I hurried down the stairs, my heart still thumping against my ribs. The shock on Elicia's face played on a loop in my mind. Part of me, the little girl who still wanted to be tucked in, ached to throw off the cloak, drop the shapeshifting, and fall into her arms.
But I looked down at my hands, hidden beneath the oversized ivory sleeves. I felt the phantom itch of the mutilated arm and the heavy, dormant weight of the wings tucked tightly against my back under the skin I shapeshifted with. If she saw what I had become, a scarred, S-rank monster and a blood-sucking demon, she wouldn't just be shocked. She would be devastated. The guilt would consume her, and she would prepare the 300 page novel about my recklessness and the scold would be legendary, like a memorial speech between two presidents, Iwould likely be followed by her locking me in a tower for my own safety.
"Not yet, I have to finish this as Zenni first." I told myself, hardening my gaze.
I reached the first-floor sector. Unlike the quiet, dignified upper floors, the first-year hallway was a chaotic mess of noise and crowded lockers. I found the door marked 1-B.
The room was packed. About forty students were inside, mostly thirteen and fourteen-year-olds who looked far too young to be dealing with the weight of the world. As I stepped through the door, the loud chatter died down into a series of hushed, venomous whispers.
"Look, it's the ghost..."
"He actually came back? I thought the Guild disposed of him."
"Don't look him in the eye, you'll catch the itch."
I ignored them, my appraisal skill scanning the room until I found a desk in the far back corner. It was covered in etched insults and ink stains, isolated from the others. That had to be Zenni's spot.
As always, I barely managed to arrive just before the fall for the first period rang. I somehow managed to steady his sleep deprived body and opened the door to his classroom. I found myself on the receiving end of a multitude of scornful glares and annoyed tongue clicks from a majority of the male students as soon as I set foot in the classroom.
Wearing Zenni's skin, I can tell that he is a depressed drug dealer. None of the female students seemed all too pleased to see him either. It would have been fine were they simply just ignoring me, but they too gave him stares of contempt.
Maintaining my mask of a drug dealer, I did my best to ignore my classmate and went to his seat. But always, there were a few students who couldn't resist the opportunity to needle him.
"Sup, you gross dealer! Stay up all night cooking lotus dust again? I bet you were a head chef from the slums."
"Wow what a creep. What kind of disgusting animal stays up all night cooking meth?"
The boys all laughed, I can tell that he has a miserable life in the academy, I can tell their tormentors are having the privilege to touch me, if I fight, I would be exposed, so I left them.
The tension in the back of the classroom was thick enough to choke on. The boy, Josan Klemer, was the oldest of the class, probably a middle aged man who skipped his studies, loomed over me, his handsome features twisted by the unmistakable tremors of a high-tier addict. His eyes were bloodshot, pupils pinpricks of desperation. The harem of girls surrounding him, likely fellow addicts or social climbers watched with a mix of hunger and fear.
"Hey, drug dealer, wearing that mysterious robe won't make you anonymous. Give me the Lotus Dust. Hurry up and give me some!"
Josan hissed, his fist slamming onto my desk with a crack that made the wood groan. I looked up at him through Zenni's bangs, my expression flat. I didn't say a word, I simply shook my head. The refusal was quiet, but to a man in the throes of withdrawal, it was an invitation to violence. Josan's face turned a bruised shade of purple. He lunged, his hand bunching the collar of my ivory uniform and hoisting me half-out of my seat.
He pulled back a fist, mana beginning to swirl around his knuckles in a jagged, unrefined surge. The girls began to shrink back, whispering for him to stop, but he was too far gone. As his fist whistled through the air, stopping barely an inch from my nose, a distance I had calculated to the millimeter, ready to snap his wrist if he moved a hair closer, a sharp, authoritative voice cut through the room.
"Josan! Drop him! Now!"
Our Class Advisor, Miss Karrie, a spindly woman with ink-stained fingers and a sharp gaze, stood at the doorway. She marched down the aisle, her boots clicking rhythmically on the marble.
"Don't touch Zenni. He just returned under the Principal's personal mandate. If you lay a finger on him, Josan, I'll have your noble scholarship revoked before you can blink."
Josan spat on the floor, releasing my collar with a shove.
"He's useless anyway," he muttered, slicking back his hair as he retreated to his seat, though his hands were still shaking.
The Advisor turned to me, her eyes lingering on my face with a strange, unreadable pity.
"Mr. Roy... glad to see you're still with us. Try to stay focused today."
The atmosphere in the classroom shifted instantly from stale boredom to a frantic, electric energy. Miss Karrie, our advisor, tapped her chalk against the board to get our attention.
"Enough of the theory for today," she announced with a sharp smile. "We're heading to the gymnasium. It's time for the weekly Magic Duel assessments."
