After two full days inside the dungeon, Fenrir finally decided it was time to leave.
His body had absorbed as much as it could from the mysterious pond, and he had already slain every creature within the dungeon that dared to get in his way.
But more than that, something deep inside him stirred—an instinctual tug in his gut, as if the dungeon had started to resent his presence.
'Time to go'
He thought grimly.
Fenrir never ignored his instincts.
They had kept him alive in his previous life, and they were sharper than ever in this one.
He took one last look at the now-still water and the cave he had used as shelter before exiting the dungeon.
By the time he returned to the city and stepped out into the warm light of the early morning, Fenrir's body felt tighter, leaner, and significantly stronger than when he had entered.
Even the heavy pressure of the outside world felt easier to manage.
But as he walked up to his apartment building, his mood instantly soured.
Standing right in front of his locked door was the same man as before—the stiff-backed secretary with sharp eyes who had previously come to clean up the glass from Fenrir's shattered window.
The moment their eyes met, the older man's expression darkened.
Fenrir exhaled through his nose and tried to walk past, uninterested in whatever this man wanted now.
"Fenrir."
The secretary snapped, reaching out and grabbing his arm.
The grip was firm, unyielding.
Fenrir narrowed his eyes.
"Let go."
"Your brother has a message for you."
The man replied coolly.
"I don't care."
Fenrir jerked his arm, but the man didn't budge.
"This is non-negotiable. You will listen."
The secretary said, tone as calm and sharp as a blade.
Fenrir's first instinct was to fling the man down the stairs, but the weight behind the secretary's grip told him everything he needed to know.
'Tsk, he's stronger than me. Let's listen to what he has to say for now.'
Fenrir realized. Attacking would be reckless.
Grinding his teeth, Fenrir yanked his arm free with effort and muttered.
"Fine. Let's get this over with."
The man stepped aside and handed over a sleek device with a video message queued up. Fenrir pressed play, and his brother's face filled the screen.
[Fenrir. You've missed enough days. If you wish to continue receiving your allowance from the family, then you will return to school immediately. No more excuses. Stop embarrassing our family and do as you're told to.]
His older brother said in that infuriatingly cold voice.
The message ended, and the screen went black.
Fenrir's first thought was to curse. He hated being told what to do. But then he exhaled slowly.
'I can't cut the cord yet. Not until I have full independence.'
He thought bitterly.
For now, he had to play along.
"Fine, I'll go."
Fenrir muttered.
The secretary's brows rose, clearly surprised by how easily Fenrir agreed.
"You will?"
"I said I'll go. That doesn't mean I want to."
The man's lips twitched, almost like a smile, before he stepped forward.
Then, unexpectedly, the man reached out and placed his hand near Fenrir's chest, eyes narrowing.
"What—?"
Fenrir stepped back on instinct, instantly raising a wall of defensive mana.
A sharp shock of energy exploded between them. The man jerked his hand back, visibly stunned.
Fenrir stared, tense and ready to counter.
"You awakened."
The man said quietly, blinking as if Fenrir had grown a second head.
The air between them crackled for a moment before settling.
"I asked when you awakened."
He repeated.
Fenrir hesitated. He hadn't expected anyone to notice so soon.
"...Recently."
The secretary folded his arms.
"You weren't showing any signs of mana flow a week ago. Now you're leaking it like a faucet. What happened? Tsk, this makes things more complicated. Ugh, your brother won't be happy about this development."
Fenrir said nothing. Let the man think what he wanted.
Eventually, the older man gave a curt nod.
"I'll report it. Expect someone to call you in for classification soon. You'll need an official license if you plan to keep hunting."
"Noted."
Fenrir said simply.
He turned toward his door, unlocked it, and stepped inside.
Before closing it, he gave the man a final glance.
"I'm going to school. Tell my brother to keep his money ready. After all, I am doing as I am told to."
He said.
The secretary paused before he looked at Fenrir.
"Your brother does care about you. He just…has a different way of doing things. But do know that all he is doing is to protect you."
With those words said, the secretary left.
The door clicked shut.
Inside, Fenrir sighed and leaned against the wall.
'So, they've finally noticed. That means things are going to get messy soon.'
Still, his mana pool was deeper than ever, and his instincts were sharper. Let them come. He wasn't the same weak body they'd looked down on.
______
Once Fenrir resigned himself to returning to school, he wasted no time.
He wasn't the type to do anything blindly, especially not step into an environment filled with strangers.
The moment he got back into his apartment, he poured himself a glass of water, sat on his couch, and opened his system interface.
If he was going to attend this academy, then he needed to know everything about it.
The system had a database that covered public records—something similar to a digital encyclopedia.
Fenrir typed in the name of the school: Argent Academy, one of the top-ranking institutions for training awakeners and elite-class civilians.
He skimmed through the basics first—school structure, class rankings, staff, student organizations, known achievements.
The academy prided itself on nurturing high-potential individuals into full-fledged professionals in various awakening fields: combat, support, production, and intelligence.
But Fenrir wasn't interested in the brochures or the sparkling image.
He was looking for weapons—people he could use.
So he filtered through the system's recommended profiles: notable students, top combat talents, geniuses with rare affinities, heirs of major guilds.
There were a few who looked interesting.
'Useful people sure are a hassle to find. These resumes look so factory-produced that it's not even funny. '
Fenrir noted.
However, as helpful as the profiles were, he didn't trust them.
The system had already shown its flaws, over and over. That D-rank nonsense still stung.
So, while the system's database could point him in the right direction, Fenrir had no intention of taking it as gospel.
He leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowing.
"I'll decide for myself who's useful and who isn't."
He muttered under his breath. He knew firsthand how appearances and statistics could lie.
In his past life, some of the greatest threats he'd faced were those dismissed by others. People underestimated quiet, average-seeming individuals until it was too late.
Fenrir had no intention of making that mistake.
His goal was simple: identify people with potential—those with power, ambition, and malleability.
Allies and tools.
He needed people who could be shaped, steered, or sacrificed if it meant furthering his plans.
When the divine beings returned to shatter the world again, he would need more than strength.
He'd need a foundation, a faction.
And if Argent Academy held the seeds of that power, then he'd go.
Not for the school. Not for family. Not even for the money.
But because the battlefield had changed—and this was his new hunting ground.