The morning sun spilled across the academy gates as Johnson strolled in, his coat still half-buttoned and his hair tousled. He had dropped his sister off earlier, yet he was—unsurprisingly—late again.
He muttered under his breath, "I hope today isn't as tiring as yesterday…"
A sharp voice interrupted him.
"For someone who claims to have speed abilities, you sure are slow."
Johnson froze. Teacher Lillian stood before him, stopwatch in hand, her expression both calm and merciless.
He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Ugh, not again. I'm sorry, Miss Lillian."
"That's what you always say." Her eyes narrowed. "I don't know why Lucian favors you, but this school doesn't tolerate latecomers. Your abilities are sealed here, no matter how powerful you think you are."
"Except during emergencies, I know." Johnson gave a sheepish grin. "I promise, it won't happen again."
"Spare me the excuses." Lillian's smile was laced with sarcasm as she pointed to a stretch of barren land in the distance. "Sixteen acres. Uncultivated. You'll prepare it for rice planting immediately."
Johnson sighed, tugging off his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves. "Guess I brought this on myself… Jake, duplicate the tools, please."
"Yes, master." The familiar voice of his companion echoed, and tools materialized in Johnson's hands.
In a blur of movement, Johnson shot across the field. Grass was ripped from the soil, stumps yanked out, water drawn from a nearby river, a nursery set, and barriers built from sand. In thirty seconds, the land was ready. He returned drenched and dirt-streaked, breathing evenly as though he'd only taken a light jog.
Lillian's eyes widened. "How…? I thought your elemental level was zero."
"Oh." Johnson shrugged innocently. "Guess I'm just too fast."
Still stunned, she waved him off. "Go to class. And wash up first." She reached out, her hand glowing faintly as she healed the small cuts on his arms. "Be careful, Johnson."
He nodded and made his way to class. After a quick shower, his hair was still damp as he pushed open the classroom door—only to hear shouting.
"She's a slut!"
"She's a witch—burn her!"
"Disgrace her!"
In the center of the room, Angela stood trembling, tears streaking down her cheeks.
"Stop! I didn't do anything to you!" she cried.
Mike, one of the boys, held up his phone with a twisted grin. "What about this, huh? These pictures? You slut!"
Angela shook her head desperately, sobbing harder. The crowd of students surged around her, mocking, jeering. One of them yanked at her ears.
"Look at them! Long and sharp—she's not even human. A freak!"
"Cut them off!" another shouted.
"Why are you humans like this?" Angela's voice cracked. "Why are you so cruel?"
"Because you're a freak!" Mike sneered, stepping forward. With one swift motion, he tore at her dress, exposing her.
Angela cried out, arms wrapping around herself in shame.
That was when Johnson's voice cut through the chaos.
"Who are you calling a freak?"
The room fell silent. Mike turned, his smirk faltering. "And who the hell are you? Don't tell me you're defending her."
Johnson walked past the ring of students, his expression hard. "Just because she's different doesn't make her less than you." He pulled off his jacket and draped it gently over Angela's torn clothes, shielding her trembling body.
Mike scoffed. "Your girlfriend's a slut too—got her nudes right here!"
Before he could flash the screen again, the phone burst into flames. Sparks hissed and died in his hand. Johnson wiped the tears from Angela's face, his voice low and steady.
"It's fine," he told her. "You don't have to explain."
Angela choked back a sob. "I'm sorry, Johnson… I needed money to treat my sister. She's so sick—"
"Next time," Johnson interrupted softly, "just come to me. If you need help, I'll protect you. Always." He kissed her forehead gently.
Angela's wide eyes glistened with tears. "You're not… angry?"
"Of course not."
Mike sneered again. "Her nudes are still with me! Can't believe you're simping over her!"
Johnson turned sharply, eyes blazing. "You seem to know a lot about her. Where did you get those images?"
Mike swallowed hard. "Some guy named X… he wore a mask. All I saw was a strand of golden hair!"
Johnson scanned the classroom. "Is this the only place the videos are stored?"
The students nodded quickly.
"You think I'll believe that?" Johnson raised his hand, and every device in the room shattered into pieces.
Silence fell.
"Let this be a warning," Johnson's voice was cold as steel. "Next time you discriminate against her—or anyone—for being different, you'll end up like those devices."
Fear rippled through the room. The students nodded in terrified silence.
Johnson guided Angela toward the door. "You're safe now. Don't worry about the jacket—you'll catch a cold without it."
Angela clutched it tighter, her voice trembling. "Why did you help me?"
Johnson gave her a faint smile. "I'll tell you on our next date. Let's just say… I care about you."
Her cheeks flushed, tears still shining in her eyes. "You didn't have to go so far. You could have killed them."
"Fair point." His tone was casual, but his eyes burned with quiet fury. "But they deserved it."
Together, they walked out as the classroom faded into uneasy silence.