The silence that settled over Dean Hargrove's office after Adam's final, chilling "revelation" was heavier than anything before it.
The word "here," which the dean had repeated under his breath, seemed to echo through the room, carrying with it the weight of a threat that could not be ignored.
The dean stared at a fixed point on his polished desk, his mind racing—processing this new, troubling information, weighing his natural skepticism against the potential danger of ignoring it.
The seed has been planted, Adam thought, maintaining his "terrified and exhausted" expression as he watched the dean through trembling lashes.
Now all I have to do is wait and see whether it grows into a tree… or just a weed that gets ripped out immediately.
Several minutes passed—feeling like hours—as the dean remained silent, lost in thought.
Then, slowly, he raised his head and looked at Adam with a complex expression—seriousness, concern, and a new trace of resolve.
"Lester," the dean finally said, his voice calm but carrying unmistakable authority,
"what you've told me… is extremely serious. And regardless of how much I may doubt your motives or the validity of this 'message,' I cannot, as the dean responsible for everyone's safety, ignore even the slightest possibility that there is a real threat."
Better than I expected, Adam thought, feeling a hint of relief.
At least he didn't laugh in my face or send me straight to a mental ward.
"However," the dean continued, narrowing his eyes slightly as he studied Adam again,
"you must understand that I will handle this information with extreme caution. I will not cause panic among students or staff based on an unverified 'whisper' or 'signal'… but I will take precautionary measures."
The dean stood and began pacing slowly across the room, his hands clasped behind his back.
"I will have the academy's internal security division, along with our Phenomena Analysis Team, conduct a discreet and thorough assessment of this potential 'threat.'"
"We will review records of similar gates and look for any unusual patterns or prior warnings related to the Master of Masks or its 'carnival.'"
He stopped by the window, glanced outside briefly, then turned back to Adam.
"In the meantime, Lester… your current situation requires reevaluation."
Here it comes, Adam thought, trying to look appropriately concerned about his "situation."
"You left the training grounds without permission, in the middle of a sparring session you were required to attend," the dean said, his tone carrying mild reprimand.
"Under normal circumstances, this would be considered a serious violation deserving disciplinary action. Professor Phoenix, as you can imagine, is not pleased."
I bet she's already drafting a punishment list that'll make me wish the Master of Masks had taken my face instead, Adam thought, a faint shiver running down his spine.
"However," the dean continued, his tone softening slightly,
"given the 'information' you've provided, and your psychological state—which appears… clearly affected by your experience—I will make an exception."
An exception? Does that mean a long medical leave? What a beautiful dream, Adam mocked inwardly.
"For now," the dean said,
"you are temporarily exempt from the remaining sparring sessions today, as well as any physically demanding training that may worsen your mental or physical condition."
"I will inform Professor Phoenix that you are under 'special medical and psychological observation' by my recommendation, and that you require rest and quiet monitoring."
Adam's eyes widened—this time with genuine surprise.
Did that actually work? That easily? Does he really believe me… or is he just keeping me out of sight while he investigates?
"However," the dean added quickly, as if reading his thoughts,
"this does not mean you are unsupervised. Professor Phoenix's 'oversight' of you remains fully in effect."
"You will remain in your private wing under observation, and you will be required to submit regular reports to her regarding your 'condition' and any new 'developments' related to your 'warning.'"
Fantastic, Adam thought bitterly.
Escaped the frying pan… into the fire of constant surveillance and tedious reports.
"Most importantly, Lester," the dean said, fixing him with a serious look,
"if you experience any further 'whispers,' see any new 'signals,' or recall any additional details—no matter how small—I want you to report them to me immediately."
"Do not discuss this matter with any other student, nor even with Professor Phoenix for now, unless I instruct you to do so. This information must remain strictly confidential between us until we can assess the situation without causing unnecessary panic. Is that understood?"
Adam nodded slowly.
"Perfectly understood, sir. I'll be… listening carefully for any whispers from hell."
"Good," the dean said, seeming slightly relieved to have a plan.
"Now return to your quarters and get some rest. I will contact you very soon. A guard will escort you."
"Ding—!"
The dean pressed a small button on his desk communicator.
"Send a guard to my office to escort student Lester to his private wing. Inform Professor Phoenix that he is under special medical observation by my order and exempt from further training today."
What a diplomatic way of saying, 'this idiot convinced me there's a monster under his bed, and now I have to take it seriously,' Adam thought as he waited.
I wonder how that conversation with Aurora will go. Probably… electrically charged.
The guard arrived, and after a brief nod from the dean, Adam was escorted out.
As he walked through the corridors, he couldn't stop a faint, sarcastic smile from creeping onto his lips.
He had escaped the sparring session.
And he had thrown a smoke bomb into the situation—complicating everything and shifting the academy's focus toward a new "threat" instead of himself.
But… he thought as he neared his wing,
I've also dragged myself into a far more dangerous game.
Now he wasn't just a "suspicious student"—he was a "harbinger" and a "potential source of information."
