"Cade Marlowe?"
I looked up. A girl stood at the end of my row — not one of the popular ones. Black hair, her gaze darting nervously around the room like she expected someone to notice her talking to me. Her slumped shoulders and solitary presence marked her as a D-rank.
'Great. Another charity case checking on the F-rank.'
"Yeah?"
"I'm Mia Thompson. I just... wanted to say that the rumors are stupid. You only attacked those knights because they came at you first. I'd do the same thing if I was in your shoes."
I blinked. Okay, maybe not charity. Actual human decency. Weird.
"But you're not." The words left my mouth before I could catch them.
A subtle crease settled between her brows. "Pardon?"
I stood and waved it off, already regretting the edge in my voice.
'Smooth, Cade. Real smooth.'
"Nothing. Thanks, by the way."
I gathered my belongings — which amounted to absolutely nothing — and headed for the door. I wasn't sure how this academy worked yet, so I needed to find someone in charge. Make inquiries, especially about the dormitories. They had to have those here. Unless they expected F-ranks to just sleep outside. Honestly, at this point, I wouldn't be surprised.
As I stepped out, someone standing by the veranda hallway turned. He'd been gazing down at the broad center field below, but now his long brown hair whipped around as he locked eyes with me and smirked.
'Ah... him.'
Derek pocketed his hands and closed the distance, his tall, lithe frame casting a shadow that nearly made me stagger backward. The guy had at least six inches on me, and he knew it.
My throat tightened.
"Derek..."
"Hey, Cade..." He raised his chin, eyes cutting down at me with that practiced bully stare. "Heard you've been living in poop."
Three guys flanking him burst into laughter. Real original crowd he'd assembled.
My expression didn't change. Honestly, I hadn't expected much from him — the class bully of all people. But decency? I'd thought that was part of being human. We were all alone in this mess together, even if my situation was objectively worse. I'd felt a sense of kinship toward these people, stupid as that sounded now.
And he just mocked my situation? Right to my face?
His brows knitted together, voice sharpening.
"Huh? What's that glare? You want to smack me?" He leaned in, glaring back like a street thug trying to intimidate some kid with a hard face.
Truth was, his expression did dominate. Derek's tall frame and angular features made intimidation effortless. His long brown hair only amplified it — especially when he tied it back, he looked every bit the competent bully. The kind who'd been practicing this exact routine since middle school.
This was not a Jerry situation. This was worse.
'Peace... peace... pointless violence makes no sense. My classmates aren't my enemies.' I forced myself to exhale, smoothing my expression. 'Even if they're acting like complete assholes.'
Then I smiled.
"Nothing, Derek. Like you said, I'm living in poop..." My smile twisted into a crooked grin, and I aimed it right at him. "You know, you'd like it better there, Derek. That place was specially crafted for people like you. And there's this guy named Jerry — oh my God — I think you two will get along great. Same energy, you know?"
That's right. I can be a very petty person.
"What?"
Derek's face contorted with rage. He grabbed my clothes and struck immediately — a headbutt that sent me staggering back, stars exploding across my vision.
A wide grin spread across his face as he advanced with his goons flanking him.
"Looks like the reality of your situation hasn't dawned on you yet. I'm going to beat you to a pulp and open your eyes to how weak you are."
I wiped blood from my nose and offered a correction, because apparently I couldn't help myself.
"You mean, beat me to a pulp so you can prove to yourself that you're strong. Come on, Derek. Get a grip. This is a little clichéd, even for you."
His face had already twisted into something ugly, but he still managed an unbelieving grin. He stepped closer, eyes glinting like shattered glass.
"Let me shatter whatever illusion you're high on."
Something slammed into my guts. I hadn't seen it move — all I knew was that his fist connected with my stomach and my entire world shattered into white-hot agony.
I had never felt pain like that in my life. It felt like he'd ripped straight through to my spine, tearing through everything in between.
His blow lifted my feet clean off the ground and hurled me backward with brutal force. I crashed into the terrace railing, the metal bending under the impact, and then I was falling — plummeting straight down from the third-story veranda. Everything happened so fast. One second I was punched, the next I was slamming into hard ground and my vision went blank.
My eyes snapped open. A deep, guttural groan tore from my throat as I rolled over, writhing as pain exploded through every nerve. It felt like every bone in my body had shattered on impact.
The next moment, though, rage took over. White-hot, all-consuming rage.
'Fuck my classmates. Fuck the Kingdom. Fuck everybody.'
"Tyrant Empress!!"
Red sparks crackled across my skin. The demoness manifested before me — her figure sculpted into a perfect hourglass, her featureless helmet with curved horns radiating corrupted menace that made the air itself feel heavy.
"Kill that bastard."
My classmates and other students had gathered around to watch the show. I didn't care anymore. I was consumed by rage and needed satisfaction. Right now, Derek would do just fine. He could blame it on rotten luck.
Tyrant Empress shot forward, each movement making her curves sway with fluid, predatory grace. Without gathering momentum, she leaped into the sky — a jump that should've been impossible — and landed easily on the third floor.
But a massive arm clad in grey armor struck her mid-landing, the impact sending her skidding backward along the balcony. Sparks screamed off her obsidian boots as they scraped the floor, leaving scorched trails.
Tyrant Empress straightened from her slouched stance, legs spreading slightly into a combat position. Her impressive figure outlined itself against the light, the curves of her breasts trembling beneath the terrorizing helm that made her no less demonic.
Six-foot-eight of pure sculpted muscle stalked toward her. Derek's Heroic Spirit looked like a Greek statue come to life — broad shoulders, powerful arms, chiseled core rippling beneath armor. He was built like someone who'd been fighting since childhood, every movement precise and controlled. His ornate grey armor covered his body like a second skin, catching the light with each step.
He had no cloak, no weapon in his hands. Just raw, overwhelming presence. Blue light radiated from his sharp, V-shaped visor like twin spotlights. His presence crushed the air like a titan's weight settling over the courtyard.
Tyrant Empress glanced at her arm where the fist had struck — checking for damage, calculating — then looked forward. A red glow flared from the depths of her featureless helm, releasing a trace of crimson light that streamed the moment she moved.
Her thick legs went rigid. She closed the gap in one explosive burst, and Derek's summon actually flinched. Her fist drove toward his groin in a move that had zero honor, but he guarded quickly, arms dropping to block. The blow never landed — instead, with an impossible twirl that defied physics, Tyrant Empress's long, powerful leg fell on him from above like a guillotine, the sheer force of it crushing him to the ground with overwhelming power.
The impact cracked the stone beneath them.