In the Archaeology Department office at the Clock Tower, the teacher pushed up his glasses and examined the ID card in his hand, then looked at the strikingly handsome boy standing before him with a puzzled expression. He felt he must have seen this unusual face before, yet no deep impression came to mind. It was as if a thin fog blurred his memory.
"Are you really a student in our archaeology department?" he asked.
Aslan smiled. The identity he carried was fake, naturally leaving no real impression. Merlin must have woven some subtle magic into the ID, a faint illusion designed to trigger a sense of déjà vu—something everyone has experienced when encountering a new place or person that feels oddly familiar. If any other magician did this, it might arouse suspicion, but coming from Merlin, it was perfectly believable.
"Teacher, you probably feel I don't look quite familiar. With an appearance like mine, it's necessary to use tricks to erase my image now and then."
The teacher studied Aslan's face carefully and nodded. Even magicians, despite their devotion to magic, can fall into trouble and must find other ways to relieve stress and keep going.
There are only a few outlets for human stress, and one popular method—especially for those with powerful family backing—is spending time with beautiful people. Even famous magicians aren't immune; their family influence can drag them into unwanted situations, and they have little recourse.
Given this and Aslan's explanation, the teacher accepted that beautiful people often enjoyed certain privileges.
"I see... Welcome back. I heard you saved some students from the Botany Department on your way here? Well done. Don't worry about any retaliation. We'll handle everything."
The Archaeology Department finally had a promising talent, and no one would let it go to waste.
Meanwhile, the girl with the black twin ponytails frowned deeply in her residence. The meaningful look Aslan gave her before parting weighed heavily on her mind. He obviously knew her. Even if he didn't know her exact identity, he must suspect she wasn't human. This was bad.
She banged her head on the table. After so many years, she had never had such a headache. First, that strange man came looking for her, and now an even stranger one appeared.
In her mind, the white-haired boy and the golden-haired boy kept flashing weird smiles. She wanted to scream, What are you laughing at? Get away from me!
Suddenly raising her head, her eyes flashed red. No—she couldn't just wait to be killed. She had to take the initiative, at least to discover the blonde bastard's intentions. If he meant harm, she would kill him—no matter what.
She glanced up at the sky, hesitated a moment, then took a deep breath. After all, she was from the Eastern Continent—a famously strong-willed woman. How could she dither so long without making a decision?
Rising slowly, she placed her glasses on the table, then let down her twin ponytails. Her long black hair flowed to the floor. She removed her modest clothes and pulled out a radically different outfit from her closet.
When she left the room—and the window, to be exact—no one would associate this open-minded, beautiful Oriental woman with the gloomy, introverted student with twin ponytails who was always buried in books.
At dusk, her figure dropped from the tall building, slipping into the shadows of other buildings and trees. Only a pair of glowing red eyes and a black silhouette moved swiftly through the night.
Like an elf of the dark, she soon reached the rooftop of another tall building. The wind played with her hair, and under the purple sky, her red eyes shone mysteriously.
She gently opened her hands and felt the strong wind blow over the deserted mountaintop. Her tense heart relaxed slightly—but not enough. Only by letting go completely could she truly unwind. The only one who could hold her back was that adult!
"Hiss... I haven't exercised in a while. I should go back to the East someday for a massage."
The girl clutched her lower back, pushed forward gently, and her skeleton creaked—a clear sign of either long inactivity or age-related changes.
Such a voice from such a young-looking girl was odd.
She frowned at the lingering pain. The stretches hadn't helped much. She probably needed a C-rank or stronger masseur—preferably someone who could really press hard. Why were there no better massage masters in the West?
Of course, an ordinary masseur wouldn't suffice.
She sighed and resolved to endure a little longer. If that guy was strong enough, maybe after battle she could feel some relief. But if the fight wasn't satisfying enough, her waist would stay sore—and then the blonde bastard could forget dying quickly.
Twisting her waist once more to make sure she could move swiftly, she vanished into the shadows above the rooftop again.
-End Chapter-
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