It had been a full week now, and I'd adjusted to academy life reasonably well. But a few massive, jagged splinters were still digging into the back of my mind. Specifically, Tia Denver's existence.
She was a transmigrator. Just like me.
That was a catastrophic blind spot, an absurd narrative variable I couldn't have accounted for even if I'd deployed my absolute best analytical efforts.
<< "Correction: If you had fully utilised my processing matrix, you would have been structurally capable of predicting a variable of that nature." >>
"I get it, [Mad Mind]," I countered mentally, rolling my eyes beneath my crimson blindfold. "But where's the tactical satisfaction in that? It ruins the game. I want to be able to untangle these knots with my own intellect."
If I ever found myself backed into a corner so severe that survival was mathematically impossible, sure, I'd use [Mad Mind]. But until that desperate threshold was crossed, like back in the Black Chasm, I would rely on my own raw intellect.
After all, I wasn't an absolute braindead defect like Christopher Genius, who had managed to get himself slapped with a three-week suspension on his literal first academic day.
Currently, a large group of us were standing across the vast, rolling green expanse of the Academy's northern training grounds. All students who had Bestiary Lessons scheduled for their first period had been strictly instructed to gather out here in the open. Scanning the crowd, I could already pick out a few familiar faces among the elite freshmen.
"Hey! Amon!"
Seraphina's voice cut through the morning air. She was waving her arm wildly at me, closing the distance between us with quick, energetic steps. As usual, her pure, innocent bean energy was completely off the charts, cutting right through the stuffy noble atmosphere of the campus.
"Hey, Sera," I murmured, a genuine smile pulling at my lips as she reached me. I could feel a faint, rare warmth settling into my chest.
Ever since the explosive events of the first day, the vast majority of my peers had started treating me like a walking, unexploded nuclear warhead. They looked at me as if I were a hyper-lethal predator wandering around without a leash, actively altering their walking paths just to avoid making eye contact with my blindfold. I couldn't exactly say I hadn't anticipated this outcome—especially after I had openly, legally threatened a Marquess's heir with a brutal execution in broad daylight.
But damn it, if I were being completely honest with myself, it still stung a bit to watch people avoid me like a literal plague. Because of that, seeing someone as inherently untainted as Seraphina run up to greet me in the early hours of the morning genuinely meant the world to me.
"How have you been doing, Amon?" she asked, her voice flowing like a gentle, comforting melody while a sincere, bright smile lit up her face.
"I've been doing alright," I replied softly, my tone losing its usual sharp, transactional edge. "Though the last few days have been agonisingly uneventful. Absolutely nothing of note has happened, and frankly, I'm bored out of my mind. The professors stand at the lecterns droning on about theories that I memorised years ago. It's getting entirely repetitive. I severely wish they'd introduce more practical, high-stakes application classes." I let out a controlled, weary sigh.
It wasn't a front; I was genuinely losing my patience with the peace. I suppose my brain had become so warped by navigating high-tier chaotic situations that this sudden, quiet peace was actively driving me crazy.
"Well, the academic calendar has only just kicked off, so I don't think the faculty will authorise anything practical just yet," Seraphina replied, letting out a sweet, melodic little giggle. Her eyes crinkled with deep amusement as she looked up at me. "From what I've observed, you simply prefer to be constantly engaged in tasks that require action. You're just suffering from a distinct lack of stimulus, Amon."
"Yeah, you're entirely right," I murmured, a soft smile tugging at the corners of my lips at her quick analysis.
As effortlessly innocent as she acted, Seraphina was incredibly sharp. You simply don't place within the absolute top five of the R.S. Advanced Academy Entrance Exam if you lack heavy intellectual capabilities.
But her intelligence went far beyond raw academia; she was exceptionally gifted when it came to the emotional and social landscapes of high society. While our peers actively avoided me as if I were a walking plague, they flocked to Seraphina as if she were a descending angel.
Within a mere week, her natural charisma and striking beauty had made her staggeringly popular among the freshman class. It felt as if the original author of her novel had genuinely designed her entire character matrix specifically to be universally loved—only to throw in a heavily twisted, messed-up yuri plotline later.
Thinking about it made a cold flare of anger ignite in my chest; I genuinely, deeply loathed how the author had treated her in the source material, subjecting someone so inherently good to such horrific, systematic trauma.
Lost in my protective thoughts, my instincts briefly bypassed my analytical filters. I extended my hand and gently gave her a soft head pat, smoothing down her hair.
The realisation of what I was doing hit me a second too late. My muscles locked, and I abruptly pulled my hand back, clearing my throat.
"Ah... I apologise for that," I said, quickly forcing my voice back into a polite, carefully controlled apologetic tone.
