"Alright," I thought, doing my best to look as anxious and unsettled as possible.
I had managed to get his attention.
Now came the hard part: convincing him that I wasn't just some teenager trying to skip a ridiculous training session, but a messenger carrying news from hell.
What a noble mission.
Dean Hargrove frowned slightly and leaned back in his chair, gesturing for Adam to continue.
"Speak, Lester. You've already piqued my concern. What is this urgent matter that made you leave the training grounds and come here like this?"
A hesitant expression crossed Adam's face.
He needed to make it seem like he was struggling to find the right words, as if what he was about to say was beyond his ability to process.
"It… it's about the Master of Masks, sir," Adam finally said, as if uttering the name of a demon.
"That entity from the carnival. I think… I think it's not done with me. Or maybe… it's not done with this academy."
The dean's eyes widened slightly as he straightened in his seat. Genuine interest began to replace the doubt on his face.
"What do you mean it's not done with you? Did something happen? Were you directly threatened?"
Adam shook his head quickly, his hands trembling slightly as he ran them through his messy hair.
"Not a direct threat in the traditional sense, sir. It's just… after I left the 'secure facility' this morning… I started feeling strange things."
Now, the 'fabricated evidence' stage.
It had to be vague enough to be impossible to verify, yet disturbing enough to be taken seriously.
Adam reached into his pocket… nothing.
He simply pretended to search for something, then looked back at the dean with a confused expression.
"No… there's nothing physical I can show you. It was… a 'message'… or maybe just a 'whisper'… I don't know how to describe it."
The dean leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Adam.
"A whisper? A message? Explain in detail."
"This morning, in my dorm," Adam began, his voice slightly trembling,
"I suddenly felt that unmistakable cold—the same cold I felt inside the carnival gate. Then… my Cardinal device screen started flickering strangely for a few seconds."
"Broken, fragmented words appeared—encrypted. I couldn't understand all of them, but some were disturbingly clear: 'the stage'… 'the curtain hasn't fallen'… 'another invitation is coming'… and then they vanished. No trace left on the device."
A good lie, Adam thought, feeling a flicker of satisfaction at his performance.
No physical evidence—just my testimony. That makes it more suspicious… and harder to ignore.
Dean Hargrove listened intently, his expression growing more serious with every word.
He didn't interrupt, letting Adam finish his "disturbing" account.
"I know this sounds insane, sir!" Adam continued, adding a note of desperation to his voice.
"I swear I started doubting my own sanity after everything I went through in that cursed gate."
"I wanted to believe it was just a hallucination… or a lingering nightmare. But that feeling… that 'signal' from the Cardinal… it was too real to ignore."
"I felt the same fear—the same chill that ran through me when I faced the Master of Masks face to face."
Adam paused for a moment, as if gathering the courage to say the most important part.
"That's why I came to you directly, sir."
He took a deep breath.
"I didn't dare tell anyone else. Professor Phoenix… I don't think she'd believe me. She'd probably just see me as a troublemaker trying to dodge responsibility."
"But you… you're the dean. You know how dangerous these entities are—how terrifying. I felt it was my duty to warn you… to warn the academy… before something irreversible happens."
"…"
A long, heavy silence filled the office.
Dean Hargrove stared at Adam, his eyes trying to pierce through the mask of fear and confusion Adam wore so convincingly.
Was this student telling the truth?
Was he suffering from post-carnival trauma?
Or was he lying?
Now the ball's in your court, Dean, Adam thought, maintaining his "innocent and terrified" expression.
Will you believe the 'encrypted message from hell'… or see me as just another clown in this circus?
The dean continued to study him, his expression a complex mix of seriousness and creeping doubt.
It wasn't easy to read his thoughts, but it was clear Adam's words had an effect.
He's thinking, Adam noted, avoiding direct eye contact for too long, as if afraid of seeing disbelief.
He was weighing the possibilities.
Am I insane? Am I lying? Or… in a world full of gates and strange entities… is there even a small chance that what I'm saying is terrifyingly real?
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Dean Hargrove broke the silence.
His voice wasn't angry or mocking—it was calm and measured, like a judge questioning a witness in a complicated case.
"Lester," the dean said slowly, interlacing his fingers on the polished desk,
"what you're describing… is extremely serious—and deeply concerning… if it's true."
If it's true, Adam echoed inwardly.
That's the key phrase. He's not dismissing it—but he doesn't believe it either. Good.
"But I must ask you honestly," the dean continued, his gaze unwavering,
"are you absolutely certain about what you saw or felt? This could simply be psychological aftereffects from your experience in the Carnival of Stolen Faces gate. Trauma, as you know, can make the mind perceive things that aren't there."
