The cavernous waiting hall of the Chicago train station had long since emptied, leaving only two figures lingering under the cold, buzzing fluorescent lights. Chu Zihang stood in perfect stillness, his gaze fixed on the dark, empty tracks, while Finger fidgeted beside him, a bundle of nervous energy. The silence stretched until it was finally broken by a lonesome whistle echoing from the distance.
A train, unlike any other, slid into the station. Its design was archaic, covered in mysterious, swirling patterns that seemed to belong more to the Middle Ages than the modern world. With a hiss of steam, it shuddered to a halt. A door slid open, and a man stepped onto the platform, his presence immediately chilling the air. His hair was stark white, and his face was partially obscured by a mask that resembled a complex breathing apparatus. He carried himself with an aura of profound, lonely coldness—a stark contrast to the cruel iciness that radiated from Chu Zihang.
It was Schneider, the formidable Executive Director of Cassel College.
"He's here!" Finger yelped, waving his arms with a manic glee that was entirely one-sided.
Schneider's voice, metallic and devoid of warmth, preceded him. "Finger, if you have summoned me with another of your bizarre calls for no valid reason, you are aware of the consequences."
Finger visibly flinched, his cheerful demeanor instantly replaced by a fawning, sycophantic grin. "Of course not, Professor Schneider! How could I possibly dare to waste your valuable time?" He scurried closer to Chu Zihang. "This is…"
He paused, realizing in his excitement he'd never actually asked for a name, simply calling the stoic young man 'brother.' Leaning in conspiratorially, he whispered, "Hey, what was your name again?"
"Chu Zihang," he answered, his expression as flat and unreadable as ever.
Finger immediately puffed out his chest and turned back to Schneider, presenting his discovery like a prize. "Professor, this is Chu Zihang! He's not an official freshman at Cassel, but he found his way here all on his own! A true talent, wouldn't you agree?"
The name hung in the air. Schneider, who had been striding forward, stopped dead in his tracks. He closed the distance, his sharp eyes scrutinizing Chu Zihang's face with an unnerving intensity. "Your father," he asked, his voice suddenly tight, "is Chu Tianjiao?"
Chu Zihang's father had been a legend at Cassel, a 'super ace' in the Executive Department. Schneider, before his promotion to Director, had even been his partner on several missions.
Hearing the familiar name, Chu Zihang didn't speak. He simply gave a slow, deliberate nod.
"I see," Schneider said, a world of meaning packed into those two words. He turned away and pulled out a satellite phone. "Principal…"
Finger, who had been shamelessly trying to eavesdrop, scampered back to Chu Zihang, his face alight with the thrill of a fresh scoop. "Junior—you don't mind if I call you that, do you? Just who is your father? You've got the Director himself calling the Principal!"
"I don't know," Chu Zihang stated. He knew his father's name and the fact that he was a mixed-blood. Nothing more.
"No way!" Finger looked aghast. "You're not holding out on me, are you, junior?"
Ignoring the babbling senior, Chu Zihang turned away. Finger wasn't offended in the slightest. As the self-proclaimed head of the Cassel College Student Union's News Department, his journalistic instincts were tingling. Chu Zihang, Chu Tianjiao, he thought, his mind racing. There's a massive story here. I can feel it.
Schneider ended his call with Principal Anjou and returned, his gaze on Chu Zihang now laced with something akin to respect. "You'll come with me. The Principal wishes to see you."
"Okay." Chu Zihang's face remained impassive, as if this was the only logical outcome.
As the two of them boarded the train, Finger made a desperate, flailing run for it. "Wait for me! I'm not on yet!"
Schneider looked tempted to let the door close, but he grudgingly held back. This time, at least, Finger hadn't been lying. The train was already beginning to move as Finger scrambled aboard, nearly tripping over his own feet.
"Hoo… hoo… Thanks!" he panted, bracing a hand on Chu Zihang's arm for support.
"It was nothing," Chu Zihang replied.
The train surged forward, accelerating with a speed that defied its antique appearance. As they sped through the night, Schneider began to brief Chu Zihang on the college. He explained that aside from this express train, codenamed 'CC1000,' the only other way onto campus was by helicopter. The college's defenses were impenetrable to outsiders.
Chu Zihang listened silently, a flicker of amusement in his mind. Impenetrable, except for Gustave.
Perhaps sensing the need for a more visceral demonstration, Schneider stood and walked to a large, cloth-covered object on the carriage wall. "Our college studies one thing above all else," he said, his hand on the white sheet. "Dragons."
He ripped the cloth away.
It was a giant oil painting of a colossal, dying tree, its gnarled branches twisting into an inescapable net that filled the sky. Beneath it lay a wasteland of bones, and from this macabre landscape, a titanic black dragon was rising. Its wings were studded with skulls, and it spat a torrent of black fire toward the heavens.
The moment he saw it, Chu Zihang felt a violent force erupt within him, a power that recoiled from the painted dragon as if from a mortal enemy. Something primal fought to leap from his eyes. He instinctively ripped the black contact lenses from his irises, revealing pupils of pure, molten gold that burned with an unquenchable light.
Schneider acted instantly, throwing the cloth back over the painting. He turned to Chu Zihang, his voice sharp with urgency. "How long have you been like this?"
"Four years," Chu Zihang answered, covering his eyes. He vaguely recalled it starting around the time he first encountered Odin.
"Four years?" Schneider pressed. "Can you still control it? Make the Golden Pupils fade?"
"I could, two years ago. They have not extinguished since."
"Never?" Schneider's professional calm was shattered. He looked at the boy in shock and awe.
"Yes."
A wave of raw excitement washed over Schneider's grim features. Ever-burning Golden Pupils signaled an incredibly high concentration of dragon blood. Normally, this meant a catastrophic loss of control was inevitable. Yet, Chu Zihang had maintained his humanity for two full years while in this state. It could only mean one thing: he was a genius. A true, one-in-a-generation prodigy.
The train finally arrived at its destination. As Chu Zihang stepped onto the campus, he felt an immediate and uncomfortable pressure, a dense, invisible web of authority pressing down on him from all sides. It was a sensation he hadn't experienced when he'd come here before with Gustave.
"It's normal to feel uneasy," Schneider explained, noticing his discomfort. "The entire campus is enveloped in the Vice-Principal's Word Spirits and layered disciplines. A constant state of order." His tone had lost its earlier coldness, replaced by a guide's patience. "Now, I'll take you to see Principal Anjou." He shot a dismissive glance over his shoulder. "Finger, go back to your dormitory."
Under Schneider's guidance, Chu Zihang was led to the principal's office. Anjou looked up as they entered, a warm, grandfatherly smile on his face.
"Well now, my boy," he began, his eyes twinkling. "You're the first prospective student to find your own way to Cassel College without an invitation."
Just then, a shrill ring cut through the room. A bright red telephone on Anjou's desk was flashing. Schneider moved to escort Chu Zihang out, but the principal held up a hand.
"My apologies, child," Anjou said, his smile never wavering. "A rather important matter. We'll need to talk, but could I ask you to wait just outside for a moment?"
"I understand." Chu Zihang turned and left, closing the heavy oak door gently behind him.
He had no idea what crisis the red phone signified, nor what the principal needed to discuss privately with his director. He only knew one thing: the satellite phone Gustave had given him was vibrating silently in his pocket.