"We are passing over 'Kui Gate.' Before the dam was built, the mountains here stood like the pillars of a great gate. Ancient texts mention the 'Kui Dragon'-a one-legged ancient dragon. Was this place named for the terrain... or for something people actually saw in the water?" The Principal spoke casually. "When does Operation Kui Gate begin?"
"One week," Mance replied. "Selwyn and Aki are ready. They're my best. With the modified Maniah, I'm confident."
"If our judgment is correct, this is a First-Generation King-the King of Bronze and Fire. A majestic one. No one knows its true power." The Principal paused. "Be careful."
"I understand. The only problem is the downstream garrison. If we make too much noise, it could escalate."
"I'll have some old friends in the country take care of that." The Principal nodded. "Anything else?"
"No." Mance shook his head.
"Return safely," the Principal said. "I'll wait for good news at the academy."
"Oh, right," Mance added as he turned to leave. "Remember to tell me if that A-rank really has [Time Zero]... though by the time I'm back, he'll probably be an S-rank. Using a Talent within the [Commandment]-his bloodline can't be below S. Why was he rated A?"
"Because he wasn't on our original recruitment list," the Principal said calmly, as if he already knew everything. "A student discovered him and brought him in. Even Norma couldn't find his family records. It's as if he appeared out of nowhere. Norma could only grade him based on observation."
Late at night, Lancelot was shivering.
He was currently at the Lionheart Society headquarters.
Many of the faces here looked familiar. He remembered their anger. Their frustration. He remembered watching them fall under his gun. Even though they were smiling now, Lancelot couldn't shake the feeling that someone might pull a gun and turn him into Swiss cheese at any moment.
Because he was a member of the Student Union.
Yes. A Student Union member.
Even now, that fact felt unreal.
When he woke up in his dorm-weak, sore-his roommate and "senior" had explained everything. He'd almost passed out again.
He hadn't just betrayed the Student Union by shooting them. He hadn't even joined the enemy.
He had tried to play both sides.
And kill everyone.
Why am I such a lunatic? Lancelot cursed himself. He should've at least chosen a side to hide behind. Now he was hated by both.
What surprised him most was Caesar.
The Student Union President had been absurdly generous. Fingal showed him a forum post where Caesar publicly stated that the S-rank lived up to his reputation and that he intended to duel Lancelot properly in the future. As for the friendly fire? Caesar told everyone to "let it slide."
As a favor.
Clearly, the man had terrifying influence.
Lancelot felt genuine gratitude toward the guy who'd shot him twice, and silently vowed never to backstab him again.
...Unless his Boss ordered it.
He was also in awe of Morin.
During his berserk state, Lancelot had been conscious the entire time. He remembered everything. Aside from the strange feeling of his body moving on its own, it was undeniably him.
He wouldn't tell anyone.
No one would believe him.
But one thing was certain.
The Boss's strength was real.
Morin had to be more than an A-rank.
Speak of the devil.
Before dinner, Morin knocked on his door and invited him out for a feast. Lancelot-who had recently tried to usurp the title of "Boss"-followed without hesitation.
And arrived at Lionheart headquarters.
They were holding a celebration for their victory in the Day of Liberty.
Lancelot's legs almost gave out.
He looked at Morin with pleading eyes.
Boss, even if you want to teach me a lesson, did you have to bring me to enemy HQ? Is it too late to defect?
Morin didn't agree.
He patted Lancelot's shoulder with a cheerful "don't worry" and was immediately dragged onto the stage to give a victory speech. As the MVP, it made sense.
Lancelot was left alone in the crowd.
He nodded stiffly at people, trying to convey things like I'm actually on your side and let's keep today blood-free. Unfortunately, his facial muscles were still half-paralyzed from the day's events.
He couldn't even smile.
So he focused on a massive lobster with surgical precision.
To onlookers, the cold-faced S-rank sat upright, expressionless, calmly dissecting a lobster with flawless, deliberate movements.
Unapproachable.
Terrifying.
No wonder he'd shot both sides.
That worked out well for Lancelot. He concentrated on eating.
Just as he extracted a perfect piece of meat-
A fork flashed out and stole it.
Lancelot glared at the hand.
And froze.
"You shot me," Caesar said smoothly as he ate the lobster. "Me eating your food is fair, isn't it?"
"...Fine." Lancelot muttered. Then he couldn't help asking, "President... why are you here?"
