"So lemme get this straight... you want me to teach seven anger-infested supermodels how to behave? That's... adorable."
The guard holding Dexter's chains didn't crack a smile. Not even a twitch.
'Shame. It was a pretty good line.'
Dexter grinned anyway, leaning back like the shackles around his wrists were just fancy bracelets. The laugh he let out ricocheted through the chamber, bouncing off the marble like it had nowhere better to be.
Up at the front, the High Magistrate cleared his throat with all the enthusiasm of a man trying not to choke on his own spit. "By decree of the Crown Tribunal, Subject Zero-Nine—Dexter Caelum—is hereby pardoned under strict conditional assignment."
The man didn't even look up from the scroll as he read.
Dexter rolled his eyes.
"Here we go," he muttered under his breath.
"You will serve as Instructor of Emotional Stabilization at Edenveil Academy, a secure correctional institute for Class-C to S curse hosts—"
"Let me guess," Dexter cut in,. "I get to play babysitter for a bunch of cursed girls who stab first and don't ask questions later?"
The robed man blinked but kept going, repeating the core information. "You will serve as an instructor at Edenveil Academy, a facility that specializes in—"
"—housing hot, unstable, magically-infected disasters? Yeah, read the brochure. Very glossy."
One of the courtroom guards whispered, "Is he seriously mocking a royal decree?"
Dexter turned his head slowly. "Buddy, I used to carve messages into corpses. I think mocking royal decrees is a step up."
The guard shut up.
"Tell me something, your Honor," Dexter continued. "When did the Empire decide that the best way to fix unhinged cursed women was to hire a killer with emotional detachment issues and a frankly unfair face?"
That part wasn't a brag. Dexter looked like the kind of guy who should be on the cover of a scandalous romance scroll—all snowy white hair, clean jawline, and eyes so vividly blue they looked carved from sky. A real heartthrob. If you ignored the death count.
The magistrate didn't answer. He just reached for the seal. "You will reform them, or you will be executed."
"Right, right," Dexter sighed, tossing his head back with a little flair. "So either I die at the hands of the law... or I die from high heels and hormone tantrums."
'I'll take option C: become their favorite teacher and slowly bend them to my will while everyone else assumes I'm playing by the rules.'
Not that he said that out loud. Yet.
Chains clinked to the floor.
Dexter stood, smiled, then winked at the magistrate.
"Pleasure doing business with you, your grace. Oh, and if I return in pieces, feel free to blame... literally anyone else."
He Stretched. Rolled his neck like he was about to hit the gym instead of an asylum with prettier inmates.
The crimson-lined coat they returned to him flared around his legs, the same way he used to stride into crime scenes. Only now he was humming a lullaby under his breath—cheerful, lilting, and deeply disturbing.
꒷꒦꒷︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷
The next day,
Dexter stared up at the gates of Edenveil Academy and resisted the urge to laugh again.
This wasn't an academy.
It was a castle trying too hard not to look like a prison.
Black stone walls twisted with vines. Gargoyle-faced towers looming over iron-barred windows. And those gates? Yeah. They creaked like a horror film sound effect.
"This is either the start of a redemption arc... or an pleasurable nightmare," he muttered.
The guard beside him said nothing. Just shoved a clipboard into his chest and walked off without a word.
Dexter stared at the map.
The layout made no sense. There were *three* west wings. One hallway was marked "restricted unless bleeding." Another said "DO NOT ENTER UNLESS ESCORTED BY A HIGH PRIEST OR THE HEADMISTRESS."
"Yeah, no. This place is cursed in more ways than one."
He adjusted his coat, smoothed his hair, and walked through the main doors like he wasn't walking into a ticking time bomb.
꒷꒦꒷︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷
Inside, the first thing he noticed: silence.
Too quiet. No footsteps, no gossip, not even a nervous cough.
Second thing? This place was huge. Way too big for a reform academy that reportedly held just seven students.
Suspiciously big.
He stepped through the echoing hallway, boots tapping against polished obsidian floors, and caught his reflection in the dark glass.
The slick innocent deception of a face staring back at him.
Dexter smirked at his reflection. "Let's meet the girls."
꒷꒦꒷︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷
Room 112-B was absurd.
Vaulted ceilings, chandeliers, stained-glass windows casting rainbow light across velvet couches. And there they were.
Seven of them.
Each lounging like she owned the damn place.
Dexter blinked. 'This isn't a classroom. This is an acting audition.'
The moment he peered in for good measure, all heads turned.
Some curious. Some unimpressed. One? She looked like she wanted to throw a chair.
"New instructor," a bored voice muttered.
"You're kidding," said another, voice thick with venom. "This is our reform?"
