"Perfect."
Dexter said it so lightly you'd think they were about to play poker, not start whatever nightmare this was about to be. His tone was calm, easy.
Serana rolled her eyes.
She uncrossed her legs slow—queen slow—the kind of movement that said she'd decided whether to kill or spare him. Then she stood, her boots tapping once against the floor before she took a step forward with all the grace of someone who'd once decked a priest mid-exorcism.
Dexter didn't move. Not a twitch. Just that lazy half-smile staying perfectly in place.
'Yup. Definitely planning to kill me. In public. Five minutes in. Adorable.'
"You're awfully calm," Serana said, tilting her head. "You scared, Professor?"
"Terrified, I swear." Dexter replied cheerfully.
A few of the ladies snorted. Belladonna outright giggled from her seat, twirling a lock of pink hair.
He clapped once again, enough to make them all flinch.
"Alright, Serana. You volunteered. So what exactly do you want to demonstrate for the class? Verbal assault? Duel to the death? Passive-aggressive seating warfare?"
Serana's mouth curved. "None of those," she said sweetly.
Then she moved.
Fast.
Whoosh!
A blur of red hair, green eyes, and that familiar, simmering fury she wore like perfume.
Dexter didn't flinch. Not even when her fist stopped a breath away from his cheek.
Literally. But when a few strands of his hair floated down to the floor. He was visibly shaken as he stared at the strands.
'Fuck—my hair! My precious hair! She actually nicked it. I should kill her. No, no… too early. Patience, Dexter. Patience.'
Silence!
Serana's knuckles trembled. Just slightly.
"You're in punching range," she whispered. "And you didn't even try to dodge?"
Dexter smiled, eyes flicking to her hand like it was a mildly interesting experiment. "True. But you didn't punch either. Baby steps."
Her jaw flexed.
He leaned forward a bit, his voice dropping low enough that only she caught it. "Tell me something, Serana. Did your curse stop you? Or did something else get in the way?"
Her expression twitched. Confusion slipped in for a heartbeat before rage swallowed it whole again.
She grabbed his collar.
Belladonna let out a delighted gasp, clapping like she was watching a drama. "Ohhh! This is better than that time Lyneth hexed the therapy professor into a puppet!"
Dexter kept smiling. But one finger twitched. Barely.
'Kill her now. Do it. Just one snap of the neck. Quick, clean, quiet. Then chop off all limbs for some experiment... yessss!'
He didn't move.
But he could feel it—the weight of her anger pressing into his skin like heat. Thick. Unfiltered. The kind of negative emotion that made him want to skip like a little child.
And it wasn't just hers. There was something ancient tangled in it. Something festering. Their curses had sunk deep—so deep it probably forgot who was host and who was parasite.
His pulse didn't even quicken as she tightened her grip.
'There it is,' he thought, his grin twitching wider. 'Pure emotional saturation. Heavy. Rotten. Beautiful.'
He didn't lift a hand. Didn't need to.
Inside, his ability stirred, a shimmer, like frost crawling over fire. Just enough to graze the surface. To taste and devour if concentrated enough.
'Hahahaha!'
Serana's grip faltered.
Her breath hitched.
"Hah... Hah..."
For one moment, her pupils dilated, and her expression softened, almost dazed.
Then the haze snapped, and she shoved him hard.
Dexter let himself stumble back two steps, purely for show. He raised his hands, smiling like an idiot. "Whoa there! I haven't even taken your lunch order yet."
She didn't reply. Just stared at her own trembling hand like it had betrayed her.
The others stayed still.
Reika leaned back with a grin, sharp teeth flashing. "Oh, she's gonna explode any second."
Yuki crossed her arms tighter, cold eyes rolling. "Good. I'm bored."
Yue sighed from her couch, not even lifting her head. "I'm not cleaning up anyone's blood this time."
Serana blinked herself back together, spine stiffening as she stepped away. She sat down, every inch of her posture trying to regain control. But her eyes? They didn't leave him once.
Dexter turned back to the class like it had all been a routine exercise.
"Fantastic enthusiasm! Bit murdery, but we'll work on that."
He brushed nonexistent dust from his coat, humming under his breath.
'That worked. Shit, it actually worked.'
Whatever her curse had been whispering to her—he'd disrupted it. Just a little. Just enough to taste its edges without anyone noticing.
They hadn't seen a thing.
And the thrill crawling under his skin? He liked it. Way more than he should've.
꒷꒦꒷︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷
Somewhere else,
Deep in the tower's west wing, behind humming crystal panels—a woman lounged in a velvet chair, legs crossed, a goblet of black wine balanced delicately in her fingers.
A rippling mirror of energy floated before her, reflecting the classroom like a pond made of smoke.
Her violet eyes narrowed.
"Subject Nine is engaging," she murmured.
A cloaked figure shifted from the shadows. "You mean reckless."
"I mean effective." She took a slow sip of her drink. "None of them even blinked until he clapped."
"You do realize who that man is, Headmistress?"
"Of course." Her smile ghosted at the corner of her lips. "I forged his pardon."
"You released a murderer into the heart of the curse zone."
"No," she said, setting her goblet down with a quiet clink. "I released a wolf into a den of lionesses. Let's see who tames who."
