Azrael stood at the front of the classroom, chest tight, mind racing. He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to calm down.
It's just a room full of spoiled kids. Worse things exist. Why even worry?
He glanced at Selena beside him. Silent. Poised. Confident. Unflinching.
The silence stretched, heavy and expectant, until Selena finally spoke, breaking it.
Selena: "Good morning, everyone," she said clearly, her voice calm but commanding. "I am Selena of Ardenthal, second daughter of the King of Ardenthal. I am officially the student council president and the leader of this class. Should you have any questions or problems, I will be glad to assist you."
Arrogant… confident… Azrael thought, letting his eyes flick toward her briefly.
He knew it was his turn next.
Suddenly, a memory hit him a detail he had forgotten.
No last name. No noble lineage. Whatever I say… it will look pitiful next to them.
And he wasn't the only one who noticed.
Violette sat on her desk, eyes closed, as if she were watching, testing him, seeing how he would handle the moment.
Azrael inhaled, straightened his shoulders, and spoke, voice low, steady, and firm, pouring out the truth from the depths of his heart:
Azrael :"I am Azrael. I am the same age as you. To be honest… I have no desire to become friends with any of you. In fact, I despise people of your caliber those who believe everything is permitted and that they are powerful. So I ask that you pay me no attention, and I will return the same."
The room froze.
Violette's lips curved into a faint smile, unnoticed, subtle.
All eyes were on Azrael.
The women glared with disgust. The men with something darker. Hatred, like they had just been provoked by a stray, snarling dog.
Selena's expression remained composed, neutral, but she couldn't completely hide the flicker of curiosity in her gaze as she caught sight of him. His eyes were blackened with intent, yet there was no anger. Only sincerity the unvarnished truth of his feelings laid bare.
Azrael returned to his seat, shoulders rigid, and Selena followed.
The other students' eyes burned into him like coals. Their stares weighed him down, consuming his essence, pressing with the collective judgment of the room.
One by one, the other pairs introduced themselves. Azrael tried to ignore them, but three caught his attention.
The first: a medium-height blonde man, cheerful, radiating composure and refinement. Michaelas Montclair.
His partner: a woman of startling presence, nearly matching Azrael's own towering 1.90 m frame. Her hair was a fiery red, skin sun-kissed, and her voice loud, untamed a stark contrast to the polished Michaelas. Her name: Iris Nahiri. The pair seemed almost an anomaly compared to the other nobles in the class.
Azrael couldn't place why, but he sensed there was more to them than met the eye.
Finally, the last pair approached.
A golden-haired beauty with piercing green eyes Victoria Whitmore. Beside her, a man with a striking presence, white hair like freshly fallen snow, not silver like Selena, and eyes a soft coral red. He held her close with protective authority.
Lyssael:"I am Lyssael Veyron," the man announced.
Azrael's gaze followed them, instinctively noting the sense of ownership in Lyssael's posture. He understood immediately: letting such a beauty wander freely was foolish.
And then… he looked at Selena.
Suddenly, Azrael felt the young man's gaze on him a look filled with hatred and disgust.
A flash of instinct and calculation crossed his mind. He glanced at Victoria, allowed the barest hint of a smile to curl his lips.
Lyssael's reaction was immediate. His eyes narrowed, voice sharp:
Lyssael: "Filth!"
Violette clapped her hands once, authoritative, cutting through the tension.
Violette: "Everyone, return to your seats. The lesson will begin!"
The room moved, murmurs quieting.
Azrael remained seated, heart steady, mind alert. The game had only begun.
And he had already made the first move.