"This is unacceptable!"

The voice cracked through the hall like a whip.

Aldric stood at his seat, his long black hair pulled so tight against his scalp that the tension seemed physical. His hands were flat on the table—not resting, but pressed, as though the wood was the only thing keeping him from rising.

"What sort of troublemakers do you have in your class?"

No one answered. He didn’t wait.

"And you haven’t been to class in a month. Is this your method of teaching?"

His voice rose.

"Unacceptable."

He turned to Nox, who sat at his habitual place—what would have been the head of the table if the table weren’t round. Nox’s fingers were pinched against the bridge of his nose. The gesture was small. Controlled. The only sign of weariness in an otherwise impassive face.

He had avoided addressing this when Aldric brought it up before. Now, with the matter raised in open meeting, with the other professors watching, the avoidance had become its own kind of statement.

He lowered his hand.

"Zeke."

The name landed like a stone in still water.

Aldric’s tirade stopped mid-breath. The professors who had been pointedly not paying attention straightened almost imperceptibly—shoulders squaring, chins lifting, eyes finding the corner of the room where Zeke sat with his head back and his eyes closed.

The new professor. Personally recruited. Placed in a class the headmaster had built by hand. He had attended exactly two sessions in a month and a week. His students had been in more fights than there were professors in the academy—and there were fifty professors.

Beckett watched Zeke with his habitual smile, the expression carved into his face like a decoration he had forgotten to remove. His eyes tracked every micro-shift in Zeke’s posture, cataloging.

Elio rested his head on his hand, elbow on the table, his pitch-black hair falling over his eyes as usual. He was looking in Zeke’s direction—not at him, not quite. At the space around him. The absence of his customary cigar was notable.

Camille sat at Zeke’s right. She did not look at him. She was watching Elio, as she always did, her attention a constant magnetic pull.

At the mention of his name, Zeke’s eyes opened.

He did not sit up. He did not straighten. His head simply tilted toward Nox, lazy and unhurried, as though he had been aware of the entire conversation and had chosen not to participate until his name was spoken.

’Why didn’t you wake me up?’

{ You said not to wake you if he was still nagging. }

’I wondered why my dream had a talking parrot.’

Zeke stretched—a long, deliberate unspooling of his spine—and sat up straight.

"Present."

He raised one hand in a loose wave.

Nox’s expression did not change. "Why have you not been attending your classes? I hope you understand you’re a professor, not a student."

"That is my teaching philosophy." Zeke’s voice was light, conversational, as though he were explaining something obvious to someone who should have already understood it. "I left them to learn. I gave them a guideline and an expectation. It is up to them to achieve it. When I feel their period to demonstrate that expectation has come to an end, I will attend my class."

He said the last part looking directly at Aldric.

"And respectfully, Headmaster—" His gaze shifted to Nox, but the words were still for Aldric. "—my class is filled with ten geniuses. You would not expect me to teach the same way a subpar professor would teach a subpar class."

He smiled. "Would you?"

Aldric’s hands slammed against the table.

"Preposterous"

The name was an epithet. An insult dressed as an address.

"Do you insinuate that I am subpar?"

"Are you?"

"Of course not. I’ll have you know—"

"Enough."

Elio’s voice was quiet. It cut through Aldric’s rising protest like a blade through silk.

He did not look at Aldric. He looked at Nox—a brief tilt of his head, an acknowledgment of interruption, a request for permission to continue. Nox gave a small nod.

Aldric stared at Elio, his mouth still open, the words dying on his tongue. He closed it. Swallowed. Recovered his composure with visible effort.

"What grounds do you have to interrupt me?"

"Strength." Elio stood. "Position." He looked down at Aldric. "And the fact that you’re annoying."

Elio was the head of the combat division. Aldric was the vice head of the magic field—a position that carried more authority than usual only because Camille would rather fawn over Elio than do her job. But at the end of the day, Aldric was weaker than Elio. Lower in the hierarchy. And technically, he was in a weaker position than Zeke as well—Zeke’s class was a field unto itself, and he was its only professor.

Elio turned to Zeke.

"Sit properly. You’re in the presence of the headmaster."

Zeke’s smile did not waver. He looked at Elio, held his gaze for a long moment, and then placed his legs on the table.

He kept his eyes on Elio. Kept smiling.

"Old man." He addressed Nox without looking away from Elio. "Do you have an issue with the way I sit?"

Elio’s head turned toward Nox. Nox waved a hand—a small, dismissive gesture. Let him be. There was a smile on the headmaster’s face, faint and private.

Elio nodded. When he spoke again, his voice was measured, controlled.

"You have a decent excuse. But your students can learn, train, and meet your expectations in a subtler way." He paused. "I am all for combat. But respect for the academy has to be taught to your students. There are laws to be followed."

Zeke removed his legs from the table.

Not because Elio had told him to. Because he had proven his point, and what Elio said was not wrong.

"My apologies." His voice was pleasant, accommodating. "I will tell my students not to target the weak students anymore. All classes below S-Rank are not permitted."

As he said it, he smiled, a petty smile.

Just because Elio was not wrong did not mean Zeke would care.

{ Kenshin alone is far above most heavyweights in the academy. Add the rest of the class? }

{ And they hurt your beloved Jude. }

’Did I miss that?’

{ Of course. }

---

"Don’t tell me you’ve not heard of the Twin Stars of Destruction."

