Chapter 20: Villain hunting.

She was laying down on the floor, kicking her legs with joy as she hummed a song, her fingertips dancing over the worn pages before her. 

The castle library enveloped her in its ancient embrace.

 Around her, books formed a protective fortress, their leather spines and yellowed pages creating walls that seemed to breathe with centuries of knowledge.

Outside the heavy doors, Theo stood at attention,in his armor.

His hand rested casually on his sword hilt, eyes alert but expression soft as he guarded the princess without her knowledge.

'I haven't seen Aimi in days,' Chihiro thought, a wistful sigh escaping her lips as she flipped another page. 'I miss her.'

She rolled onto her back, holding the book above her face, "Well, that will make it more exciting when I see her again," she murmured to herself, a small smile forming.

 "I wonder what stories she'll have for me this time." Her eyes devoured the text at a remarkable pace, fingers already poised to turn the next page.

The castle bell tolled somewhere in the distance, but Chihiro barely noticed.

She continued through the books with enthusiasm, clearing pile after pile as if consuming a feast of knowledge, her eyes bright with curiosity that seemed never to dim.

Meanwhile, back at the Mana Academy, Miss Sakkaku's voice cut through the stuffy classroom air, chalk dust hanging suspended as she concluded her lesson. 

Sunlight slanted through tall, narrow windows, illuminating the floating particles like miniature stars.

Kuroyami wasn't paying attention.

There was too much of him scattered elsewhere. 

His gaze was fixed forward, eyes wide and unfocused—looking but not seeing.

The worn desk beneath his fingertips might as well have been miles away.

Miss Sakkaku noticed his distraction but chose not to embarrass him.

Instead, her eyes lingered on him for a moment before moving on, her lecture never faltering.

First, the punishing test administered by the student council. 

Second, that shadowy figure he'd glimpsed during the examination, moving where nothing should have moved. 

Third, his necklace—his only connection to his past—beginning to crack and shatter like a prophecy of doom.

 Fourth, the mysterious girl he'd encountered after the test, her words still echoing in his mind.

And most pressing of all, his desperate need to grow stronger, to understand the power that seemed to simmer just beneath his skin.

All of it pressed down on him like an invisible weight.

'I can't focus on this lesson,' he thought, his fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on his thigh beneath the desk. 'Too much is happening too quickly. What am I supposed to do?' He exhaled slowly. 'Maybe Ein can help—he seems strong but he's scary.'

As his thoughts tangled and knotted, Miss Sakkaku suddenly paused the lesson, her chalk hovering mid-stroke against the blackboard.

"Students," she announced, her voice cutting through the drowsy afternoon air, "I forgot to mention we have a new transfer student arriving today."

The classroom erupted in murmurs, the sudden buzz of conversation washing over Kuroyami like a wave.

"A transfer? In the middle of the term? That's rare..." whispered a boy with spectacles, leaning forward eagerly.

"Bet they're just another noble brat trying to show off," scoffed a girl with braided hair, not bothering to lower her voice.

"Ooh, I hope they're hot," came another voice from the back, followed by scattered laughter.

"Maybe they'll shake up the rankings!" said someone with undisguised excitement.

"Hope they don't ask too many questions about the curriculum," groaned another student, head already dropping back onto folded arms.

"This reeks of something political," muttered a boy with calculating eyes, tapping his pen against his notebook.

A sharp knock on the door silenced the chatter.

"You may enter," Miss Sakkaku instructed, her posture straightening slightly.

The door creaked open with deliberate slowness, the sound echoing in the suddenly quiet room.

Soft footsteps followed, measured and precise against the stone floor.

Then she appeared—a girl with pink hair that cascaded in gentle waves down her back, eyes blue as a summer sky, and a smile that seemed too bright, too perfect for the dim classroom light. 

Her uniform was pristine, not a wrinkle in sight, the academy crest gleaming on her chest.

"I'm Evelyn Seraphine," she said, her voice sweet as honey but with an undertone that Kuroyami couldn't quite place. "Raised by the Holy Church of Astrae." Her hands clasped demurely before her. "I hope we can all get along!"

"Students, please be welcoming," Miss Sakkaku instructed, her tone warming slightly. "Direct any questions to your class president, as usual." She paused, scanning the room with practiced efficiency. "Take a seat at the back, Miss Seraphine."

"I—I am kindly asking that I could sit in front," Evelyn responded, her voice taking on a charming, almost musical quality. She smiled imploringly at the teacher.

"Reason?" Miss Sakkaku asked, her question sharp as a blade and just as precise.

"I-I have poor eyesight," Evelyn admitted sheepishly, poking her fingers together in apparent embarrassment. A faint blush colored her cheeks. "I tend to squint a lot, and it makes the Sisters back at the chapel worry..."

A few students chuckled. Others rolled their eyes, clearly skeptical. But then—

Her gaze drifted across the room, landing with unexpected weight on an empty seat beside a boy with raven-black hair.

She pointed, the movement fluid yet somehow deliberate.