"Why does he look like a librarian with daddy issues?"
"Maybe he's into chains. I vote we test that."
Dexter stood in the doorway, smiling like he hadn't just heard seven different ways to die.
"Hello, ladies. Heard you've all got… strong personalities. Good. I prefer my problems bite back."
He stepped in. Slowly. Calmly. Like a man walking into a tiger den with steak tied to his neck for fun.
Now—roll call.
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#1: The Redhead
She sat dead center, legs crossed, arms folded, watching him like a snake eyeing its next warm meal.
Hair: vivid, glossy red, long enough to whip someone with.
Eyes: green, sharp, mean.
She wore her uniform like armor—tight, perfect, weaponized. No frills. No effort to look softer.
Emotion Report: Rage Curse - Grade S+.
Name: SERANA.
She didn't speak.
Didn't need to.
Dexter made a mental note: 'This one's going to try to murder me first. Probably during a group activity.'
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#2: The Sleepy One
Flopped on a sofa like she'd melted there.
Hair: Silver hair in a messy braid.
Eyes: Half-lidded yellow eyes.
Pajamas instead of a uniform.
Emotion Curse: Apathy/Despair - Grade C.
Name: YUE.
She didn't bother looking up.
Dexter waved. "If you need a nap, I can write you a note."
She yawned. "Unless the note kills me instantly... fucking pass."
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#3: The Cheerful Masochist
She sat primly. Hands folded. Kicked her legs. Innocent smile.
Hair: Pink curls.
Eyes: Red eyes that sparkled way too much.
Emotion: Lust & Manipulation curse.
'Hmm... strange... no grade attached for some reason.'
Dexter scratched his hair as he stared at his clipboard in confusion.
Name: BELLADONNA.
"Hi, Professor~" she chirped. "Do we get to be experimented on or anything today?"
Dexter raised an eyebrow. "If you're lucky, maybe your own emotional trauma."
She clapped. "Yay!"
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#4: The Ice Queen
Dressed in full uniform—immaculate.
Hair: Platinum hair in a braid sharp enough to cut stone.
Eyes: Pale white.
Gloves. Boots. Judgmental stare.
Emotion Curse: Pride - Grade A+.
Name: YUKI.
Didn't speak. Just looked at him like he was dirt she hadn't ordered.
Dexter returned the stare.
'Yeah, we're gonna fight eventually. Verbally first. Then psychically. Then maybe she'll throw a desk at me.'
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#5: The Feral One
No shoes. No sleeves. Scarred arms.
Hair: Wild dark hair with streaks of gold.
Eyes: Golden.
Looked like she'd bitten someone today and enjoyed it.
Emotion curse: Wrath/Instinct Overload - Grade B+.
Name: REIKA.
She sniffed the air when he stepped close. Growled. Sat crouched on her chair like it was a jungle branch.
He raised both hands slowly.
"Not food. Not prey. Just your new handler."
She blinked once.
Then smiled, full teeth.
"Handler, huh?"
Fuck.
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#6: The Witch
Black veil. Sharp dark nails to the tip of her fingers.
Hair: Straight purple hair pooling to the floor in spirals
Eyes: Hazel.
Emotion: Envy / Hex-Touched - Grade B+.
Name: LYNETH.
She stared straight into his soul. Probably took something on the way in.
"You're cute," she murmured.
Dexter blinked. "I get that a lot and it's not something I enjoy listening to."
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
#7: The Quiet One
Glasses. Notebook open. Scribbling furiously.
Hair: Long brown hair with bangs.
Eyes: Light brown eyes like honey.
Emotion: Anxiety / Fear Manipulation - Grade S.
Name: MYRA.
Didn't look up.
Didn't speak.
Just wrote: "Do not trust him. He smiles too much."
Dexter read it upside down.
He smiled even more.
꒷꒦꒷︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷
He clapped his hands once. Loud.
All seven flinched. Even the redhead.
"Alright, class. I'm Dexter Caelum. Professor of Emotional Recalibration. You may call me 'Professor,' 'Sir,' 'Boss', 'Mister', or if you're brave... Dex."
He paused.
No one laughed.
Cool.
'They'll laugh later. Or cry. Either works.'
"I'm here to help you control your curses, your emotions, and possibly your ability to not murder each other over breakfast cereal."
Pause.
He dropped the act—just for a split second.
Blue eyes cold. Smile razor-thin.
"And I will. One way... or another."
Then he brightened again, cheerful as ever.
"So! Who wants to go first?"
Serana—the redhead—stood. Slow, like someone deciding if now was the time to declare war.
Dexter tilted his head, mock-curious.
She smiled.
"Me."
He smiled back.
"Perfect."