A student with striking blue hair lounged casually atop the bent back of his senior, who was crouched on all fours like a makeshift chair. The senior’s arms trembled faintly from holding the position too long, yet he gritted his teeth in silence.
Michael — the blue-haired student — sat there as if it were the most natural thing in the world, flipping lazily through the pages of a comic book. His posture was relaxed, his expression carrying a faint trace of boredom, like someone waiting for the world to finally offer him something worth his time.
The door to the classroom slid open, and Graham stepped in first, his sharp gaze instantly falling on the scene. The other members of the student council filed in behind him, but Graham’s voice was the first to cut through the air.
"Michael. As arrogant as ever." His tone carried equal parts irritation and disbelief. "Don’t you think that’s a little too much to do to your senior? Show him at least a shred of respect."
Michael didn’t even look up right away. He turned another page, letting the moment stretch before glancing at Graham with an infuriatingly polite smile.
"If you wish to, you can take his place, senior. I honestly don’t mind."
Graham’s brows twitched. "Hey, don’t get on my bad side. I won’t even think twice about spar—"
"Enough, Graham." Edwin’s calm voice cut him off, the council president stepping forward with an air of authority. "We’re here to strike a deal, not start a petty fight."
Michael’s gaze shifted to Edwin, his demeanor sharpening just slightly. "Even the president is here? And for what?" He closed his comic with a faint thud. "If this is about my little hobbies, save your breath. I’m not stopping them no matter what you say."
Edwin ignored the hostility, crossing the room and taking a seat as though the tension didn’t exist. "On the contrary, I’m here because your... hobbies happen to be useful to me."
The senior beneath Michael’s weight felt his flicker of hope die in an instant. He had thought salvation had arrived, only to realize it wasn’t coming at all.
Edwin leaned forward slightly. "Aaron Highborn and Alice Frost. I want you to make sure they understand to stay away from a villa that isn’t theirs."
Michael tilted his head, intrigued despite himself. "Hoh? I’ve heard whispers about some Freshers being given special privileges. I see... they’ve managed to step on your toes, President. But..." His expression flattened. "Sorry, I don’t do lackey work for anyone." He rose to his feet, dusting himself off, clearly intent on leaving.
"What do you want in return, Michael?" Edwin’s tone remained calm, but his eyes held a faint glint. "Name it, and perhaps we can reach an agreement."
Michael’s lips curled into a sly smile. "Hmm. How about a seat in the student council? Give me one, and I’ll consider it."
"You bastard! Don’t push your luck—" Graham started, but Edwin’s voice overrode him once again.
"Agreed," the president said simply. "The moment you succeed, you’ll have a place in our circle. But fail..." His gaze hardened, the temperature in the room seeming to dip. "The bully will become the bullied. And trust me, you don’t want to be bullied by the bullies of bullies. That’s never a pretty sight."
Michael’s smirk deepened. "You don’t need to worry. No prey has ever escaped my sight." He stepped past them without another glance, comic book tucked under his arm, the faint sound of his footsteps echoing as he left the room.
"System... I think I need to see her. I need to talk to her. If you’re right, it means she’s drained blood from a lot of people," Aaron muttered inside his villa, his thoughts drifting to the girl he’d saved days ago.
[And what’s wrong with that? If you ask me, host, you should be doing the same thing. Drinking blood to grow stronger.]
"Yeah, no thanks. I’m not hurting people just to get stronger. That’s not me." Aaron lay flat on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
It had been a week since his arrival in Ragnarok, and all his draws so far had been useless duds.
From time to time, he’d run into Alice — brief encounters, nothing significant. Nathan, however, had seemingly vanished into thin air. It was as if the guy had become a ghost. Not that Aaron cared much... curiosity was all it was.
"System, draw," he said at last, silently begging for his losing streak to end.
[Congratulations on receiving a god-rank talent — Unity of the Sword.]
Aaron blinked before a grin spread across his face. "Hah. So my luck’s been out shopping all week and finally came home. Good to know."
Unity of the Sword: You are one with the sword. You can learn any sword technique with remarkable speed while continuously improving it.
Ego: You can awaken the ego of any sword you wield, bringing it to life. Ego swords are powerful weapons that can assist you in their own ways.
Infinite Cut: Anything you decide to cut will be cut — without resistance. The sword is your companion, and together, nothing will remain uncut.
[Host can find the rest of the information about the talent himself.]
"Gee, thanks for making me work my butt off," Aaron muttered, though his smile remained. No banter today. This was a good day — finally, a talent worth celebrating.
"There’s a fresher–sophomore competition today," he remembered aloud, a hum of anticipation in his voice. "Perfect. I can test my new talent there."
He stepped into the sanctuary, retrieving a vial of dragon’s blood. The rich liquid slid down his throat, tasting better than the finest wine humanity could produce.
A faint shimmer spread over his skin — tiny, nearly invisible dragon scales forming, blending seamlessly with his flesh.
Flameborn emerged next, the beast’s form shifting until it resembled a majestic griffin — a rare creature, but one that, with enough resources, could be bought and trained.
"As promised, buddy, you’re free," Aaron said, patting Flameborn before smirking. "Now... let’s get ready for a little competition. I’ve got sophomores to squeeze for some spare change. Wealthy parents or not, my money’s worthless here. Funny... I used to laugh at those MCs in novels who had to start grinding points to live despite being rich. And now? Tables have turned in the most awkward way possible."
With that, he headed toward the grand hall for the day’s opening lecture — the kind of speech that could put even a primogenitor hybrid into a coma within seconds. Honestly, whoever decided these old relics should ’motivate’ students was an optimist.
Aaron had always believed one thing: if a student doesn’t want to graduate, no amount of speeches will change that.
As he settled into his seat, a well-dressed young man with neatly styled blue hair sat beside him. The stranger offered a confident smile and extended a hand.
"Aaron Highborn. I’ve heard of you."