The room erupted. Most of the students were overjoyed, eager to show off their elemental affinities and climb the social ladder of the first-year sector. Josan, however, looked at me with a predatory grin that promised nothing but pain.
"Hey, did you hear that, ghost? We're having a magic duel. I'm going to beat you so hard you'll wish you stayed in whatever sewer you've been hiding in."
I didn't answer. I simply stood up, adjusting my ivory and gold uniform. I followed the stream of students out of the North Wing and into the Grand Gymnasium, a massive circular arena reinforced with anti-magic enchantments and high stone bleachers.
The air here was cooler, but the tension was rising. Miss Karrie stood in the center of the sand-covered floor, her clipboard glowing with mana.
"The rules are simple, first to yield or be knocked out of the ring loses. No lethal strikes. This is an assessment of your Human Skill and mana control. First match: Josan Klemer vs. Zenni Roy."
A collective Oooooh rippled through the stands. The Nobleman Addict against the Slum Ghost. It was exactly the kind of entertainment the class wanted.
I stepped onto the sand, my heart rate steady. I had to be careful, if I used even 1% of my true S-rank power, I would likely vaporize the entire gym and reveal my identity to Elicia. I had to fight like Zenni, the blood manipulator with a suicidal skill.
Josan stepped across from me, cracking his knuckles. He didn't bother with a formal bow. He immediately began to chant, his hands glowing with a jagged, flickering yellow light, Lightning Magic. Because of his Lotus Dust addiction, his mana was unstable and violent, sparking off his skin in uncontrolled bursts.
Curiosity hits when he showed his human skill through me, it was an electricity skill, I used my famously inspect skill to view his stats correctly.
Josan Klemer
Skills: Lightning Magic
Vitality: 1000
Strength: 1020
Defense: 1100
Agility: 700
Mana: 4000
Lightning Magic- able to cast electric magic over long distances.
"I've been waiting for this, let's see how much blood you have to spare before you pass out, you freak!"
He lunged forward, a bolt of electricity crackling between his palms, aiming straight for my chest.
I stood my ground, my one visible eye tracking the flow of his mana. To everyone else, he was fast. To me, he was moving through molasses. I needed to win this convincingly enough to keep my cover, but painfully enough to make sure he never touched Zenni again.
Chapter 194
Transportation
The shimmering mana-dome hummed to life, sealing the two of us inside a translucent blue hemisphere. It was a standard safety measure, designed to absorb stray spells and prevent the audience from being turned into collateral damage.
"Zenni," Miss Karrie called out, her brow furrowed as she looked at my heavy, shadowed captain's cloak. "This is a formal assessment. Remove that robe. You cannot duel in travel gear; it's a safety hazard and hides your movements from the judges."
Josan let out a mocking bark of laughter. "What's the matter, ghost? Hiding your track marks? Or are you just that ashamed of your pathetic frame?"
I hesitated for a split second. My mind raced through the risks, but then I looked up. The gymnasium featured a massive, vaulted rooftop that blocked the direct, soul-searing rays of the Sisiphon sun. In the filtered light of the arena, I was safe.
I reached for the clasp and let the heavy fabric slide off my shoulders.
The class went silent as the cloak hit the sand with a heavy thud. Thanks to my **Shapeshifting** skill, the horror of my reality remained hidden. There were no jagged scars, no mutilated limbs, and no black-feathered wings. My arms were smooth, youthful, and intact, matching Zenni's slight but wiry frame. Even my "missing" eye appeared perfectly healthy, though it remained fixed with a cold, predatory focus that didn't quite match the boy's supposed weakness.
Josan's smirk faltered for a moment. He had expected a body ravaged by drug use, but standing before him was something that looked... disciplined.
"Nice skin," Josan spat, trying to regain his bravado as lightning arched between his fingers. "Let's see how it looks when it's charred black!"
"Begin!" Miss Karrie shouted.
Josan didn't wait. He thrust both hands forward, screaming as he unleashed a **Twin Bolt** of jagged yellow electricity. It hissed through the air, smelling of ozone.
I didn't dodge. To the audience, it looked like I was frozen in fear. But as the lightning drew near, I bit the inside of my cheek just enough to draw a single drop of blood. Using my "worthless" skill, I pulled that drop through my pores and expanded it into a razor-thin, vibrating crimson wire.
With a flick of my finger, the blood-wire acted as a lightning rod. I caught his bolts on the string and redirected the energy harmlessly into the sand at my feet, creating a small glass crater.
"Is that all?" I asked, my voice calm and echoing within the dome. "You're shaking, Josan. Is it the lightning, or are you just craving your next dose?"
The insult hit him harder than the magic. He roared in fury, his mana-signature turning a muddy, dark purple as he prepared a massive, unstable discharge. He was overcharging—a classic mistake of an addict seeking a quick end. I prepared to show him that "Blood Manipulation" wasn't suicidal for the user; it was suicidal for the opponent.