Chapter 152
THE HEART (2)
The door opened with a smooth hydraulic sigh, the room they stepped into was far larger than any office IAM had seen before.
The office was vast—easily double the size of any classroom they'd seen, The ceiling was high, with the lights recessed and warm, casting a soft glow over everything beneath.
Everything was immaculately clean.
Walls of matte black and deep crimson framed the room, while one side featured tall, floor-to-ceiling windows, covered partially by vertical blinds that filtered in streaks of golden daylight.
Everywhere they looked, there were objects that felt curated—like each one had a story behind it.
The shelves lined the walls, filled with strange trinkets, rare books, and an assortment of objects. Glass cases held old weapons or faded relics. It felt less like an office and more like a private collection.
And in the center of it all was the desk.
It was grand and curved like a semi-circle, It curved outward with the outer arc of the curve facing the boys as they stood before it. The design created a sense of separation—as though the desk itself was drawing a line between authority and student.
Despite its size and shape, the desk was surprisingly tidy. Papers were stacked neatly. A few books were arranged nicely alongside a pen holder other essentials.
A polished name plaque sat at the very front edge, sharp red letters etched into it.
It read:
THE HEART
Behind the desk, seated in a tall leather chair, was a man with a thick, well-groomed mustache and round, flushed cheeks. His eyes locked on them the second they entered.
At first glance, someone might assume he was slightly overweight. His broad chest, heavy arms, and the way his uniform stretched across his frame all contributed to the illusion. But it was all muscle. Dense, layered strength coiled beneath the surface.
This was Ellias Hartwell.
IAM remembered him from the orientation—the man known across the academy as Ellias the Heart.
He hadn't spoken much during the orientation, but his presence had been hard to ignore. Back then, he had given off a very clear aggressive vibe.
And right now, his cheeks were redder than ever.
He looked livid.
Ellias wore the same uniform he had during orientation—a pristine white blazer with bold red lines trailing down from each shoulder, framing his torso like markings carved into stone.
It was the uniform worn only by the seven Vice Principals of Hope Academy.
Ellias grumbled,"Not even a week… and already, all of you have managed to get in trouble. In all these years, I have never seen anything like this."
His tone wasn't just disappointed. It was also harsh. He didn't sound surprised—he sounded fed up.
The boys stood awkwardly in front of his desk, eyes unsure of where to look.
"What are you doing? Sit down!" Ellias snapped, suddenly raising his voice. He waved his hand aggressively, motioning toward the row of seats set along the outer curve of his desk.
None of them dared hesitate. The four moved quickly, dropping into the chairs and casting glances around the room.
Ellias glared at them for a few long seconds, eyes scanning each face like he was looking for a reason to send someone straight to expulsion. Then, without a word, he leaned forward and began typing on his computer. His fingers moved quickly, clearly searching for something.
He found it.
The screen flashed to a new page, and Ellias turned the monitor around to face them.
"I'm sure you've seen the chaos happening on the Internet," he said, his tone flat.
IAM and the others squinted at the screen. There was no mistaking what they were looking at.
It was IAM—caught in mid-step, using protesters as footing. Other clips showed him getting shoved, kicked, and stumbling away. Some images were blurry, but the headlines were loud and clear.
Not a single one of them said a word.
No one wanted to poke the bear.
Ellias pointed at the screen. "This is you, IAM. Am I right?"
IAM didn't try to lie. He tilted his head and answered plainly. "Yes."
Reuel leaned forward, confused. "How did you even know? He had his hood up. You can't see his face. How could you have linked the two together?"
Ellias's head turned so fast, it was like a whipcrack.
"You do not speak unless I say so," he snapped at Reuel, his voice like lava, dripping with aggression.
Reuel nodded quickly, retreating into his seat like a scolded child.
"Smart kid," Ellias muttered. He leaned back, eyes narrowing. "It wasn't difficult. The academy's PR team monitors the Internet for anything related to us. The moment these posts surfaced, they ran the faces of the so-called 'Hope Academy students' through our system. Nothing came up."
He paused. Then continued.
"Just in case, they ran yours too. Without your face, it took longer—but they checked the logs. Who left the academy that day and what everyone was wearing. And your outfit matched."
IAM nodded slowly, absorbing the information. Then asked, "So why have you brought the others here, then?"
Ellias snapped.
He stood, voice booming, finger pointed directly at IAM.
"Did you not hear me say no speaking unless I say so!? Do not speak. Do not question. And I especially do not want to hear anything from you!"
The air went still.
The others' mouths hung open in stunned silence.
IAM squinted. This guy... he really doesn't seem to like me very much.
But we've never even met before. Not properly, at least. So where was all this coming from?
Could it be because of how I got into the academy?
Yeah… that would make sense. From the beginning, it was obvious they were hesitant—reluctant, even. Like letting me in was a last-minute decision someone had to push through.
Was he one of the ones who didn't want me here?
If so, then of course I'd be unlucky enough to end up in his office, with him in charge of disciplining me... Just perfect.
But seriously, is this really something worth dragging a Vice Principal into? It felt a bit dramatic. Still—considering everything going on lately—the Hold, the protests, the way the public's been watching every move the academy makes…
This little incident probably came at the worst possible time.
Videos of me stepping on people. Students in a Hope uniform beating me up. Yeah, that's not a great look.
No matter how you look at it and from any angle, Hope Academy would be in muddy waters in terms of reputation.
People were probably demanding names and demanding someone be held responsible. They were wondering if the academy had sent me there on purpose to disrupt the protest. People were coming up with all sorts of theories as if it was all part of something bigger.
And if they figured out the hooded guy was me...
IAM let his head hang back for a moment and sighed.
Hopefully the punishment isn't too brutal.
Though, knowing his luck…