Progress? Or Mission Failed?

As soon as Professor Voss strode out of the room, the air shifted. The suffocating tension he had conjured was gone, but it left behind a buzzing hum of curiosity and unease. Whispers broke out immediately, echoing from every corner of the classroom.

"Did you feel that pressure?"

"That was insane..."

"Dark Mana's that powerful?"

Just like that, the rumors about Dante began to fade, swept away by the dark storm Voss had brought into the room. I slouched in my seat, watching the students chatter, their attention drifting from my carefully laid scheme. I clenched my jaw.

Damn it. Maybe I failed the mission again.

But… it's not over. I still have two more days. Two more days to hit the right nerve. To expose the truth. I don't know what I'll do yet—but I won't lose this time.

One by one, the students started exiting the room, still caught up in the mystery that was Professor Voss. I remained in my seat, stealing a glance toward Dante from the corner of my eye.

He hadn't moved.

He sat still, hunched slightly forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at the floor. Everyone else had moved on, but not him.

That meant the rumor had gotten to him. Good. That meant I was making progress. That meant the words were digging into his skin like they were meant to.

But then—

His head slowly lifted.

And his eyes—sharp, cold, and unreadable—locked on me like a blade sliding into place.

I froze.

My breath caught in my throat. His gaze didn't flinch. It was like being caught in the eyes of a predator that just realized who'd thrown the first stone.

Shit.

My eyes widened as I scrambled up from my chair on instinct, heart thudding against my ribs.

Why the hell am I scared? Oh yeah, maybe because I'm all bark and no bite. Running my mouth is my strongest skill—not fending off someone like him.

And then he stood.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

His every step felt heavy as he moved through the space between us with the calm menace of a storm closing in. The room had emptied almost completely now—only a few stragglers lingered by the door, glancing over their shoulders.

But I couldn't move. I was rooted in place as Dante Ashbourne approached with that dead-cold look in his eyes.

He didn't speak.

Not yet.

But I could feel it—the pressure, the heat, the weight of whatever came next.

Dante stopped in front of my desk, his shadow stretching across the surface like a warning. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet—controlled—but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it. Like a blade hidden behind silk.

"Why are you still here? Here to mock me?"

I blinked, then breathed out a quiet sigh of relief.

So… he doesn't know I was the one who started the rumor.

Good.

Time to play my part then.

I schooled my features into a casual smirk, and sat down again before leaning back in my chair just slightly, even though every instinct screamed at me to bolt. My voice came out lighter than I felt, a carefully crafted tone of amusement layered over false bravado.

"Mock you?" I echoed, chuckling softly as if the very idea were ridiculous. "Dante, come on. You're doing a good enough job of that yourself, don't you think?"

His jaw clenched. I saw it—the faint tick in his cheek, the flicker in his eyes that betrayed the storm he was barely holding back.

But I didn't stop.

I tilted my head, letting the fake smirk grow a touch wider, like I was enjoying this more than I should. "Honestly, I thought you'd already left. Then again… I guess you do like dramatic exits, huh?"

His stare didn't waver.

And even though he hadn't said a word, I could feel the temperature drop. That rage simmering just beneath his skin, kept at bay only by whatever self-control he had left.

Maybe I was pushing too far.

But maybe… that's exactly what I needed to do.

Still, a little part of me whispered: Next words better be chosen wisely. Or you might not walk out of here without a limp.

But when have I ever listened to that cautious voice?

I leaned forward, placing my elbow on the desk, and rested my chin on my knuckles, looking up at him with an expression that to anyone else might've seemed relaxed. But inside? My heart was a damn war drum.

"And I'm sure." I began, voice smooth with just the right hint of mockery. "You've never been mocked in your whole life. So now that it's happening, you're feeling a little… sad? Confused? All that 'what is this feeling' kind of thing going on in your head?"

I chuckled—short and sharp—and saw how his fingers flexed slightly at his side.

"Trust me." I continued, unfazed even though my throat felt dry. "You'll get used to it. Just like I have. You think this is bad? Wait till people start forgetting your name. That's when it really stings."

His eyes darkened, not with confusion, but with focus. Like a predator locking onto its prey.

"But what's really funny." I added, letting the smile drop into something a little colder. "Is that for once… it's not me. For once, I'm not the one being questioned, or laughed at, or whispered about in the halls."

I stood slowly, keeping my gaze level with his, daring, taunting.

"I always thought you were invincible, you know? Untouchable. A throne too high to reach. But guess what?"

I took a step closer, voice low now, just between us.

"You bleed just like the rest of us."

There it was—the faintest twitch in his eye. The storm behind the dam cracking. I could practically feel the shift in the air.

And in that moment, even though adrenaline pulsed through my veins like wildfire, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of satisfaction.

Because I'd struck the nerve.

The question now was: Would I survive the consequences?