"Speak!" The boy commanded in a lazy tone, his voice cutting through the air like a dull blade.
But the trio remained speechless, frozen in place as if any movement would offend the boy before them.
Their muscles tensed, lungs barely daring to draw breath. All because of the overwhelming magical power radiating from the boy—waves of it pulsing outward, making the very air around them heavy.
Fear gleamed in their eyes, yet surprisingly, Shizuri maintained her composure, her face a carefully crafted mask hiding the storm within.
In the very moment the boy asked the question, thoughts of the situation ran wild in their heads, like frightened animals seeking escape.
'What the hell is this brat talking about?... Subjects?' Takemitchi thought as confusion swirled in his mind while he sweated bullets, droplets sliding down his temple.
"Is this some sort of trick? There's no way a kid could be that strong..." His throat constricted, choking back the words he dared not speak aloud.
'What! Subjects? Should I reply? But what if I reply and I offend him? I should come up with a reasonable response... damn it, I can't think of anything!'
Ayame was panicking, her heart thundering against her ribcage so loudly she wondered if the others could hear it.
'The boy is a monster,' Shizuri thought as she glanced at her two friends, reading their body language like an open book.
'Takemitchi has lost his calm and Ayame is panicking. We can't hope to defeat him—our only hope of survival is escaping.' Shizuri calculated as quickly as she could.
While under the crushing pressure of the boy's presence, her mind racing through scenarios, each more desperate than the last.
The boy had short, scruffy sky-blue hair that caught the light with each subtle movement, and black eyes which looked like staring into the void itself—bottomless pits that seemed to pull at your soul.
His face held overall good features, sharp yet youthful, with a complexity that belied his apparent age.
He wore a black hooded coat adorned with special designs of red lines passing through like small serpents weaving an intricate pattern—gleaming crimson against midnight fabric.
The coat's hem swayed gently with each breath he took, creating an almost hypnotic effect. Everything about the boy screamed overlord, from his posture to the casual way he commanded attention without effort.
"Can't you talk?" The boy asked in his lazy usual tone, though a dangerous undercurrent rippled beneath the surface of his words.
His fingers twitched slightly, causing the trio to flinch in unison.
'I think he's mad now. What should I do? Wait—I'm not alone. Shizuri is here. I just need to buy time, and I'm sure she'll come up with a good idea,' Ayame thought desperately, her mouth dry as sand.
"Are you a kin—" Ayame was cut short by a sudden interruption, the words dying in her throat.
"It wasn't fun at all," Takemitchi said as he stepped forward with unusual confidence, his voice carrying through the tension-filled air despite the tremor in his hands.
'I spoke too soon. I forgot he was here too. Our chances of survival must be zero, no, even less than that with this idiot talking.' Ayame regretted internally.
While Shizuri was busy observing everything, her keen eyes missing nothing, not even the subtle shift in the boy's stance.
Ayame was already regretting letting Takemitchi speak first because he was clearly known for ruining things, his impulsiveness a liability they couldn't afford in this moment of peril.
"I see. If it wasn't fun, then why do it?" the boy asked as he looked down at them from his perch, his gaze penetrating.
He paused, the silence stretching like a bowstring pulled taut, causing tension to crackle in the air between them.
As if the boy knew the three had no response to his question, he continued, his voice softer yet somehow more menacing:
"If you're gonna kill, then you should at least have fun. Otherwise, the kill will just weigh on your conscience."
Their expressions darkened upon hearing his words, shadows crossing their faces as the impact of his statement sank in, cold reality washing over them.
His gaze shifted, those void-like eyes moving to the side, focusing on something none of them could see.
"But I doubt you can feel anything from killing monsters. We live our lives just like you do, but in your eyes, we are nothing more than something to be exterminated—an existence that is dangerous, an existence which isn't necessary."
"Killing off all other things is a must for humans, and you don't feel anything at all. It's just another day for you," he continued, each word falling like stones into still water.
"But killing one of your own kind makes one lose their sense of reality. They are treated like it's some kind of sin."
"I've always wondered what's the difference between killing monsters and humans? Who are the real monsters?" His voice carried a weight beyond his years, laced with experiences they couldn't begin to comprehend.
Then he paused, giving space for his words to sink in. Their fear gradually transformed, replaced with expressions that looked a bit sad, hesitant,
Because his words had resonated with them in places they'd rather not acknowledge—truths that scratched at closed doors within their hearts.
"So tell me, would you hate me if I killed you now?" The boy asked in a serious tone while his aura intensified, making it even harder to breathe.
The air grew thick and heavy, pressing down on their shoulders like invisible hands, squeezing their lungs until each breath became a struggle.
At the Mana Academy, classes progressed as usual while the student council president sat in his office, tapping at the polished wooden table with slender fingers.
His brow furrowed with frustration, eyes frequently darting to the ornate clock on the wall.
'What's taking him so long?' the president thought, the rhythm of his tapping increasing with his impatience.
Then came a knock at the door to the room, hesitant yet deliberate. "You may enter," the president said, straightening his posture.
A brown-haired boy walked in carrying a piece of paper, its edges slightly crumpled from his grip. "Yoh, prez! Did I take too long?" the boy said cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to the president's irritation.
"'Long' is an understatement," President Saito replied, his tone clipped.
"Did you manage to find anything, boy?" He leaned forward, eyes fixed on the paper.
"No luck, man. We didn't learn anything new—the only data available is from a week ago, and most of it is useless," the boy said politely.
Though disappointment tinged his voice as he placed the paper on the desk.
"So he must be a foreigner. That is unfortunate," the president said, leaning back in his chair.
"We'll just have to wait until they come back." His voice carried the weight of disappointment, fingers now still against the wood.
"Oh! They are already gone," the green-haired boy's eyes glowed with excitement, a spark lighting them from within.
"So where did you send those two?" He asked, curiosity practically radiating from him as he leaned closer.
"Iiiiiiiiiiiii," the president said as he looked to the sides of the room.
The air thickened with tension and anticipation, silence stretching between them like taffy. "Don't... know," he finally admitted.
"Huhhh! Yoh, what do you mean you don't know?" the boy asked, surprise widening his eyes and parting his lips.
"Exactly what I said—I don't know," the president repeated himself calmly. Then he added, adjusting his position.
"You see, the test needs certain conditions to be met for it to start, but surprisingly, the boy was lacking in a few things." His fingers steepled together, betraying no concern.
"So you don't know, but you sit here calmly. How interestingly irresponsible," the boy said with a laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"My magic can guarantee their safety, so there is no need for concern," the president explained confidently as he adjusted his glasses, light glinting off the lenses.
"Even if anything were to happen to the boy, I'm sure the nobles would be grateful." A small, knowing smile played at the corners of his mouth.
"Well, low magical energy is almost as bad as sinning—if not worse—in the eyes of the nobles, and something they hate even more than that is a commoner who associates with nobility." The boy said with a hint of amusement, though there was an edge to his words.
"Most nobles are believers of nature, so it's in their identities," the president explained, as if speaking to a child who couldn't grasp a simple concept.
"Yoh, so what was the boy lacking that got him spirited away somewhere else? What made him so different from all the others?" the boy asked, curiosity burning in his eyes like green flames.
"I'm not certain," the president admitted, his voice carrying a rare note of puzzlement.
"We will get our answers when they come back. Right now, all we can do is wait." He put his hands together on the desk, a gesture of finality that brooked no further questions.