Dean rises slowly from his chair, his posture too straight to look natural. The motion is silent, calculated, as if even the air around him has been trained not to produce unnecessary sounds.

"Sit down, Dryden Sands."

That should sound polite. The problem is that, in Dean’s mouth, politeness sounds like an order dressed in expensive clothes.

I sit immediately.

The chancellor begins to pace across the observatory in slow circles. One hand rests behind his back while the other stays in front of his body, the fingers rubbing against each other continuously in an irritating, rhythmic tic. That dry sound of skin against skin starts to crawl into my head in a disturbing way.

Something about this man tells me he’s more dangerous than Rahul Sharma.

Rahul is the visible kind of threat. A territorial predator. Violent, cruel, and direct. Dean is not. Dean smiles while deciding which part of you needs to be broken to become useful. Not out of cruelty—out of extreme vision.

A perfect inquisitor.

Now I understand why Rae has so many political problems inside the academy.

And I understand Freya too.

She doesn’t respect Dean only out of authority. She fears him as well.

"Glad you accepted my invitation, Mister Sands."

"It’s a pleas—"

"I thought... I might have to fetch you..."

He cuts off my answer, then carefully selects the word he wants to use.

"...abruptly."

My eye almost twitches.

"Like you do with Freya?"

Dean slowly turns his face in my direction. For the first time since I entered the room, something resembling surprise crosses his eyes.

It takes three full seconds before he answers.

"You think yourself clever, Mister Sands. How far do you believe that cleverness can take you?"

’If I could answer honestly? Far, far away from you, you fucking lunatic.’

But I keep my mouth shut.

I just track his movements as he circles behind me like an animal testing the space around its prey. The bastard does it on purpose. He walks behind my back until I’m forced to turn my neck over my shoulder, then changes direction again.

Control.

It’s a control game. The ones I most hate.

"Your silence is satisfactory," Dean comments. "It says a lot about you. Precisely... you will arrive nowhere on your own."

There it is.

The word ’alone’ gives it all away.

Recruitment.

He’s seen a Rank D tear the dreaded wing off his own pupil—who happens to be the strongest cadet of the academy. Even worse: I remained intact even after he himself intervened with bare hands.

"I’m not alo—"

"You see, I possess resources and connections capable of taking you to places most cannot even imagine."

He pauses again, looking at the great telescope.

"But, Mister Dean. I’d ra—"

"Take Freya, for example."

He casually lifts a hand and starts walking again.

"So young... and already Rank C. The most advanced cadet of this academy."

Dean stops near an astronomical bench filled with runic instruments. He spreads his arms and pivots, as if presenting the place to me for the first time.

I follow the direction of his arms, looking around.

Small metallic spheres orbit slowly above plates of blue crystal, projecting celestial maps of the Upper Ocean into the air. Liquid constellations move across the ceiling like glowing schools of fish, reflected in the giant lenses of the central telescope—probably leviathans. The place feels less like a library and more like a scientific sanctuary built to observe submerged gods here.

Dean closes his arms and looks at his own nails. Checks the cuticles and scratches his throat twice.

Freya moves immediately.

She practically runs to him in short, controlled steps, like someone trained to answer before the order has even finished existing.

"Yes, master?" she bows.

That irritates me more than it should.

"Why are you with Dryden in my room? I didn’t summon you."

"I was only follow—"

"Quiet. It doesn’t matter. Take care of your own affairs."

My arm creaks against the chair.

Literally.

My fingers grip the armrest with enough force that I feel the muscles of my forearm vibrate against bone.

"Mister Dean, she wasn’t with me. I’m the one who—"

"By the way, Mister Sands... you know that students are forbidden from fighting at the Oathring, correct?"

I stop.

I breathe in.

One.

Two.

Three...

All the way to ten.

The trenches taught me one important thing: some people want war simply because they know they win any frontal conflict.

And Dean is exactly that kind of man.

"Will you not answer my questions, Mister Sands?"

The limit arrives. I lock my teeth and the vein in my neck pulses far harder than I want it to.

"Are you going to let me answer at least ONE of your questions, Mis-ter?!"

’Shit!’

The voice comes out far more aggressive than I intend.

It isn’t acting.

It isn’t strategy.

’He baited me, and I fell for it. Damn it’.

The words simply detonate out of my mouth before I can hold them back. Everything about this man generates repulsion and indignation in me.

The silence that follows is lethal.

Freya’s eyes widen so far it looks like she’s just watched the live execution of a baby. Her mouth hangs partly open, completely without reaction.

And a single sentence echoes inside my head:

’Now I’m fucked.’

The entire environment shifts.

I feel it first in the OXI.

Massive quantities of OXI begin converging toward Dean in a violent stream, compressing themselves until they transform into pure mana. The air turns heavy. Electric. The runic lights of the observatory begin to fail one after another.

His eyes glow in absolute white. Not human and not remotely rational.

He looks like a god of lightning about to discharge a thunderbolt directly onto me.

The veins jumping at his temples pulse with pure, contained hatred.

"You insolent... how dare you..."

The voice crosses the observatory like artillery fire.

Fast.

Explosive.

My hands slide toward Eventide on pure military instinct. Not because I believe I can beat him.

There is no chance.

None.

Dean is Rank A and a veteran. A monster shaped by the Ocean’s Law itself.

If he decides to kill me here, I probably can’t even track the motion that takes my head off.

Then the door of the observatory bursts open with violence.

BANG.

The sound slices through the tension like a blade.

Dean turns immediately toward the entrance, and the absurd mana pressure radiating from him wavers along with the motion.

My only conclusion at that instant is simple:

Either whoever just walked in has saved my life...

...or all of us are heading to hell together.