Chapter - 19 [ The man who stole the face ]

The meditation period lasted for two hours before the professors officially declared the end of the day's classes.

Victor stretched his arms and glanced around. The students were brimming with renewed vigor, their fatigue seemingly washed away.

Even those who had exhausted themselves during the duels were now radiating energy, as if the meditation had reinvigorated them.

He walked back to his classroom with the others, retrieving his bag before stepping outside. The hallway buzzed with excited chatter about the day's events.

"The very first day, and we were already thrown into battle. I can't help but wonder what's in store for us next," Jakal sighed, his shoulders slumped as he walked with a low gaze. Advancing to the next year would be a daunting challenge for him.

"Work hard, and you'll make it," Queer said, patting his shoulder in encouragement.

Behind them, Narmadi held hands with Morgan as they walked together. Their bond seemed to have strengthened, likely due to their shared struggles.

Victor turned to Ariana. "Did Peter come back?" he asked, noticing his absence.

"His bag wasn't there, so the medical staff probably sent him back to his hostel room. Don't worry, he'll be fine. You… you didn't hurt him too badly, right?"

Ariana's gaze lingered on Victor, awaiting his response. But all she received was silence.

She had watched the duel firsthand—how Peter had been utterly dominated, barely able to fight back. And at the end, his agonized screams had echoed through the arena.

Even if his injuries weren't severe, his spirit had likely suffered a greater wound.

'I didn't just harm him… I might have traumatized him.'

Victor kept that thought to himself as they reached the campus gates. A line of buses awaited them by the roadside, ready to transport students back to their lodgings.

"Did you apply for the lodge?" Ariana asked Queer once Morgan, Narmadi, and Jakal had boarded the bus to their hostel.

During lunch, the professors had informed them that special students could apply for lodge accommodations immediately.

Moreover, the twenty special students already residing in the lodges had been given the option to change their living arrangements.

Victor had asked Justin about it and learned that he, along with Michael and Kushi, was moving out. Their spots were being taken by new special students from the United Body faction.

Novaria had acted swiftly, securing two of the First-Tier Aura Grade Users, ten of the top Second-Tier Aura Grade Users who had won their duels today, and an additional fifty regular students—all in just a few weeks. It was a testament to her influence and leadership.

What amused Victor, however, was that Justin, Michael, and Kushi—who had previously worked hard to establish connections with Princess Novaria—had now aligned themselves with Shere Khan's faction.

He wasn't unaware of Shere Khan's interest in his lodge. The man had even visited the building once before orientation.

It was likely that he had delivered subtle warnings and threats that day, convincing the three to switch sides.

"Power…" Victor muttered with a smirk.

Ariana tilted her head, puzzled by his reaction.

"The smart ones are always the weirdest," Queer whispered in her ear before they boarded the bus headed for the lodge district, joining the other special students.

Inside the bus, several notable figures were present. Novaria, Vanessa, and Wushu—one of the First-Tier Aura Grade Users under Novaria's faction—occupied the seats near the middle.

A fourth individual sat with them, a young man Victor did not recognize. He was from another section, judging by his unfamiliar face.

The remaining seats were filled by special students who had claimed victory in their duels.

Novaria's gaze subtly shifted to the front, where Victor was seated with his friends.

Vanessa, noticing the movement, followed her line of sight.

"That's Victor, right? He's staying in the same lodge as us. Did you invite him to join our faction?" she asked in a hushed voice.

Her choice of words—"our faction"—stemmed from Novaria's speech during recruitment.

The princess had positioned the United Body as a collective effort, emphasizing unity and strength, not just for individual gain but for the future of humanity.

Every graduate from Heaven Academy would play a role in shaping mankind's destiny.

Had Victor heard that speech, he would have dismissed it as well-crafted propaganda.

"He rejected me," Novaria admitted.

"What? But isn't he from Surruk? You said Surruk has no faction in Heaven yet. Is he planning to form one himself? Or did he join another?"

Vanessa was stunned. To refuse an invitation from Novaria was almost unheard of. The logical conclusion was that Victor had allied himself with another faction.

"No." Novaria shook her head. "He's staying neutral. He told me that himself. And even if he lied, what could I do about it? He's already stronger than me."

