold.
"So… what are you doing here with…
"…Fletcher?"