The Psychopath Killer [3]

I didn't answer.

I couldn't show fear.

Even if my whole body was already trembling under the weight of it.

I had to hold.

Just a few more minutes.

They were coming.

They had to be.

My grip was starting to slip.

I could feel it—the ache in my fingers, the sweat on my palm, the subtle but relentless throb in my temple. I tried to blink away the sting in my eyes, but it was getting harder to breathe, harder to stay calm.

Damn it.

This wasn't supposed to be my fight.

I wasn't some chosen protagonist with plot armor. I was just… me.

Rin Evans.

Some transmigrator who barely knew what the hell he was doing half the time.

I came here hoping to stall Ethan with a half-baked bluff and a few enchanted toys. I didn't sign up to stand between a madman and a room full of terrified cadets. This wasn't a strategy anymore. It was desperation.