"Cade Marlowe?"
I looked up. A girl stood at the end of my row—not one of the popular ones. Brown hair, her gaze darting nervously around the room. Her slumped shoulders and solitary presence marked her as a D-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."
"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.
"Nothing. Thanks, by the way."
I gathered my belongings—which amounted to nothing—and headed for the door. I wasn’t sure how this academy worked, so I needed to find someone in charge. Make inquiries, especially about the dormitories. They had to have those here.
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.
My throat tightened.
"Derek..."
"Hey, Cade..." He raised his chin, eyes cutting down at me. "Heard you’ve been living in poop."
Three guys flanking him burst into laughter.
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 worse. I’d felt a sense of kinship toward these people.
And he just mocked my situation?
His brows knitted together, voice sharpening.
"Huh? What’s that glare? You want to smack me?" He glared 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.
This was not a Jerry situation.
’Peace... peace... pointless violence makes no sense. My classmates aren’t my enemies.’ I forced myself to exhale, smoothing my expression.
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."
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.
A wide grin spread across his face as he advanced with his goons.
"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.
"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."
His face had already twisted, 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.
I had never felt pain like that in my life. It felt like he’d ripped straight through to my back.
His blow lifted my feet off the ground and hurled me backward with brutal force. I crashed into the terrace railing and plummeted straight down from the third floor. 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.
The next moment, though, rage took over.
’Fuck my classmates. Fuck the Kingdom. Fuck everybody!’
"Tyrant Empress!!"
Red sparks crackled. The demoness manifested before me—her figure sculpted into a perfect hourglass, her featureless helmet with curved horns radiating corrupted menace.
"Kill that bastard."
My classmates and other students had gathered around to watch. I didn’t care. I was consumed by rage and needed satisfaction. For now, Derek would do. He could blame it on rotten luck.
Tyrant Empress shot forward. Each movement made her ass sway with fluid grace. Without gathering momentum, she leaped into the sky and landed easily on the third floor—but a massive arm clad in golden and blue armor struck her mid-landing, sending her skidding backward along the balcony, sparks screaming off her obsidian boots as they scraped the floor.
Tyrant Empress straightened from her slouched stance, legs spreading slightly. Her impressive figure outlined itself, 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. He was built like someone who’d been fighting since childhood. His ornate gold and blue armor covered his body like a second skin.
He had no cloak, no weapon in his hands. Blue light radiated from his sharp, V-shaped visor. His presence crushed like a titan’s.
Tyrant Empress glanced at her arm where the fist had struck, 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 flinched. Her fist drove toward his groin, but he guarded quickly. The blow never landed—instead, with an impossible twirl, Tyrant Empress’s long, powerful leg fell on him from above like a guillotine, crushing him to the ground with overwhelming force.