Northern stood before Tever and asked:
"Do you yield?"
His voice was cold, his expression devoid of emotion as he awaited the response.
Tever, the former disciplinary committee leader, stood pale and frozen. His face was a convolution of many emotions—shock, disbelief, fear—but at its core, it was the look of a man utterly shattered. Like fractured glass reflecting the weight of his defeat, his despondence was absolute.
The question was, in fact, stupid…
Northern suddenly tilted his head, then shook it once. Then again. Something dislodged.
A small, writhing thing tumbled from his ear, landing on his palm. It convulsed slightly before ceasing all movement.
Northern frowned, staring at it for a moment.
'When did this obnoxious thing even get in?'
He flicked it away and turned his attention back to Tever, who remained rigid, as if trapped in the moment of his undoing.