player POV-Chapter 57: Before the test 4

It was 8:30 p.m. when I began heading back to my room after spending some time in the cafeteria for dinner.

To be honest, the food had surprised me—it was unusually good. It had been a long while since I had last eaten there.

Normally, I preferred to prepare my meals myself in my room, where I could control everything, but that habit had become increasingly risky.

Lately, staying in my room for extended periods had turned into a gamble. There was always the chance that other students could strike without warning, especially when I was distracted—cooking, organizing my things, or simply lost in thought.

I wasn’t unprepared by weakness; I was cautious because the environment demanded it.

The thought of being attacked while unready was enough to make me abandon my old routine and opt for the cafeteria instead.

As I made my way through the nearly empty corridors, my unease only grew.

Each step seemed amplified in the silence, echoing faintly against the walls.

Shadows flickered in my peripheral vision, cast by the dim overhead lights, and I found myself glancing back far more than necessary.

What if someone were waiting for me? What if my presence had already been noted, and they were preparing to strike at the perfect moment?

My senses were on high alert. I could hear the faintest creak of a floorboard, the softest rustle in the air, and the subtle hum of the ventilation system.

Every sound seemed like a possible warning, every shadow a threat. I moved carefully, each step deliberate, muscles tense, ready to react.

My heart pounded, but I forced myself to breathe evenly, steadying my nerves as I approached my room.

...

By the time I reached the door, it was already past 9:30 p.m.

I had spent far longer than necessary getting there, not because the distance was great, but because I had stopped repeatedly, scanning the hall, alert to the slightest movement or sound.

Every time I paused, a question struck me with persistent insistence

Would it be safer not to enter the room at all?

For a brief moment, the idea tempted me, but I quickly dismissed it.

Running away wouldn’t solve anything, and lingering in the corridors would leave me exposed.

I clenched my fist and forced myself to continue, step by step, despite the growing tension that gnawed at me.

Finally, I stood before my door, stopping just short of touching it. Something felt off. My eyes locked on the door as I noticed a subtle irregularity—it had moved.

Just one centimeter from where I had left it. To anyone else, it might have seemed insignificant, but not to me.

I had intentionally left the door slightly ajar, one precise centimeter, a small but deliberate gap. It was a silent warning system, a trap that only I would notice.

Anyone entering my room without my knowledge would immediately trigger my awareness, even without leaving a trace.

My heart thumped violently at the confirmation that something—or someone—had indeed been there.

I remained motionless, focusing all my attention on the door.

My mind raced with worst-case scenarios, not from paranoia but from experience.

Danger rarely announces itself politely; it strikes quietly, often when least expected.

And I knew this. One thing was certain: opening that door could mean facing a direct attack from students hiding inside.

ك

At that moment, fear didn’t control me. It was preparation, calculation, and focus. Every muscle in my body was coiled, every nerve alert.

I took slow, deliberate breaths, keeping my mind sharp, my senses stretched to their limits.

The seconds stretched as I waited for the perfect moment to act, fully aware that the next instant could determine everything.

"Tch..."

I drew a deep breath and slowly pushed the door open.

— Click —

Darkness swallowed the room. The faint light from the corridor barely penetrated the gloom.

I could see nothing beyond vague outlines, but my breathing—controlled and measured—was the only sound in the silence. Yet even in that dark, I knew with certainty: someone was inside.

I had no choice but to act. I had to appear exhausted, indifferent, like I had noticed nothing unusual.

"Haaah... I’m really worn out from everything happening at the academy lately... I think I need some sleep."

I spoke quietly, almost to myself, letting my words carry the impression of fatigue.

While keeping my composure, I began quietly spreading the Altaria threads through the room.

The threads glided through the air, slipping into corners, over furniture, silent and unseen.

— Foom! —

I moved slowly toward the bed, deliberately exposing my side, my movements casual but calculated.

Then—

Four shadows lunged at me simultaneously, emerging from different directions.

— Whoosh!

— Whoosh!

They were faster than I anticipated—by a fraction of a second—but not enough to catch me entirely unprepared.

A sharp pain tore through my shoulder as one struck, followed by a burning sting along my side. I gritted my teeth and staggered slightly, but I held my ground.

I didn’t allow the pain to break my focus. The moment my body steadied, I directed my willpower through the threads.

Now.

The Altaria threads responded instantly, almost as if they had been waiting for the signal.

They surged, wrapping tightly around limbs and joints, coiling with precision. Then they rose to restrain necks and torsos, locking all four intruders in place before they could launch another attack.

Frozen, immobilized, they could neither move nor speak. Every effort to struggle against the threads failed.

I observed them, each motion of their bodies constrained by my control. My heart was still racing, but my mind was clear.

Every calculation, every precaution I had taken, had paid off.

I remained still for a moment, letting them adjust to their sudden helplessness. The threads didn’t harm them—they simply restrained. It was enough.

I looked at them and saw that they were staring at me with intense anger. I didn’t fully understand why, but I didn’t pay it much attention.

This was the second time students had attacked me, ever since the academy had implicitly allowed us to confront each other.