I genuinely hadn't planned to cross that social boundary, but her sheer innocence had completely overridden my reflexes. I suppose it's a universal law: you simply cannot resist the instinctual urge to pet something so entirely cute.
"I-It's perfectly alright..." Seraphina stammered.
A sudden, brilliant crimson flush crept up her cheeks, her melodic voice melting into a deeply shy murmur. "Oh my god," I thought, my chest tightening slightly beneath my uniform jacket. "She looks absolutely adorable."
"Y-You can... headpat me again if you want to... I really won't mind it..." She squeaked, quickly looking away to hide her burning face, her voice dropping into a tiny, incredibly cute whisper.
"Damn it, Sera," I groaned internally, a vein pulsing slightly on my forehead as I fought down a massive wave of affection. "If you phrase it exactly like that, you are making it impossible for me to resist. Why do you have to be this dangerously cute?"
At that exact moment, I felt a sharp shift in the ambient atmosphere. I scanned the green expanse and noticed the heavy, burning gazes of my classmates locking onto us.
Most of the girls looked incredibly, violently jealous—while the boys glared at me with raw, bloodthirsty expressions that screamed they would gladly hunt me down to the absolute ends of the world for touching her.
Now, you may naturally wonder why the female students were giving me looks of pure envy instead of getting fiercely protective over an angel like Seraphina. It's because of a terrifying, newly minted academy phenomenon: a fan club formally operating under the name "Amon's Future Wives." And a shockingly large percentage of the freshman girls were already card-carrying members.
Why, you ask? That is an excellent question. Apparently, my bold and unhinged action of threatening a Marquess's heir with a brutal death, paired with my mysterious, handsome appearance, had aroused some deeply questionable instincts in them, according to the horrifying rumours I'd recently overheard.
The women of this world seriously have some loose screws in their heads... Because if that isn't the truth, then why the fuck does a terrifying, blindfolded outcast like me have a thriving fan club on week one?
"Hey, everyone, gather around!"
An enthusiastic, booming voice cut through the thick tension of the courtyard, instantly drawing everyone's attention—including my own.
When my eyes tracked the source of the voice, I felt an internal jolt, as if I were looking directly at a male supermodel. The man possessed glossy, perfectly sculpted blonde hair styled in a wavy quiff, paired with brilliant green eyes that effortlessly exuded an innate elegance of wisdom and unyielding authority. He boasted a tall, statuesque physique with broad shoulders and lean, coiled muscles beneath smooth, fair skin. For his attire, he wore a casual black t-shirt and dark jeans underneath a stark white lab coat, finishing the look with polished white shoes. The guy looked incredibly, almost unfairly handsome.
"From today onward, I'll be subbing in as Professor Harper's proxy, since she unfortunately had to take an extended leave due to sudden health complications," the man announced. His tone was perfectly calm, a warm, exceptionally friendly smile framing his face as his green eyes swept across the gathered freshmen.
"My name is Oberyn Lockhart, and starting from today, I will be your official Bestiary Professor," he introduced himself, flashing that magnetic smile once more.
Right on cue, a good number of the female students around me immediately began to gaze at him with glazed, dreamy eyes, while the rest of the class looked universally relieved. It wasn't hard to see why; Professor Harper was a notoriously strict, iron-fisted educator, a fact she had made brutally clear through her agonising lectures during the first week. She possessed a deeply complicated, unforgiving personality, so I could entirely understand why everyone else was celebrating her sudden replacement.
But a cold knot formed in my stomach. Because Oberyn Lockhart was absolutely not supposed to be standing on this lawn.
Oberyn Lockhart—a Prosecutor and Riversong's top-class, premier biologist—taking up a basic teaching post at R.S. Advanced Academy was a massive, screaming anomaly. From what I've heard about him, this man was perpetually buried in research and complex theories, rarely ever showing his face in public. Oberyn is an absolute wild card, a man entirely unbound by standard societal rules who devoted himself exclusively to his own scientific advancement.
A person of his monumental calibre coming to tutor a bunch of freshmen feels completely abnormal. He wouldn't step foot in this academy unless it directly benefited his personal agenda.
"Sir, what exactly is our lesson plan for today?" one of the students called out, looking genuinely curious and eager to impress the new celebrity instructor.
"Oh, you'll know the answer to that in just a brief moment," Oberyn replied, letting out a low, amused chuckle. He raised his right hand, his green eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp intensity. "For now... I highly suggest you brace yourselves."
SNAP.
He cleanly snapped his fingers. In the literal next microsecond, a blinding, overwhelming surge of silver light erupted from the grass, completely enveloping every single one of us before tearing our spatial coordinates away.
. . .