꒷꒦꒷︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷
Back in Room 112-B,
Dexter paced slowly before the girls, hands tucked behind his back, casual and unbothered. Like he hadn't just played chicken with a curse-possessed lady.
"Let me be clear," he said, his tone light, almost teasing. "I'm not here to fix you."
That got attention.
Lyneth's sharp eyes lifted from the edge of her nails.
"I'm here to help you fix yourselves—or at least fake it long enough for the Empire to stop breathing down your necks."
He paused, tapping his chin in mock thought. "Unless you'd rather explode like unstable energy grenades. That'd make my job easier."
Belladonna raised her hand with a grin.
Dexter squinted. "Yes, Belladonna?"
"Will we get... individual therapy sessions? Something that increases our heart rate maybe?" She batted her lashes for effect.
"Myra, please note how fast she asked that," Yuki deadpanned.
Myra scribbled furiously in her notebook.
Dexter's laugh was low, genuine—or at least sounded that way. "We'll have… bonding sessions later. For now, expectations."
"Don't die?" Yue said flatly without looking up.
"Excellent start." He grinned. "Add: don't kill each other. Or me. Bonus points if you make it through the week without curse burnout."
He clapped again, bright and quick. "Now, homework."
"Ughhhh!" came the chorus.
"No, no, not real homework," he said. "Just a personal assignment: one page about what you think your curse does. I don't want the academy's boring paperwork. I want your version."
Reika squinted in suspicion. "Why?"
"Because I don't trust paperwork. Or the idiots who wrote it," he said easily.
Someone snorted. Probably Yuki. She looked like the type.
Dexter leaned against the desk behind him, tone softening. "Look, you're not here because someone thought you could be saved. You're here because someone wanted to buy time before you blew up. To keep you contained until you quietly burned out."
They froze.
He smiled wider.
"But I'm not 'someone.' I'm me. And I've never done rehabilitation before."
He let the silence stretch, scanning their faces.
'Seven curses, seven triggers, seven ways to die,' he thought. 'Perfect.'
"This is my first time teaching beautiful, cursed ladies who could probably kill me in seven creative ways," he said with a smirk. "So let's make it educational, yeah?"
They stared. Suspicious, cautious, curious.
He hid his grin.
'They think I'm harmless. They have no idea.'
What he didn't tell them—what he'd never tell them—was that if even one of them died, he'd be executed. That this entire setup was one long death sentence disguised as a teaching post.
He didn't tell them how their negative emotions were more precious to him than their supple lump of flesh.
No. That was his little secret.
Right now, he just needed them to believe he cared.
And, damn it, he almost did.
Because watching them cling to hope while he studied their unraveling? That was the closest thing to affection he'd ever know.
'Fuses,' he thought. 'All of them. And I get to decide which one burns slowest.'
He smiled again.
And for the first time that day, they almost smiled back
꒷꒦꒷︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷
Hours later, Dexter dropped onto the old leather couch in his quarters, the springs groaning under his weight.
His shirt clung to his back. The air smelled like old dust and ink and faint candle smoke.
He dragged a hand through his hair, eyes half-lidded.
'They really think this is therapy. Heavens, what a joke.'
Seven cursed lady. Each a walking weapon. Each brimming with rage, lust, despair—all the delicious, volatile emotions that used to drive him mad while searching for its purest form like the ones in them.
Now? He could taste them.
He wasn't hunting for negativity anymore. He was swimming in it.
Breathing it.
Controlling it.
It was intoxicating. And heavens, it felt good.
He leaned back, laughing under his breath, low and dangerous. 'Finally… I get to play without getting my hands too dirty. They really thought they had me where they wanted? This is too easy!'
He closed his eyes, letting that faint hum of energy still crawling under his skin settle. It was the first time he'd felt alive since his pardon.
And the thought hit him like a spark.
They didn't know what or who he truly was.
They didn't realize he'd been placed here not to fix them—but to test them.
Test subjects. Each one.
His little experiments wrapped in pretty, cursed packaging.
He grinned into the dim light. 'Let's see which one breaks first.'
꒷꒦꒷︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷
Meanwhile, somewhere deep in the academy archives, two enforcers stood before a sealed shelf of classified scrolls. One of them—young, wide-eyed—unrolled a red-tagged document marked [Subject #09: Dexter Caelum].
The parchment was almost empty.
"What is this?" the younger man asked. "He's Class-SS+, and this is all they have?"
The older enforcer frowned. "No known ability. No measurable output. They said he just… kills. Takes his time. Enjoys it. It's still a mystery how he was caught."
The younger swallowed. "And they made him a professor?"
"The Headmistress signed off on it herself," the older replied. "Who are we to argue?"
The scroll glowed faintly before sealing itself again.
꒷꒦꒷︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷
Later that night, the moon painted the stone halls silver. Inside his quarters, Dexter stood at the tall window, watching the academy courtyard below. The world outside looked still, peaceful.
Too peaceful.
He felt it before he heard it.
A shift. The faint, static tingle that told him someone was too close to his ten meter radius.
He didn't move.
Just smiled, slow and knowing.
The knock came soft. Deliberate.
Knock.
Knock.
He let the silence stretch, the corner of his mouth curling.
'Finally… some entertainment.'