School felt like a never-ending punishment.
Fenrir tapped his pen on the desk rhythmically, staring at the floating textbook screen with half-lidded eyes.
Today's history class was once again rehashing the "Great Collapse Era"—a time he had lived through—and yet everything the teacher said made his skin crawl.
Not because it was horrifying, but because it was wrong. Every single fact, date, and event was twisted or outright fabricated.
He knew that correcting the teacher would do nothing but draw attention to himself.
Worse, it might trigger an argument, and Fenrir didn't have the energy or the patience to pretend to care about what people thought.
He slumped in his seat, counting the minutes until the bell rang.
Finally, lunchtime came.
Fenrir stood up, yawned, and slowly walked out of the classroom.
As soon as he found an empty spot near the back of the courtyard, he pulled out his holo-tab and checked the hunter market.
When he saw the results, he nearly choked on his breath.
[Sold Out. Again.]
He blinked, refreshed the page—same result.
All ten bottles he had posted that morning for 750,000 credits each were gone. In less than an hour.
A tiny, satisfied smirk touched the edge of his lips.
But before he could bask in his minor victory, a group of students plopped down nearby, chatting loudly.
"Did you guys see the forums this morning? That mystery seller uploaded another batch!"
One of them said excitedly.
"I know, right? And they were still labeled as failures! Can you believe it? At 750k per bottle, and people still bought them like candy!"
Another replied.
"Honestly, the guy's an idiot,"
A girl laughed.
"If he's selling those potions as failures, I don't even want to imagine what his successful ones look like. He could easily price them at ten times that—hell, even more. People would still buy."
Fenrir stiffened. He kept his expression neutral, but inside, a twitch ran down his jaw.
'Idiot, huh?I was trying to be generous.'
He thought bitterly.
At the time, he'd simply guessed a reasonable price by comparing the potion's effect to similar artifacts.
But hearing that he had drastically undersold his work made something twist inside him. It wasn't the money—it was the principle.
The value. His work had always had value in the past. Why hadn't he realized that still held true now?
'I guess having too much money made me undermine the value of things a lot. I need to study the market even more.'
He clenched the holo-tab slightly harder than necessary and forced himself to take a deep breath.
'Next batch, I'm not going to be so 'generous'.'
The bell rang, dragging him back into the mundane world of lectures, practice scrolls, and pseudo-science.
Each class felt longer than the last, and his mood only spiraled downward as teachers droned on about theories that didn't apply, formulas that were incorrect, and Mana control techniques that were inefficient at best.
By the time the day ended, he was almost twitching with irritation.
He didn't even wait for Dain's usual friendly chatter.
He ducked his head, slid through the crowd, and disappeared through the school gates like a shadow.
The moment he was far enough, he slipped on his favorite dark hoodie, one that hid his silver-streaked hair and most of his face, and headed for his sanctuary—the lab.
The downtown area was alive with its usual noise: street vendors calling out their deals, low-level adventurers sharing war stories over hot food, and shady figures trying to look casual under neon lights.
Fenrir ignored them all.
He walked with purpose toward the old warehouse—now equipped with the highest-grade security systems and surveillance tech credits could buy.
As Fenrir approached the alley leading to his lab, something immediately felt off.
It was the noise first—low muttering, the occasional thump of boots against concrete, and the unmistakable sound of metal tools scraping against a lock.
He slowed his steps, eyes narrowing beneath the shadow of his hoodie.
Then he saw them.
A group of six or seven men were huddled around the lab entrance.
Most wore tattered leather jackets or mismatched armor—low-tier thugs with enough guts to be a problem but not enough brains to avoid one.
One of them, clearly the loudmouth of the group, was smacking a crowbar against the reinforced lab door and laughing.
"Who the hell builds a premium place like this in the middle of nowhere? Must be abandoned or owned by someone too rich to care. This place is perfect for a new base."
He yelled.
"Yeah. Walls are thick. Power's running. Bet there's good stuff inside."
Another grunted, kicking the wall with a sneer.
Fenrir's eye twitched.
He had already been in a foul mood from the day's classes, from the realization he'd underpriced his potions, and from the annoying attention growing around his work.
Now, to top it all off, he was being forced to deal with bottom-feeding idiots trying to break into his sanctuary.
He exhaled slowly, pushing his mana into the ground and linking it to the security system.
The response was immediate.
A quiet hum surged through the alley, followed by a series of bright flashes as the outer-layer shock traps activated.
The intruders cried out, each one convulsing briefly as sparks of electricity danced across their limbs.
One of them dropped his crowbar with a clatter, his face pale with panic.
"What the hell?!"
"Where did that come from?!"
"Is this place trapped?!"
Before they could recover or decide what to do next, Fenrir stepped out from the shadows of the alley's far end, his face still hidden under his hoodie, but his eyes glinting faintly in the dark.
His voice was cold. Low. Dangerous.
"What are you doing at my lab?"
The combination of the lighting, the sudden shock, and Fenrir's unyielding tone made the gang freeze in place.
Even though he didn't raise his voice, something about the way he said "my" sent a chill down their spines.
"W-We didn't know—!"
"Thought it was abandoned, man—!"
"Sorry! We didn't mean anything by it!"
Fenrir didn't move. He simply stared.
The silence that followed felt heavier than lead.
And then, one by one, the would-be invaders turned tail and ran.
The loudmouth didn't even bother picking up his crowbar. He sprinted down the alley like his life depended on it.
The others followed, tripping over each other in their hurry to flee.
Fenrir didn't chase them. He didn't need to.
He waited until the sounds of their footsteps faded before finally relaxing his shoulders and walking up to the lab entrance.
The lock recognized his presence and clicked open with a quiet beep.
"Idiots."
He muttered under his breath.
As the door slid open and the comforting hum of the lab's interior greeted him, Fenrir stepped inside, the tension melting from his body the moment the door sealed shut behind him.
He walked past the shelves of neatly arranged ingredients and machinery, toward his main workstation.
This was his haven. His place of quiet.
A fortress of his own making, where no one could interrupt him or ask questions.
He didn't know—or particularly care—that the group he had scared off was already spreading tales throughout downtown.
Stories of a haunted lab guarded by a monster in human skin. Of a shadowy figure who didn't speak loud, but whose voice made you feel like your soul was being judged. Of a place where trespassers got zapped, cursed, or worse.
By morning, people would whisper about "that lab" again.
They'd say it belonged to someone who should not be disturbed, even by the boldest of gangs. That those who tried were lucky to still be breathing.
And soon, Fenrir's legend—already quietly growing due to the potion sales—would evolve into something stranger. Scarier.
Back inside, Fenrir poured himself a glass of water and leaned back in his chair, letting the coolness ease the lingering annoyance from earlier.
The lab lights reflected gently in his eyes as he opened his holo-tab to review the brewing stats from the previous batch.
The potions had sold. His test had succeeded. And now he could start planning his next upgrade.
Security systems: still solid.
Inventory: stocked.
Experiment queue: full.
He smiled to himself faintly, feeling a twinge of satisfaction for the first time that day.
No one would mess with his peace. Not here.
And if they tried?
They'd learn why people in the city had started calling him the one to avoid… if you want to live.