"That's exactly why we need him!" Vanessa leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Everyone saw his strength today. Think, Novaria! With him on our side, within a year or two, we could rival the top factions in Heaven! And he has friends who might follow his lead."

Her reasoning wasn't flawed. In fact, it was an ideal strategy. But there were aspects of the situation she wasn't aware of.

"It's best if you don't push him," Novaria sighed, leaning back into her seat. "He values his peace and quiet."

Vanessa frowned but chose not to argue.

From the side, Wushu exchanged glances with Vanessa. Though no words were spoken, a silent message passed between them—one that only they understood.

---

Back in his flat, Victor took a shower and changed into fresh clothes.

Unlike the dormitories, the lodges didn't have televisions for students. Their only source of entertainment was their phones.

Currently, all outdoor games and sports facilities were closed due to the holiday break for the senior years.

It would remain this way until next month, when the holidays ended and the seniors returned to Heaven. Until then, things would be relatively peaceful for the first-year students.

Lying on his bed, Victor stared blankly at the ceiling. His thoughts circled back to his duel with Peter.

"What was that thing…"

When he had used his Aura to invade Peter's mind, he had felt a presence—something eerily familiar.

A soul.

Yes, it was unmistakably similar to the presence of a soul. The real Victor Kal, whose existence had been erased, had possessed the same essence.

"Back then, I assumed that because I was in soul form, I could enter the boy's body and absorb his soul. But now… I have a body of my own. So was it really just a matter of being a soul? Or… is this my own ability?"

Victor closed his eyes, calming his mind. Understanding required observation, patience, and careful data collection.

Without sufficient information, any conclusion he drew would be mere speculation—potentially leading him down the wrong path.

"I need to test this on more people. Only then will I get a clearer answer."

His body wasn't tired, but his mind was. With that final thought, he turned off the lights and drifted into sleep.

---

Somewhere in a public washroom, the dim yellow light barely provided any visibility.

The single flickering bulb cast erratic shadows, struggling against the unstable electricity supply.

Thud!

Inside one of the toilet stalls, a sudden noise broke the silence, followed by the sound of struggling. Heavy slams rattled the door before everything fell eerily quiet.

A minute passed. Then, with a faint click, the stall's lock turned from the inside. The door creaked open.

A man in a brown coat stepped out slowly. The flesh on his face squirmed, shifting unnaturally, like a mass of tiny maggots writhing beneath the skin.

The transformation was grotesque-his raw red flesh, thick with veins and rough texture, gradually smoothed out. Within seconds, his appearance settled into that of a normal human, with two distinct moles beneath his left eye.

He walked to the sink, twisted the tap, and let the water wash over his bloodstained hands. Droplets of crimson clung to his cuffs, leaving behind dark, drying spots.

Behind him, inside the stall, a naked man sat slumped on the toilet seat. His head hung low, his disheveled hair obscuring his face.

Blood trickled from his neck, forming a slow, steady stream. If anyone dared to lower themselves and look beneath the veil of hair, they would be horrified beyond words.

His face was gone.

Brutally degloved, the raw muscle fibers of his exposed skull twitched slightly, as if struggling against the final moments of death.

The man in the brown coat stared at his new reflection in the mirror and gave a small nod of satisfaction.

Then, without hesitation, he turned and left the washroom, ensuring it was still empty before stepping out.

---

Outside, under the sun, he inhaled deeply.

"Haa... Ha…"

The air here was rich, vibrant, filled with an energy far stronger than what he had known in his birthplace.

A shiver ran through him.

"GodMother, please see," he whispered.

His eyes flickered left and right in rapid motion. Tiny black lines, like intricate webs, stretched from deep within his irises. Then, as his gaze settled, the lines receded, disappearing into the depths of his pupils.

"It is beautiful, isn't it? Soon, you will have it. This planet will be a great source of nourishment for you, GodMother."

A slow smile crept onto his lips as he resumed walking. His destination was an apartment.

The home of the man whose face he had stolen.

There, his wife and children would be waiting-unaware of the horror that had replaced the man they loved.

"For now, I am Chalsa Du," he murmured, his voice low and hypnotic. "A loyal and supportive citizen of Rio. A good husband. A good father. I work for a news company."

