The northern wing of the academy was unusually quiet for the time of day, the kind of quiet that set nerves on edge rather than offered comfort. Johnson stood at the intersection of two long, fluorescent-lit corridors, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the area. Every instinct screamed that something was about to happen. And he was right.
A sudden, piercing alarm cut through the silence, and the faint echoes of screams followed immediately. Johnson's pulse accelerated. "Mika! Hana! Stay alert!" His voice was firm, commanding, yet threaded with the kind of tension that made the harem snap into action instantly.
Mika, already crouched near a support column, leapt forward with her trademark precision, her movements a blend of grace and lethal efficiency. Hana adjusted her glasses, her mind already racing through escape routes and safe passages. "Northern wing, workshops!" she shouted. "Some students are trapped!"
Johnson sprinted, the weight of responsibility pressing on him as much as the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The northern section of the academy's workshops had been overrun, barricaded with overturned tables and burning barrels that Mercer's mercenaries had strategically placed. The faint smell of smoke mixed with the metallic tang of blood lingered in the air.
As they approached, Johnson noticed a new figure slicing through the chaos with acrobatic fluidity. Arisa, her dark hair whipping behind her, flipped over a fallen table and landed perfectly between two mercenaries, knocking them unconscious with swift, precise strikes. Her eyes sparkled with a dangerous kind of confidence, teasing both Mika and Johnson simultaneously, as if daring them to underestimate her.
Johnson's lips curved slightly. This one might just make things interesting. He sprinted to intercept a group of trapped students, pushing past a collapsing beam with a shove from his shoulder. Mika followed, taking down a mercenary who had aimed a knife toward a young student. Hana coordinated from behind, pointing out weak points in the barricades and leading trapped students to safer corridors.
The first wave of close combat erupted. Johnson engaged a mercenary with a metal pipe, striking, deflecting, and grappling in a continuous motion that left little room for error. He could hear the subtle shuffle of Arisa's boots behind him as she vaulted onto a ledge, flipping over the mercenary to deliver a knockout blow. Their proximity was uncomfortably close, and Johnson felt a flicker of heat rise in his chest—half from exertion, half from Arisa's daring, teasing closeness.
"Careful, Arisa!" Mika's voice sliced through the chaos, but it was mixed with a subtle note of playful jealousy. Arisa's smirk was enough to provoke a glare from Mika, though neither had the luxury to waste energy on personal quarrels. Not yet.
In the far corner, Hana directed a small group of students trapped behind a stack of crates. "Move! Through the eastern maintenance corridor! Quick, but stay low!" The group obeyed, and Hana used a fire extinguisher to create a smoke barrier, giving them precious seconds to escape.
Meanwhile, Johnson found himself face-to-face with two mercenaries converging on the same corridor. He could feel the heat of the moment, the precise calculation of angles and leverage guiding his strikes. One mercenary lunged with a knife; Johnson grabbed the wrist mid-swing, twisted, and sent him sprawling against the wall. Before the second could recover, Johnson swung the pipe in a tight arc, knocking the attacker unconscious.
Arisa landed beside him, breathing evenly, her chest heaving slightly but her eyes still sharp, alive with adrenaline and something far more personal. "Not bad," she whispered, her voice brushing against his ear as she moved past him to tackle another assailant. The proximity left Johnson momentarily aware of the curve of her shoulder, the warmth radiating through their brief, violent contact. A shiver—not entirely from the cold—ran down his spine.
As the harem advanced, the fight spread into multiple corridors. Mika led a charge against a heavily armored mercenary, using her brute strength to throw him into the wall. Hana coordinated student movements from above, using her knowledge of the layout to create makeshift escape routes. The Black-haired girl silently eliminated threats from the shadows, appearing and disappearing like a ghost.
In the chaos, a sudden trap sprung: a metal grate above the corridor gave way, sending sparks and a cascade of broken tools raining down. Liliane—introduced in subtle whispers from the observation room, already monitoring the academy's cameras—would have smirked at the perfect timing, but for now, Johnson and Arisa were forced to improvise. Johnson grabbed Arisa's arm instinctively, pulling her out of the line of fire. Their bodies collided briefly, and the weight of proximity caused another flash of heat to surge between them. Neither had time to acknowledge it. Survival came first.
The workshops themselves became a battlefield. Mercenaries had rigged barrels of flammable chemicals, and every misstep could ignite a deadly blaze. Johnson's mind raced as he coordinated movements, giving precise orders: "Mika, take left flank! Hana, lead the students through the rear exit! Arisa, cover Johnson and sweep the corridor!"
Arisa pivoted, flipping over a table and knocking down two attackers in a single, fluid motion. Her speed was breathtaking, and Johnson found himself momentarily distracted—not by the danger, but by her effortless skill and daring closeness. Each encounter, each move, each near-touch was laced with an electric tension that threatened to overwhelm the urgency of the battle.
The students' screams heightened the stakes. One trapped boy was pinned beneath a falling shelf. Johnson and Arisa moved together—shoulder to shoulder—lifting it in perfect unison. The contact lingered a fraction too long, enough to make Johnson acutely aware of her proximity, but he pushed the thought aside. There was no room for hesitation.
Hana's voice rang out sharply: "Northern exit! Open it now!" She had calculated the structural weaknesses in the barricades and used a crowbar to create an escape path. Students scrambled through, guided by her careful instructions, while Johnson and Arisa held the corridor, fending off mercenaries desperate to prevent the evacuation.
As the last student fled, a sudden flash of light lit the far wall—a projectile thrown by Mercer's forces. Johnson reacted instinctively, throwing himself over a student, absorbing the force of the impact. Arisa was there in a heartbeat, pushing him aside from a secondary blast that threatened to knock them both off balance. Again, their bodies pressed together, the brief contact leaving Johnson's pulse racing for reasons far beyond combat.
The northern wing finally fell silent, mercenaries incapacitated or retreating. Johnson's chest heaved from exertion, sweat dripping down his temple. Arisa stood beside him, brushing dust from her shoulder, smirking in that teasing, infuriating way that made his heart hammer. Mika and Hana approached, faces a mix of pride and frustration—proud of their teamwork, frustrated at how much attention Arisa drew despite the chaos.
Johnson allowed himself a moment to breathe, surveying the aftermath. Students were safe for now, but the sense of urgency remained. Mercer's hand was visible in every corner of the academy; this strike was just the beginning. And Arisa's presence—unpredictable, daring, magnetic—would complicate everything, both in strategy and in the growing tension within his harem.
As the group moved to consolidate their positions, Johnson's eyes scanned the shadows. "This isn't over," he murmured. "Mercer's still out there, and I have a feeling he's just getting started."
Arisa tilted her head, a dangerous smile curving her lips. "Good. I was getting bored."
Mika groaned audibly, Hana's eyebrows shot up in exasperation, and yet Johnson couldn't help but let a small, knowing smile form. Chaos, danger, and tension—this was exactly where they belonged. The first strike had been repelled, but the war for the Grand Festival was only beginning.
And Johnson knew, deep down, that with Arisa and the rest of his harem by his side, no mercenary, assassin, or trap could ever catch them off guard again.