Kai’s voice was bright, eager, the tone of someone sharing news he assumed everyone had been waiting for.

Jude groaned.

Kai had been talking about the twins ever since he had seen them fight. It had been days. The enthusiasm had not dimmed.

"It’s like Zeke’s personality split into two halves," Kai continued, undeterred. "One flirty, one battle-oriented."

"The flirty one has a twin."

"Isn’t that why they’re called the Twin Stars of Destruction?" Aaron asked.

"Of course not." Kai waved a hand. "They’re called that because they’re brawlers. They cause destruction wherever they go." He paused, reconsidering. "Well, that’s also true. But the one called Dean has a twin brother. They’re the actual twins."

"Dean?" Jude’s eyebrow rose. "What’s the name of the twin?"

"Sam. Why are you asking?"

"Oh!" Kai’s eyes widened. "Why didn’t I see it?"

"You don’t even know their surnames." Jude shook his head, but his mouth was curved.

"You survived seeing them in the training grounds?"

"People don’t die when they meet them, Aaron."

"My bad. The way you were gushing, I thought they were gods."

"He’s kind of right." Jude pushed open the door to the training grounds. "We’ve seen and fought enough not to be moved by childish altercations."

They stepped inside.

The training grounds that had flipped the switch in Kai. That had him gushing about the class of weirdos.

The moment Kai had mentioned their pseudonym, Jude had clocked it.

"Zeke definitely named them that."

"Mm."

Kai and Aaron nodded.

"Childish altercations?"

The voice came from behind them.

The trio turned.

Dark, voluminous hair pulled into a high, messy ponytail. Thick waves spilled free, framing his face in wild layers that gave him an untamed silhouette. His coat shifted with each step, silver accents and chain details catching the light, feathered shoulders giving him a larger presence than his frame alone suggested. Green eyes locked onto the trio. Direct. Unapologetic.

He held two figures in a headlock—one under each arm, their protests muffled against his sides.

"You hurt my feelings."

He was grinning. The words meant nothing. The grin meant everything.

"Oh, c’mon." Kai’s voice was resigned, the tone of someone who had seen this coming and had hoped, foolishly, that it wouldn’t.

"Oh, he knows you."

A figure walked closer to kenshin. Dark brown hair, layered and slightly spiked, with a loose curtain fringe that parted just enough to reveal intense green eyes. A red-lined black overcoat hung open over a double-breasted tactical shirt and trousers. Bandaged forearms. Fingerless gloves. Red-soled black boots.

He held a roasted chicken leg—half-eaten, his mouth shiny with grease, the drumstick gripped like a trophy.

"You’re quite popular, Kenshin."

"If only I had the same reputation with women."

"You’re not that bad, Dean."

"Bah." Dean raised his drumstick in a toast to no one. "I’m the master flirt."

Dean’s tone shifted. The playfulness drained out of it, replaced by something more direct.

"They don’t particularly look that strong."

His gaze moved across the trio—assessing, categorizing.

"The one on the left is weak, that’s for sure. But these two are quite interesting."

The one on the left was Aaron.

"That’s rude."

Aaron was smiling. The expression did not reach his eyes.

"You shouldn’t make such assumptions easily." 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

Darkness rose around him—shadow tendrils, thick and alive, coiling from the ground. From them, nine figures emerged. Humanoid. Silent. Waiting.

"I might not be able to beat you." Aaron’s voice was calm, measured. "But surely you won’t make the mistake of dismissing me again."

He looked at Dean. His smile widened.

Kai and Jude exchanged a glance. The same thought passed between them without words.

Really?

"What?" Aaron caught it anyway. "They wanted a fight. I was not going to play the pig to eat the tiger." He shrugged. "After all, I can’t eat the tiger."

The boys burst into grins. Their auras flared—not aggressively, not threateningly, just present. The weight of them filled the space between the two groups.

"Heh."

Kenshin’s grin was sharp. Eager.

Aaron had filled all his Umbral Sovereign slots. Nine shadows, each with peak B-Rank stats—549 points in every category. Each carrying abilities they had kept from life and would carry into unlife, growing with him as he grew.

[Bottomless Swamp] — transforms the ground into a trap that swallows and incapacitates.

[Anchor Back] — marks a location for teleportation, distance scaling with energy.

[Armor] — creates reinforced metal that enhances endurance, shapeable with focus.

[Berserk] — 50% physical stat boost in exchange for inhibition and trance.

[Blademaster] — conjures energy blades of any shape, with a minor strength boost.

[Beam] — fires concentrated light and heat from the fingers, near-instantaneous.

[Call Thunder] — summons lightning from the sky to any point in sensory range.

[Air Jet] — Allows you to create air jets, streams of powerful air currents.

[Black Ice] — Allows you to create and control black ice, black ice is a special type of incredibly durable ice that is very resistant against heat and fire.

He could not win. He knew he could not win. But he would not pussy out just because someone had a nickname.

The reason he had found such good abilities was simple: Zeke had sent a drone with a scouter. He had copied an enchanter’s trait and crafted it himself. The scouter could observe status windows from E-Rank to S ranks, gauging stats and aspects within that range—and showing question marks for anything that exceeded its parameters.

It was not perfect. It did not need to be.

Now, a fight between the trio and the Twin Stars of Destruction was about to begin.

And at that moment, the remaining members of the class of weirdos arrived.