Luna’s voice rang across the hall without needing amplification.

"Sick art?" Her silver eyes fixed on Jorah with intensity that made him take half a step back before catching himself. "If it wasn’t for Damian using that art, nobody would have survived that portal. Every single one of those forty students would be dead."

She turned, scanning the crowd, letting her gaze touch every face.

"It’s easy to comment when you aren’t the one about to die, when you aren’t watching your allies get torn apart, when you aren’t making impossible choices in impossible situations..."

Her voice hardened.

"So what if he ate Monsters? Are we supposed to love them? Respect them? Mourn their deaths?" She paused. "Stop this bullshit hypocrisy. All of you are here to become killing machines. The methods don’t matter if people survive."

Agreement rippled through the crowd like wind through grass.

"She’s right."

"Eating them isn’t different from killing them."

"He saved forty students."

"The methods really don’t matter."

Students found themselves nodding, certainty settling in their bones that Luna spoke absolute truth.

Only a handful felt the wrongness. Those with significantly higher Will stats sensed the artificial quality of their sudden conviction, the way belief bloomed too quickly and too completely.

Jorah’s face went dark.

’That’s right... She’s completely right. Wait–’

His thoughts stuttered over themselves.

’Why the fuck am I agreeing with her? What is this?’

He activated Will Strengthening, flooding his mind with energy, pushing back against something invisible trying to shape his thoughts.

The fog cleared soon.

His eyes narrowed, studying Luna with new wariness.

’Natural charm? Or some kind of mental skill?’

He looked at her directly, his voice carrying threat.

"Junior." The word dripped condescension. "You’re first-ranked this year. Congratulations. But you don’t get to interrupt your seniors." He took a step forward. "Girls like you should learn to stay quiet and obedient while the adults talk."

His Aura released as B+ rank pressure crashed over Luna like a tidal wave, the difference between E- rank and B+ so massive they might as well have been different species entirely.

Luna’s knees buckled immediately.

Her face went white as blood drained from it, the pressure crushed down on her small frame like physical weight.

She tried to breathe and couldn’t, tried to stand and failed, her vision darkened at the edges as consciousness tried to flee.

Five figures blurred into motion.

Edrin, Ronan, Ariana, Lysa, Zavier, moving simultaneously, dropping from the stage to position themselves between Jorah and Luna in one coordinated movement.

Their combined pressure pushed back against his, creating a buffer zone that took the crushing weight off her shoulders.

They released killing intent alongside their pressure, the weight of portal survivors who’d killed to stay alive, who’d watched their fellow students die, who’d earned their ranks in blood and screaming and desperation.

But they didn’t draw weapons.

Jorah hadn’t drawn his, so they didn’t either.

But one figure didn’t care about Academy rules.

Alessio stepped forward from where he’d been standing behind Luna in the first-year section.

He didn’t seem like a fifteen year old with his small frame, thin from years of malnutrition that good food couldn’t fully reverse.

He pulled his gun in one smooth motion.

Bang!

The shot rang out before anyone’s mind could process what their eyes were seeing.

Jorah’s head snapped sideways, enhanced reflexes barely saving him from the unexpected attack, the bullet carving a line across his cheek instead of punching through his skull.

Blood ran down his face in a thin stream.

His expression went from dark to furious in the space between heartbeats.

"Breaking Academy rules on your first day?" His voice carried genuine anger now. "Who the fuck are you, kid?"

His movement skill activated.

Jorah became a blur of orange light, crossing the distance between them faster than most students could track. His form streaked across the hall like lightning.

Edrin and the others yelled.

"Stop!"

"Don’t–!"

But they were too slow.

Jorah’s hand came around in a slap that carried B+ rank strength behind casual motion.

Crack!

The impact sent Alessio flying backward, blood exploding from his mouth, his small body ragdolling through the air toward the Great Hall’s massive doors.

But Jorah wasn’t finished.

He followed the trajectory, movement skill keeping him right beside Alessio’s tumbling form, matching speed perfectly.

Edrin’s voice cracked with anger. "STOP!"

Jorah raised his leg, preparing a kick that would send the boy through the doors and probably through several walls beyond them.

His foot came down with B+ rank force behind it.

Whoosh!

But suddenly, Alessio vanished.

He was pulled sideways through space by invisible force, plucked from the air between one instant and the next like a puppet on strings.

Jorah’s kick hit nothing, momentum carrying him forward a stumbling step, with confusion flashing across his face.

Then his instincts screamed.

Danger... Threat... Predator.

He spun, searching for whatever his senses were detecting but his eyes couldn’t locate.

The Great Hall’s doors swung open as footsteps echoed.

Thud Thud Thud

A figure walked in with unhurried steps, each footfall deliberate and measured.

Alessio floated beside him, suspended in mid-air by invisible telekinetic force, blood still dripping from his mouth onto the floor below.

The figure had crimson hair tied back neatly and his crimson eyes scanned the hall with a calm that felt more dangerous than any rage.

He wore the Academy uniform, black pants, crimson blazer, light grey shirt, black tie, but something about the way he wore it looked wrong, like dressing a weapon in civilian clothes and expecting it to look harmless.

Damian Valcor had arrived.

"..."

And the hall went completely silent.

This wasn’t the shocked silence from before, this was something deeper and primal.

Every student’s instincts recognized a predator in their midst even as their eyes registered just another teenager in a school uniform.

Alessio’s eyes opened, blood still leaking from his mouth, his face already swelling.

"M-Master," he whispered through broken lips.

Damian’s expression didn’t change.

He walked deeper into the hall, each step measured, Alessio floating along beside him without visible effort. His presence alone made students press back against their seats without conscious thought.