Chapter 3: Angered

"What did you just say?"

In that instant, Natasha's face twisted into a storm of unrestrained fury. Her expression, usually composed and sharp, became a vivid portrait of rage. She had been trying her best—truly, painfully, desperately trying—to keep it together. To bite her tongue, to be the composed class representative everyone expected her to be. It wasn't as if she lacked the impulse or the ability to scream, to hurl objects, to let her fury boil over and reduce this idiot to a crying mess. But no. She held back. Not because she forgave him. No, never. But because of the damn image she had worked so hard to maintain. The weight of that responsibility, of always being the reliable one, the shining example, the leader—it was exhausting.

There had been moments before when she wanted to lash out, to leave a mark on the smug faces of those insufferable idiots who believed they could treat her however they pleased. Every time someone made a snide remark, crossed a line, pushed a boundary, she swallowed her pride and chose diplomacy over destruction. Every. Single. Time. But this—this situation—was different.

The fool standing before her hadn't just crossed a line; he had obliterated it.

Kaeden Richard, in his breathtaking incompetence, had managed to screw things up so thoroughly that the dean himself had deducted extremely IMPORTANT points from their class score. Points they could not afford to lose. Those precious numbers were the difference between survival and collapse in this cutthroat academy. With them gone, their class had nose-dived to the bottom of the rankings.

And the worst part?

No one else even knew yet.

The class would find out soon. And when they did, it would be pandemonium. They were all heavily invested in their current standing. Being in the top three meant power, prestige, and vital resources. Falling out meant isolation, mockery, and the constant uphill battle to regain footing. Natasha could already hear the blame-shifting, the outrage, the cold stares.

What made it worse was that the one responsible walked freely, while she was been penalized—harshly. In ways she didn't want to remember. In ways that still hurt, deep inside.

And now—as if everything he'd done wasn't enough—he had the audacity to look at her without remorse. No apology. No explanation. No guilt. Just that same empty, careless expression that made her want to rip him to shreds.

"KAEDEN RICHARD, I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL!" she bellowed, her voice echoing through the hall like a battle horn.

Ether flared around her. A sword shimmered into existence, glowing violently in her clenched hand. She raised it, pointing the blade directly at his chest as if to cleave his soul in two. The fury behind her glare could have made gods tremble. If it were possible to end someone with a stare alone, Kaeden would've ceased to exist on the spot.

She wanted to destroy him.

She needed to.

And then—

"And I... refuse," he replied nonchalantly, brushing past her shoulder like she was nothing more than a gust of wind.

She froze. Her body turned to stone.

What?

She turned her head in disbelief, watching him walk away. "I would strongly advise you to accept this duel," she growled through clenched teeth, her voice low and menacing. "Don't make me do something we'll both regret."

She knew exactly how weak he was. Everyone did. Every training phase, no matter how simple, left him bloodied and broken. Sometimes even comatose. The reason was painfully clear: Kaeden had no ether. No powers. Nothing but flesh and bones.

Yet despite knowing this—despite being invited to a duel by someone clearly stronger—he refused.

He refused.

In this academy, that wasn't just cowardice. It was heresy.

Even in a place teeming with arrogance, selfishness, and brutality, there was one value everyone upheld: Pride.

To reject a duel was to reject the worth of the person challenging.

Kaeden had spat on her pride.

He paused mid-step, speaking over his shoulder. "What will you do...? Think you're so high and mighty just because you're a little strong? That's foolish."

Her breath caught.

Did he just...

"Foolish...?" she whispered. "Me?"

Her blade vanished into sparks.

She didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stared at his retreating figure, the words turning in her mind like blades.

And then she noticed the stares. Other students had stopped. They were watching. Whispers would spread like wildfire. This little encounter would be on everyone's lips by noon.

She slung her bag over her shoulder just as her friends reached her.

"Tasha?" one of them asked gently.

"It's nothing," she muttered.

But her eyes burned with vengeance.

Kaeden Richard was going to pay. Somehow. Some way.

…

"What happened to your eyes?"

The moment the young man stepped out of class, the question came sharply.

"Huh?" he frowned, turning his head to find a girl leaning casually against the wall.

She had long, black hair tied back with a red bead, and striking wine-red eyes. She wore the standard uniform like the other girls, but she was a bit bustier, with graceful curves that drew attention. However, what truly stood out were her eyes—those crimson orbs held a strange, magnetic power.

"You..." he muttered. Then, without a second glance, he turned and began walking away.

"There will be a phase on Friday," she called after him. "I don't care what's gotten into you, or whether you've recovered. You better be at your absolute best on that day. Because I swear, if you turn into a burden again—as you've continually chosen to be—I'll make sure the administration has no choice but to reassign a new member to our squad. And I hope you understand what that means."

In this academy, team assignments were permanent for two years. An unchangeable rule.

But there was one exception—one way to FORCE the academy to issue a new member.

Simple.

She would kill him during the phase.

"….."

He said nothing.

He kept walking—not toward the infirmary, not to the cafeteria. Just walking. Aimlessly.

If someone who truly knew him had been watching, they would've noticed something was very wrong.

He...

Was not himself.

It was as if he were possessed.

And those red eyes watched his retreating figure with unsettling intensity.

'...Hmm... I wonder,' she thought, eyes narrowing into slits.