"Can I sit next to... um, him?" she asked, her bright, innocent smile returning full force. "That seat looks comfy. And he... he looks quiet."

The boy in question—Kuroyami—tilted his head in confusion, pulled suddenly from his troubled thoughts.

He blinked rapidly, mind struggling to catch up.

'H-Huh? Me?!'

The teacher nodded her permission. Evelyn walked over with light, graceful steps that barely made a sound against floor and took her seat beside him.

Kuroyami barely had time to look up before—

Her head turned.Slowly. Deliberately.

Those blue eyes locked onto his face. Not gently. Not shyly.

No, her stare was intense. Piercing. Unblinking.

Psychotic.

Like a predator recognizing prey after a long hunt.

Kuroyami froze in place, his breath catching in his throat.

'Wh-What the—?'

Gone was the soft smile. Gone was the innocence.

For one sharp, silent moment, she stared into him, as if peeling back the skin of his thoughts, as if reading secrets written in the marrow of his bones.

His heart thumped wildly against his ribs.

'Those eyes... I know those eyes—'

His mind snapped back to that day. The three robed figures passing through the academy halls.

Members of the church, their hoods drawn low. And among them—one whose robes had shifted just enough for their eyes to meet.

They'd locked eyes—just for a second—and he'd felt... something.

A pull. A chill. A recognition that didn't make sense.

Now, she was here.

Right beside him.

Still staring.

And then—like flipping a switch—she smiled again, all sunshine and sugar.

"Let's be good friends, Kuroyami," she whispered sweetly, her voice meant only for his ears.

Kuroyami blinked, cold sweat forming on the back of his neck.

'She knows my name—?!'

His fingers trembled under the desk, knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge.

'Okay. Nope. Nope. I already have enough problems as it is, now I'm sitting next to a lunatic in holy packaging. I'm gonna die. In class. In front of everyone.'

He stared straight ahead, trying not to breathe too loudly, feeling her presence beside him like a brewing storm.

Behind him, whispers spread like wildfire. But none of them saw what he saw. 

Claudine, seated two rows away, wore an expression both guarded and curious. 

Yuusuke caught his eye from across the room and gave him a thumbs up, a clearly misguided sign saying, "Good luck, man, you've got this!"

Only Kuroyami saw her eyes.

Only he recognized what lurked behind that perfect smile.

Later that day.

The sun draped the river in soft amber light, turning each ripple into a molten thread. Children played at the water's edge—laughing, shouting, skipping stones that danced once, twice, then sank quietly.

Kuragari stood beneath a leaning willow, the shade mottling his dark coat. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, like someone who had wandered out of a dream and didn't care to return.

He was holding a worn paperback, thumb resting between the pages, though his eyes weren't reading. They were fixed on the children.

Reiko spotted him from across the field.

She walked slowly, careful not to disturb the strange quiet he seemed wrapped in. Her short blonde hair shifted in the breeze, catching golden strands of the dying light. Her pink eyes, soft and questioning, fixed on him.

"You were nowhere to be found at the academy," she said, her voice tentative. "What are you doing here?"

Kuragari didn't move.

"Villain hunting," he said after a pause, not taking his eyes off the river.

Reiko blinked. "...What?"

He finally glanced her way, eyes half-lidded, sharp under the sleepy veil. "You heard me. Villain hunting."

Her brows furrowed. "Here? With kids?"

He exhaled, a sound halfway between boredom and disdain. "Why not? They're honest about it. No theatrics. Just raw, unfiltered potential. The kind that curdles right under the surface."

He tilted his book toward her like it was something unworthy of finishing. "You ever read a good novel where the villain starts screaming from page one? No. The real ones begin quietly. Eaten alive from the inside while the world claps them on the back."

Then he pointed at a boy sitting alone at the riverbank, stacking smooth stones into a crooked tower. "That one. Right there."

Reiko looked, frowning slightly. "He looks… lonely."

Kuragari smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Exactly."

She hesitated, then asked, "Why are you even thinking about villains right now?"

Kuragari leaned back against the tree and finally closed his book, his voice thin and cutting. "Because I'm surrounded by imitations. Pretenders. The academy's a theater, Reiko. And every actor thinks they're the tragedy."

He looked at the boy again, eyes narrowing. "But that kid? He's the prologue that slips past you. No spotlight. Just silence. Until he's no longer someone you recognize."

Reiko sat down next to him without a word, hands folded in her lap. She glanced at his book. "You read a lot, don't you?"

"Only when the world won't shut up," he muttered.

She smiled faintly but said nothing more.

Kuragari opened the book again and flipped a page with indifference. "I don't trust the loud ones. They die the moment the curtains fall. The ones you should fear? They don't perform. They write. In silence. With blood."

His eyes flicked toward her. "You get that, don't you, Reiko?"

Her breath caught for just a second, then she nodded. "I think… I do."

He didn't say anything after that. Just sat in silence, the book resting on his knee, the wind shifting gently between them.

Together, they watched the boy by the river build his lonely tower of stones—both of them wondering how it might all fall