Over and over, he whispered the words, as if embedding them into his own mind, forcing himself to believe them.

A short while later, he stopped in front of a small stationery shop, where lottery tickets were sold among stacks of paper, pens, and ink.

"Hey, Chalsa! Man, did you win the lottery?"

The shopkeeper grinned, recognizing him immediately.

Chalsa forced a chuckle. "Nah, missed it by one number."

They exchanged a few pleasantries before the shopkeeper managed to convince him to try his luck once more.

"This is the last time," Chalsa said, feigning exasperation as he took the ticket. "If I don't win, I swear I'll never buy another lottery ticket in my life."

"Haha! Sure, sure." The shopkeeper laughed, nodding in approval.

Chalsa smiled and continued on his way.

Towards home.

Where his beautiful wife and adorable children were waiting.

Waiting for him.

Waiting for Chalsa Du.

---

The next morning, Victor finished his breakfast and prepared to head to campus.

When he stepped into the lobby, he noticed Vanessa, Wushu, and the unfamiliar man from before sitting together, engaged in a discussion. Their voices were low but focused, as if they were planning something.

As he passed by, Vanessa called out to him.

"What benefit can you even get by staying on no side, Victor?"

He stopped mid-step, turning his head slightly to glance at her. She sat with her arms folded, an expectant look on her face. It was clear she wasn't just asking out of curiosity—she wanted to push him for an answer.

Victor met her gaze briefly before speaking in a calm tone.

"Ask the princess, not me. She can explain it better to you all."

With that, he resumed walking, leaving the conversation behind.

"Arrogant."

Wushu grunted, clearly displeased with Victor's dismissive response. Vanessa, too, did not seem satisfied.

"Just because he's slightly stronger, does that give him the right to be so full of himself?"

The other man muttered coldly, his eyes narrowing as he watched Victor disappear through the doors.

"One can never know how far someone else will reach until they try. How can he be so sure no one will surpass him soon?"

There was a hint of challenge in his voice, as if he was already looking forward to the day Victor would be brought down from his pedestal.

"Let him be for now," Vanessa said with a sigh, shaking her head. "It won't be long before someone gets to him and throws him to the floor. Then, would he still reject our invitation?"

As silence settled between them, Novaria descended the stairs, her sharp eyes scanning the lobby.

---

At the bus stand, students boarded the waiting bus, chatting amongst themselves.

"Having our own flat is a completely new experience after staying in those small hostel rooms," Queer said as he stretched his arms.

"I like the shower a lot," Ariana added with a satisfied sigh. "Helps me feel refreshed."

Victor listened to their conversation, nodding occasionally. The luxuries of a personal living space were something he had never experienced in his previous life.

On Earth, his life had been a series of contrasts—washed away by a flood one day, living under the sky with the howling of car horns the next.

The burden of responsibility, struggling to provide for his family, organizing their funerals, and working jobs that drained the soul. From a proper home with a room of his own to sleeping on cold, hard streets.

It was a past he had accepted, but not one he ever wished to relive.

"The meditation method the academy sent us needs time to adjust to," Ariana suddenly spoke up. "I tried it last night, but I couldn't last even a minute."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair in frustration.

This new meditation technique had been distributed to all students, offering an advanced approach to harnessing energy. It was surprisingly similar to the one Victor had devised, but in some ways, it was more refined.

Unlike his method, which required exhausting oneself before practicing, this one didn't require prior fatigue. Instead, it demanded absolute precision in guiding energy through the body. A single mistake could disrupt the entire flow, making it significantly harder to master.

However, the benefits were undeniable. The energy absorbed through this technique was three times more potent, accelerating progress tremendously. It also helped strengthen the body, though additional exercises were recommended for maximum effect.

Victor's mind began to analyze the differences.

'Maybe I can modify certain parts of this meditation method to better suit myself? Not everyone functions the same way, after all.'

If he could adjust it in a way that matched his own strengths, he might be able to push himself ahead of the others. Even small improvements, when accumulated over time, could lead to significant differences.

And he wasn't the only one thinking this way. Other students would likely attempt their own modifications, trying to find an edge. The real question was—who among them had the keenest understanding of meditation?

The one who succeeded in optimizing it first would gain the most.