What a promotion.
And more importantly… what would he do if no new "whispers" appeared?
Would he have to fabricate more lies?
Or would the real Master of Masks actually send him another "invitation"… just to make things worse?
What a perfectly staged play, he thought as he walked through the quiet administrative halls.
The dean had taken the bait—at least partially.
Now, instead of Adam being the main problem, the focus had shifted to the Master of Masks and its "imminent threat."
And poor Adam Lester—the traumatized student receiving messages from hell—had become the potential victim in need of "protection" and "observation." How ironic.
He knew the dean didn't fully believe him.
The doubt had been clear.
But Adam had planted a seed of real concern—one that would trigger investigations and, more importantly, reduce the pressure on him.
And most importantly, Adam thought with twisted satisfaction,
I avoided public humiliation in that arena.
He couldn't imagine how much Professor Phoenix would have enjoyed watching him stumble and fall like a rag doll in front of Jonas White—or anyone else with a shred of physical strength.
At the mention of Professor Phoenix, Adam felt a faint stir of… anticipation?
Or perhaps just morbid curiosity about how she would react.
The dean must have already informed her.
How would she take it? As weakness… or another trick?
As they neared the exit leading to the residential sector, he saw her.
Professor Aurora Phoenix stood at the end of the corridor, hands clasped behind her back, her silver hair gleaming under the dim lights.
She wasn't looking directly at him—her gaze fixed on a point on the wall—but it was obvious she was waiting.
The guard stopped, gave a slight nod toward her, as if handing over custody.
Aurora stepped forward slowly, her icy expression unreadable.
She stopped right in front of Adam. Her ruby eyes locked onto him with piercing intensity, as if trying to see through his skull and uncover the lies dancing inside his mind.
"Lester," she said in her cold, neutral voice,
"Dean Hargrove has informed me of your 'special condition'… and your 'urgent warning.'"
What a polite way of saying, 'I heard about your convenient hallucinations that saved you from sparring,' Adam thought, maintaining his innocent, unsettled expression.
"Yes, Professor. It was… deeply concerning."
"Concerning indeed," Aurora replied, her tone unchanged.
"Enough to make you abandon the training grounds without permission, ignore my direct orders, and storm into the dean's office with… unusual claims."
Here we go, Adam thought. Round two.
"I understand you may be upset, Professor," Adam said, trying to sound remorseful.
"But I felt it was more important than anything else. The safety of the academy… and the students…"
"The safety of the academy, Lester," Aurora cut in coldly,
"is my responsibility—and the dean's—not yours as a first-year student. Your responsibility was to follow orders and attend your assigned training."
She paused, studying him.
"However, since the dean has made his decision—and you are now a 'special case' requiring observation—I will abide by it."
A sharp glint flashed in her eyes.
"But do not assume for even a moment that I believe everything you say… or that I will go easy on you."
Of course you won't, Adam thought. That would contradict your entire frozen existence.
"You will return to your wing," she continued,
"and remain there until your 'warning' has been fully evaluated. Any further 'whispers' or 'signals' will be reported to me immediately. Immediately. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly clear, Professor," Adam replied, careful not to let any trace of triumph slip into his voice.
"Good."
She turned and began walking ahead of him—a clear signal to follow.
"I will personally escort you. To ensure you don't 'lose your way' again."
Adam followed in silence, realizing that this "maneuver" had worked better than expected… or perhaps worse.
He had escaped the sparring session—yes.
But now he was under even tighter surveillance by his "icy guardian," and entangled in a new investigation built on a fabricated threat.
What an admirable life, he thought as he entered his private wing, with Aurora standing at the door, watching him intently.
All of this… just to avoid getting beaten or humiliated in a sparring match.
I wonder what disaster I'll have to invent next to survive this academy. An alien invasion? The Flying Spaghetti Monster?
Aurora closed the door behind him.
Click.
The electronic lock settled into place.
Once again, he was alone—in this golden cage that had become his temporary "safe haven."
He threw himself onto the bed and let out a deep sigh.
It had been a long, exhausting day.
"Alright, Adam," he murmured to his reflection in the plain ceiling.
"You survived today. But at what cost?"
"You're now 'the boy who saw a ghost,' a 'harbinger,' and a 'special case' under constant watch."
"Your reputation in this academy is now a strange mix of false heroism, possible madness, and unexplained mystery."
A tired, sarcastic smile spread across his face.
"But at least… I didn't have to fight in that ridiculous sparring session. And that, in itself, is a small miracle in this cursed world."
Now… what if the Master of Masks doesn't appear again?
Would he really have to fabricate more lies to maintain this act?
Or would fate, in its usual mockery, actually send him another "invitation"… just to see how he'd handle it this time?
His eyelids grew heavy.
Mental and physical exhaustion had reached their limits.
Sleep… I need sleep, he thought, his consciousness slowly fading.
Moments later, he closed his eyes and surrendered to exhaustion.