"My Student Union's S-rank is here. How could I not be?" Caesar patted his shoulder, ice-blue eyes full of admiration. "Strength, guts-if you're going to lose, lose properly. Typical S-rank behavior."
"As President, I couldn't let you face a den of lions alone. A loss is a loss. If we're weaker, we win next time."
Lancelot nearly cried.
He wanted to explain it wasn't like that at all-but the accidental "cool image" he'd built was too solid to dismantle now.
...Maybe I really have some status now.
Power changes people.
Lancelot felt his spine straighten.
"Next time," Caesar added lightly, "don't kill our own people first. How about we wipe out the other side first, then fight internally? That way the victory stays in the family."
"Mm." Lancelot replied coldly.
Inside, he was nodding like an obedient puppy.
The crowd watched.
One S-rank was already enough.
Now the Student Union President was here too.
"I forgot to send you an invitation," Hunter said, arriving with Morin. The four gathered again. Hunter raised a glass toward Caesar.
"A loss is a loss. I'm not a sore loser," Caesar said, smiling as he returned the toast.
"Spoken like a true President." Morin gave a thumbs-up and grabbed a glass. Lancelot followed.
They clinked glasses.
"Actually," Caesar said after setting his down, smiling faintly, "I'm not that generous. Is there enough food?"
"There's enough for twice this number," Hunter replied immediately.
"Then I won't hold back." Caesar made a call.
Moments later, Student Union members flooded in. The venue became packed and noisy. Lionheart and Student Union members mixed freely, swapping stories.
"Your aim was trash."
"Bad luck."
Laughter followed.
The divide between winners and losers vanished.
"Oh, right." Caesar tossed a key fob to Morin. "Bugatti Veyron. The Day of Liberty wager."
"Lionheart gets Norton Hall for a year. Direct finals qualification for next year's Heart of the School."
"And most importantly..." He paused. "You're still single, right?"
"For now," Morin nodded.
"The first girl you pursue cannot reject you and must maintain a relationship with you for at least three months." Caesar smiled faintly. "I suggest choosing someone unattached. Otherwise... complications."
"Relax." Morin laughed. "I'm not that guy. With my looks and ability, do I really need that reward? It's useless."
Caesar felt a quiet wave of relief.
Lancelot also exhaled.
Thank god Morin won.
If it had been him... that last clause would've gotten his corpse dumped in a ditch by morning.
But damn.
A Bugatti Veyron.
Two days passed.
On the third night-the eve of the 3E exams-Fingal burst in with news.
"You've been named Most Terrifying Freshman of the Year!" Fingal said proudly, as if Lancelot had won a Nobel Prize.
"What?" Lancelot froze.
"Most Terrifying Freshman!" Fingal turned the laptop around. "They say you have overwhelming power and an emotionless face. That when you look at people, you look straight through them."
"People you shot say they get chills just being near you!"
"What the hell-" Lancelot grabbed his hair.
For two days he'd been scared out of his mind, putting on a cold face just to avoid getting shot back. Avoiding eye contact because he was awkward.
And now this?
I'll never get a girlfriend!
"They even gave you a title." Fingal shook his head in awe. "[S-Rank Assassin]."
"I've been here eight years and never got anything that cool!"
"What do they call you?" Lancelot snapped. "King of the Paparazzi?"
"World's Greatest Paparazzi," Fingal corrected weakly.
"No difference!" Lancelot facepalmed. "What about the Boss?"
"The Boss?" Fingal's eyes lit up. "Legend. Most Handsome Freshman of the Year. New [Dream Lover]. Before him, only Hunter and Caesar had it!"
"...Expected." Lancelot sighed. "Who had my title before me?"
"No one. Last S-rank was forty years ago. No forum back then."
"Anyway," Fingal leaned closer, "want tomorrow's 3E exam answers? Guaranteed pass."
"Isn't the 3E exam about bloodline?" Lancelot stared at him. "I can already use Talent on campus. You think I'll fail?"
Morin's "hell training" was working.
Or at least, it felt like it was.
Morin said it was combat training. Lancelot suspected revenge.
Still, he wasn't clueless anymore.
And Morin's knowledge...
Mental Mapping explained everything.
...Did it?
Lancelot recalled Morin using something that clearly wasn't Mental Mapping.
He'd known the name instantly.
[Time Zero].
Can one person have two Talents?
"...Damn it. He's thinking now. Harder to scam," Fingal muttered.
"I heard that," Lancelot said flatly.