Adam shook his head quickly, forcing more desperation into his voice.
"I wish that were the case, sir! I swear I do! I tried to convince myself it was just hallucination… or a nightmare!"
"But… the feeling was too real. And the words on the Cardinal—even if fragmented—carried that same… theatrical, unsettling tone the Master of Masks used."
Yes… add convincing details that can't be verified, Adam thought.
The stranger it sounds, the more suspicious… and urgent it becomes.
"Is there any physical evidence of this 'message' or 'feeling'?" the dean asked, his tone still cautious.
"Did your Cardinal retain any record? Did you find anything unusual in your dorm?"
Adam pretended to think, then shook his head sadly.
"No, sir. That's what makes it so frustrating. The words disappeared as quickly as they appeared. There's no record."
"And in my dorm… nothing physical. Just… that cold… and that faint whisper that nearly drove me insane."
Of course there's no evidence, Adam muttered inwardly.
Mystery is my ally in this performance.
"And why do you think," the dean asked, leaning forward slightly, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret,
"that the Master of Masks would target you specifically? Or this academy through you? Did something happen in that gate you haven't told us? Something that makes you… 'special' to it?"
Adam felt his heart beat faster.
This question was dangerous.
The dean was probing, trying to draw more out of him. He had to be careful.
"I don't know, sir! I swear, I don't!" Adam said, forcing genuine confusion and fear into his voice.
"Maybe… maybe it 'enjoyed' its game with me, like it said. Maybe it sees me as… I don't know… a ridiculous challenge, or an amusing puppet. Or maybe… it's not about me at all. Maybe it sensed something in the academy—through me."
Adam closed his eyes as a drop of sweat slid down his neck.
"I'm not an expert in these matters, sir. All I know is… I felt danger. Real danger."
Shift the focus from 'why me' to 'why the academy.' Broader threat. More urgent.
The dean fell silent again, his expression grim as he thought deeply. He ran a hand through his gray hair and let out a long sigh.
"Entities of Rank A—especially those with intelligence and manipulative capabilities like the Master of Masks you described—" the dean finally said, his voice tinged with fatigue,
"can have unconventional ways of influencing or communicating, even after a gate is closed. There have been rare recorded cases of entities attempting to 'reach' the real world through 'links' formed with individuals who entered their domains."
Adam's eyes widened.
Is he actually believing me? Or just connecting my supposed hallucinations to rare cases he knows? Either way… this is better than I expected.
"But," the dean continued, doubt returning to his eyes,
"we also cannot ignore the fact that you appeared here in my office in the middle of a sparring session you were supposed to attend."
"Is this 'urgent warning' truly the reason you left the training grounds, Lester? Or were you simply trying to avoid a confrontation that might have been… uncomfortable for you?"
There it is, Adam thought. The question I was waiting for. I need to be convincing now.
"Sir," Adam said, his tone carrying a mix of offense and desperation,
"do you really think I would fabricate something like this—and risk angering you and Professor Phoenix—just to skip a sparring class?"
His expression slowly shifted… into disappointment.
"I know my physical stats are pathetic. I know I'd look like a fool in the arena. But do you really think fear of embarrassment outweighs fear of an entity like the Master of Masks?"
He paused, then looked directly at the dean, pouring every ounce of fabricated sincerity into his gaze.
"I came to you because I was afraid, sir." His voice dropped.
"Afraid for myself… and for the academy. If there's even the slightest chance this threat is real… wasn't it my duty to report it immediately? Should I have waited until the sparring session ended… and risk it being too late?"
"…"
Dean Hargrove continued to stare at him, his expression still unreadable.
It was clear he remained skeptical… but also hesitant.
Adam's story, despite its strangeness, carried a twisted kind of logic—especially in a world where the impossible happened every day.
He's close to being convinced… or at least to deciding it's worth investigating, Adam thought, feeling a cautious flicker of triumph.
Now… the final blow.
"Sir," Adam said quietly, as if revealing one last crucial secret,
"there's something else… something I didn't tell anyone. At the end of our 'game,' before the Master of Masks disappeared… it said something."
"Something strange… it said: 'The real stage has yet to open its doors. The greater audience awaits the next performance… here.'"
"I didn't understand what it meant… but now… after this 'message'… I'm afraid it means the academy."
Fear overtook Adam's expression—his eyelids trembled, his face paled, his skin turned ashen.
I'm definitely a great actor.
Those final words—entirely fabricated in that very moment—seemed to have the intended effect.
Adam saw a flicker of genuine concern pass across Dean Hargrove's face.
"Here?" the dean repeated softly, almost to himself.
"You mean… the academy?"