We now stood atop a layer of thick, fluffy snow. Our standard school attire had been instantly swapped out for the official winter uniforms of R.S. Advanced Academy—consisting of a pair of insulated black gloves, a thick white wool shirt, insulated black wool pants, and knee-high polished white boots. Oberyn, however, remained standing casually in his basic lab coat attire, completely defying the freezing temperatures without a single piece of winter-protective gear.
"The core reason why I have gathered you all out here in the sub-zero zone is quite simple. Today's practical lesson will focus entirely on bonding with your summoned familiars," Oberyn explained in a casual, friendly manner, his breath not even forming a mist in the icy air. "Now, go ahead and summon your familiars first, and then I shall provide you with your further instructions."
The students found the sudden change of scenery and his vague instructions a bit strange, but they quickly did as he requested. One by one, magic circles flickered across the snow as everyone summoned their contracted creatures. I followed suit, manifesting the two Primordial Beasts anchored to my soul.
Right beside me, Seraphina summoned her familiar—a small, sleeping baby white dragon nestled perfectly within her arms. The creature was extremely adorable. As the crisp alpine wind hit its scales, it began to slowly wake up, cutely rubbing its enchanting blue eyes before turning its head to look up at Seraphina with pure devotion.
"Master~! I missed you so much~!"
Before I could even appreciate Seraphina's dragon, a familiar, melodic voice rang out as Amou violently threw herself at me from behind. She wrapped her arms tightly around my neck, deliberately rubbing her enormous mounds against my back.
It was a classic, shameless attempt at getting me visibly aroused and flustered. Unfortunately for her, I had already experienced this exact routine enough times over the past five years to the point where I found it completely annoying.
"Yeah, yeah, I get the sentiment. Let go," I muttered, trying to break free from her vice-like grasp.
But I had severely underestimated her baseline physical strength. Even while actively applying a substantial, reinforced amount of force through my own muscles, I couldn't budge her arms a single millimetre. "Damn it," I thought, a cold sweat breaking out under my winter shirt. "If she truly wanted to, she could effortlessly dominate me physically at any given moment. I need to find a countermeasure to avoid that scenario at all costs."
"Amou, let go of Master immediately. He looks visibly uncomfortable," Tiamat commanded, her voice dropping into a flat, glacial tone as she stepped forward and gripped Amou's wrist with an iron, warning hold.
"Fine, fine," Amou let out a small, dramatic sigh, finally releasing her crushing hold on my neck and letting me draw a proper breath of crisp winter air.
"Thank you for the timely intervention, Tiamat," I murmured, adjusting my collar as I stepped towards her.
To show my appreciation, I reached up, having to stand slightly on my tiptoes just to smoothly place a hand on her head and give her a gentle headpat. Both Amou and Tiamat stood well over six feet tall, completely towering over my current physical frame.
The moment my palm touched her hair, Tiamat's stoic, cold expression visibly fractured. A brilliant crimson flush spread across her cheeks as her eyelids fluttered slightly, quietly leaning into the touch and thoroughly enjoying the praise.
"Hey, Master... why exactly do you favour Tiamat so much over me?" Amou pouted, her arms crossing over her chest as she watched the display with a slightly annoyed, envious twitch of her lips.
"Because she doesn't behave like a ravenous horndog the absolute second she gets manifested," I countered, looking back at her with a dry, knowing smile.
"Oh, you are so incredibly mean to me~!" Amou shot back, letting out a highly theatrical, mock-tragic sigh as she leaned forward playfully. "But I truly cannot help myself, you know?~ Existing as a perfectly chaste virgin since the literal dawn of Creation has caused me to accumulate an astronomical amount of pent-up desires. I naturally experience a severe drop in my impulse control whenever I am directly exposed to your presence."
At that exact moment, the playful chatter between my familiars evaporated into the freezing air. I felt the weight of dozens of eyes pinning me to the spot. The entire class had completely stopped interacting with their own summons, staring at us in absolute, stunned silence.
But it was Oberyn Lockhart's gaze that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He was watching my interaction with Amou and Tiamat with an intense, laser-focused fascination, his brilliant green eyes practically scanning their anatomical structures.
"You're Amon Von Crown, aren't you?" Oberyn asked, his voice low, rich, and dripping with an underlying layer of profound scientific curiosity.
"Yes, Professor," I replied. I smoothly dropped my hand from Tiamat's head, stepping forward to shield her and Amou from his direct line of sight as my expression shifted into a mask of absolute formality.
"You certainly possess two exceptionally interesting familiars, Crown," Oberyn remarked, his eyes subtly shifting left and right as he tried to catch glimpses of their towering, horned forms behind me. "And you already seem to be remarkably close with them."
