The journal vanished.

One moment Grace held it, leather warm against her palms, and the next it dissolved into light that folded inward and disappeared.

The skill came naturally to her now. A small pocket dimension, accessible only to her, where she stored things she couldn’t risk anyone finding. It was a skill "gifted" to her by the goddess of light.

She flexed her fingers once, then turned back toward Class S’s camp.

The atmosphere was abysmal.

Students moved in tight groups rather than the organized patrol pairs she’d assigned after Marcus’s death. Whispers and accusations followed Aura wherever she went, even though no one accused her directly. People avoided eye contact with each other.

The murder had fractured something fundamental.

Grace walked through the camp, observing the damage with a calm expression. A group of nobles huddled near the northern area of the base, casting glances toward a cluster of commoners who’d gathered near the supplies.

Luca sat apart, expression distant and aloof as always, while Iris moved between groups attempting damage control but achieving little.

They’re afraid.

Not of an external enemy. Of each other.

Grace’s steps slowed as she approached the center where most students had gathered without direction or purpose.

They needed something. Leadership. Certainty. A reason to stop looking at their classmates like potential murderers.

She thought of the final statue.

The one that would appear soon – she knew it would based on the structure of her original outline, though timing had become unreliable.

In the novel, on the end of the 10th day, the final statue would rise, and it would be an announcement to all the classes. Of course, those desperate would fight for it.

When it rose, Class S would need to act as a unified force or risk losing everything they’d built.

Grace stopped at the edge of the crowd. Her voice, when it came, carried enough to reach without shouting.

"Everyone. Please listen."

The conversations didn’t die immediately, but heads turned. Students noticed her presence and began quieting, the silence spreading outward like ripples.

Grace waited until she had their full attention.

The old her – the person she’d been before waking up in this body – would never have managed this.

That version of her couldn’t command a room, couldn’t read what people needed and deliver it with precision and kindness, authority.

But the original Grace Light, the character she’d created, had been taught by the Church of Light how to guide the masses, how to shape belief, how to make people listen even when they didn’t want to hear.

Grace had arrived in this world with those skills intact.

The memories, the training, the instincts – all of it embedded in Grace Light’s body. Her body.

The crowd settled down.

Grace let the silence sit for a few seconds, then spoke clearly. Her tone remained gentle, but authority laced every word.

"Marcus’s death was meant to fracture us."

A few students frowned.

"Whoever killed him wanted this exact reaction," Grace continued. "Fear. Suspicion. Accusations. Fracture. Whether they acted from hatred, opportunity, or outside manipulation doesn’t change the outcome. We’re dividing ourselves while our enemies watch and wait."

A noble boy near the front bristled. "You’re saying we should just ignore it? Pretend someone didn’t–"

"No." Grace’s voice sharpened fractionally. "I’m saying the worst possible response would be to freeze, accuse each other, and hand our advantage to the other classes. Do you disagree?"

She gestured toward the forest beyond the camp.

"We control two statues. Two. That’s more than any other freshman class. We’ve captured territory, coordinated operations, and proven ourselves stronger than anyone expected." She paused, meeting eyes across the crowd. "But if we stall here, if we turn on each other instead of moving forward, then we’re just playing into the murderer’s hands."

Some students nodded slowly. Others still looked uncertain, but the tension in their shoulders eased slightly. Good. Right direction.

Grace pressed forward while the moment was sharp.

"Paired patrols will continue. Iris will finish collecting statements. The investigation will not stop." She reassured, and an angry glare of her own. It was genuine. Whoever had done this was terrible. "But we also won’t stop being Class S. We will adapt. We will move on. We prove that one death, however wrong, doesn’t break us. We are class S for a reason, we will not let something like this break us!"

The words landed. Not perfectly – suspicion still lingered in some expressions, doubt in others – but enough students straightened.

But more than enough students’ expressions brightened with renewed vigor.

It’s not a solution, Grace thought. But it forces them back into motion. That’s what we need right now.

She glanced toward the edge of the camp where Freya stood with her arms crossed, watching Grace with an expression that was too carefully neutral.

Grace noticed immediately.

Freya had been planting doubts about Aura for days now, subtle enough that most students wouldn’t recognize the manipulation.

Grace had caught fragments – offhand comments, concerned observations, implications that never crossed into direct accusation.

That’s another reason Grace knew it wasn’t Aura, besides the fact that she knew the demon girl inside and out.

The reason Aura was targeted wasn’t due to any fault of her own, it was due to that bitch Freya.

She’s using this.

Grace had known about Freya’s true nature from the moment she arrived in this world. The murder of Clara Lockhart, the ambition hidden beneath kindness, the willingness to sacrifice anything for the branch family’s rise.

She’d written all of it.

Freya didn’t know that, of course. She thought her secrets were safe.

Let her think that.

Grace could confront Freya later. She knew she had good in her heart. One day, she would drag that kindness even if she had to kill her in the process.

Right now, she would let her be.

She turned back to the crowd.

"We’re not finished. Not even close."

The students dispersed slowly, conversations resuming but less frantic than before. Patrol pairs reformed. Students returned to their tasks.

Grace watched them move, satisfied that the immediate crisis had stabilized.

Now it was time to set some pieces into motion.