"Isn't that the most foundational baseline of what you are supposed to be teaching us today, sir?" I countered, my tone cutting through the air with a sharp, razor-edged logic. "That we must cultivate a synchronised, healthy relationship with our contracted entities to effectively utilise their capabilities when a crisis calls for it?"
Oberyn merely chuckled, but a dark spark ignited deep within my chest.
For some inexplicable reason, I absolutely loathed the precise way Oberyn was dissecting my familiars with his eyes. I was fully aware that he was the Empire's top biologist, and that a boundary-defying curiosity was practically hardwired into his psychological profile. But logic didn't matter right now. I didn't like it. I didn't like the way he looked at what belonged to me.
"You are entirely correct, Crown," Oberyn conceded smoothly, giving me a slow nod before cleanly shifting his focus back toward the rest of the class. "As you have all just heard from your peer, it is of paramount importance to establish a deeply synchronised relationship with your contracted entity."
He stepped backwards, his voice carrying a calm, clinical clarity that cut effortlessly through the whistling winter wind. "To accelerate this relationship growth under active pressure, all of you are going to hunt a designated cluster of S-rank Frostfang White Bears residing within this frozen zone of the academy grounds."
A collective murmur of anxiety rippled through the freshmen. S-rank beasts were no joke for first-year students.
"Since there are exactly forty of you present," Oberyn continued, his green eyes glinting with an unsettling amusement, "you will be divided into three operational groups. The first and second groups will consist of nineteen members each. The third group, however, will contain only two."
The moment those numbers left his mouth, the students immediately began exchanging tense, frantic glances. I, on the other hand, merely narrowed my eyes behind my blindfold. I knew exactly what chess move he was making here. He was going to isolate me. Oberyn was undoubtedly aware of my status as a Prosecutor, recognised by both Velzoyr Nova and Twilight Silverstone Khalia. This wasn't a standard lesson; this was a targeted calibration test.
"I shall announce the composition of the third group first," Oberyn said, his gaze sliding sideways to lock onto me from the corner of his eye. "Amon Von Crown and Seraphina Nightfallen will comprise the third unit. The reasoning is quite simple. From the official dossiers, Crown placed first overall in our entrance examinations, so it is only equitable that he receives a minor tactical handicap, no?"
A sharp, distinctly mischievous smile spread across his handsome face as he threw the challenge directly at my feet.
"It may feel slightly unorthodox for a foundational bestiary lesson to be structured as a high-stakes group assignment, but I assure you, it is very much necessary," Oberyn explained, his tone smooth and welcoming as his hands rested casually in his lab coat pockets. "After all, you must learn to comprehensively understand the tactical dynamics of your peers and their respective familiars. You must learn to seamlessly match your and your own familiar's behaviour with theirs so you don't disrupt the operational flow in active combat. It is an exceptional framework to bond with your summons, teach them cooperation, and most importantly, foster structural teamwork."
His public reasoning sounded perfectly plausible. To the rest, it was just an elite, rigorous lesson. But to me, the math simply didn't add up.
If your core objective is truly to promote widespread teamwork and social cohesion among the freshman class, why would you intentionally isolate Seraphina and me into a microscopically small two-person cell? You claim you want to challenge my individual calibrator as the exam's top scorer, but even that logic completely falls apart under scrutiny.
You are an Imperial Prosecutor. You must be fully briefed on my classified file. You know that I successfully terminated an artificially amped iteration of the Peerless Sovereign back during my Trials of Worthiness. According to Khalia, that entity was formally classified as an SS-Rank threat. Sending a guy who destroyed an SS-Rank during his ToW to hunt S-Rank White Bears as a "challenge of calibre" is an insult to my capabilities.
I turned my blindfolded gaze away from him, scanning the vast, biting void of the frozen expanse ahead of us.
There was a profound structural anomaly hidden deep within this sub-zero zone. Something was fundamentally wrong with this place. And you, Oberyn, want me to dismantle it for you. Because if a Prosecutor deployed his magic to purge the sector directly, it would instantly blow your elaborate cover to pieces.
After all, your public profile is a complete phantom. No one in the entire Riversong Empire—save for the active circle of Prosecutors, my Mother, my Father, Alexia, Chloe, and the Empress herself—is legally or visually aware of what your true physical identity looks like. What you attempted earlier on the lawn wasn't just mindless curiosity; you were intentionally examining my contracted Primordials to gauge my psychological response, and you got exactly the reaction you were fishing for.
"Jeanne would have absolutely loved to play a twisted, high-stakes game of cat-and-mouse with a calculating monster like you, Oberyn." An amused thought crossed my mind. A faint, sharp smile pulled at the very corner of my lips as I tightened my winter gloves and conjured my wand, ready to step onto the ice.