"Most students probably imagine monsters as mindless beasts with claws and fangs," Ethan said, his voice steady but casual as he paced in front of the class. "But that’s not always the case."
He didn’t look like someone about to cause an incident.
[2 days until the main quest begins.]
If I hadn’t seen that message, I’d have assumed he was just another well-meaning instructor—maybe a little too composed, a little too ordinary, but good at his job. The semester had started a month ago, and until now, he’d blended in just fine. Diligent. Calm. Focused.
"They breed less aggressive species for companionship," he continued, gesturing toward the hologram behind him. A fox-like creature shimmered into view—small, elegant, with nine delicate, semi-transparent tails that swayed gently in the projected air.
"Pet monsters, essentially. Taming students often begin with these before moving on to combat-class beasts."
Some students leaned forward.
Others kept scribbling in their notebooks like robots.
"This one’s called a Ninetail Pup," Ethan said. "They’re harmless. Good with mana. Emotionally intuitive. Useless in a real fight, but perfect for learning empathy, restraint, and magical control."
There were murmurs of interest now, soft and scattered.
A few students genuinely seemed intrigued, while others wore that familiar half-bored, half-curious expression every classroom eventually settled into.
Ethan smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
He looked like any other teacher. Clean shirt, crisp slacks, a voice made for lectures and quiet authority. No one would’ve suspected what he was really capable of.
"I’ve got some taming talent myself," he added suddenly, as if it were an afterthought. "Not strong enough for battle beasts, but I can handle the basics."
With that, he reached into his coat pocket and gently pulled out what looked like a tiny glass container.
A moment later, it popped open—and a handful of brilliantly colored, dragonfly-like creatures took flight, scattering across the classroom in dazzling spirals.
Everyone paused to watch.
Gasps rippled through the room, soft and genuine.
The creatures glimmered with iridescent light, their delicate wings beating in slow, musical rhythms that left trails of sparkling mana like mist in the sunlight.
Ethan extended a finger, and one of them fluttered down to perch lightly at the tip.
"These are Glimmerwings," he said, his voice almost fond. "They’re small, fragile, and utterly useless in a fight. But they’re incredibly in tune with emotions."
He paused, letting the class take in the sight.
"When you’re calm, they glow brighter. When you’re stressed—" He snapped his fingers once.
A single Glimmerwing near the front dimmed. Its wings lost their luster, turning a dull gray as it fluttered uneasily toward the ground.
"—they react immediately."
The room was silent now.
No scribbling. No chatter.
"They’re sensitive," Ethan said, lowering his hand. "You can’t fool them. You panic? They panic. You lose control of your mana? They scatter. They reflect what you are—every little crack in your focus, every bit of tension."
He let the dimmed Glimmerwing return to his shoulder, where the others had already settled. They shimmered faintly, pulsing with a soft, warm glow as if purring in response to his presence.
"That’s why tamers start with them," he said. "Not because they’re flashy, but because they teach you the one thing you can’t skip in this field—control."
Someone near the back muttered, "That’s actually kind of cool."
Ethan gave a rare, real smile at that—just a flicker.
"Good to know someone’s paying attention."
And just like that, the lecture moved on.
But not a single student took their eyes off the Glimmerwings for the rest of the class.
"Can you show us some more taming monster?"
Ethan tilted his head slightly at the question, his gaze moving toward the student who had spoken.
A guy in the second row—lean, messy hair, slouched in his seat but clearly more awake than before. His tone hadn’t been rude, just... genuinely curious. Maybe even a little hopeful.
Ethan blinked once, like he was surprised anyone had asked.
Then he nodded slowly. "I could," he said, slipping the container with the Glimmerwings back into his coat. "But only if you’re ready for what comes next."
The class shifted in their seats—some intrigued, others skeptical. One girl near the window muttered something about "showing off," but even she didn’t look away.
Ethan walked back to the center of the classroom and tapped the tablet on his desk. The hologram behind him blinked out, replaced by a swirling sphere of light.
"Let’s try something a little more advanced," he said.
A second later, the air shimmered—and something stepped through the light.
About the size of a dog, with sleek, black fur that faded into a midnight blue toward its tail. Four eyes blinked open across its face—two normal, two glowing faintly above them like an afterimage. Its body looked almost liquid, like shadows were clinging to it and peeling off in wisps as it moved.
The classroom went dead silent.
"What... is that?" someone whispered.
Ethan placed a hand gently on the creature’s back, steadying it. "This is a Nyxling."
It tilted its head, letting out a low hum that vibrated softly through the desks.
"They’re minor shadow-type monsters. Not aggressive unless provoked. They feed on ambient mana and emotion, especially fear or curiosity."
The Nyxling sniffed the air, then padded silently toward the nearest group of students.
"Relax," Ethan said quickly. "It’s not hunting. It’s just... learning."
The students froze, wide-eyed as the creature passed between them. It paused next to the curious guy from earlier, gave him a long look, then nudged his hand gently before slinking back toward Ethan.
The guy exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for a minute.
Ethan smiled. "It likes you."
A few students chuckled nervously.
Someone near the back raised a hand. "Wait—are we going to get to train those?"
"Not yet," Ethan said. "Nyxlings are Tier 2 creatures. You’d need a stable mana field, a mental focus score of at least 45, and a signed waiver."
There were groans at that.
"But if you stick with it," he continued, "and pass your first semester assessments, you’ll get a chance to bond with something more than a Glimmerwing."
He tapped the tablet again.
The Nyxling blinked once—then vanished into thin air, as if it had never been there.
A few students sat up straighter.
Others scribbled furiously into their notes now, eyes bright.
Ethan stepped back behind his desk and folded his arms.
"That’s all for today."
The groans this time weren’t from disappointment—they were real.
"You’ll get more time with monsters in your practicals," he added, almost as an afterthought. "Taming isn’t about strength. It’s about patience. Connection. And control."
The bell rang a moment later.
Students slowly gathered their things, still stealing glances at where the Nyxling had stood.
"Ah, Cadet Rin Evans. Do you have a moment?"
I blinked, halfway through the hallway, my duffel bag still slung over one shoulder.
There was no mistaking it. He was calling me.
And for some reason, he had stopped me.
Was I seriously his first target?
One of the core survival instincts of any academy transmigrator: avoid all flags.
Especially the shady ones. Especially his.
"I just wanted a quick word, Cadet Rin," he said with a calm, almost gentle smile. "It’s nothing serious, really. But if you’re busy, I understand."
I hesitated. My gut twisted a little.
It wasn’t fear exactly, just... unease.
He didn’t usually make his moves here. This part of the campus wasn’t one of his usual "hunting grounds," and there was still time before any of the major storyline quests began.
In other words—he wasn’t planning to kill me.
"...Sure," I said. "I’ve got a few minutes."
His smile widened slightly. "Great. I appreciate it."
He walked beside me, his steps light, hands clasped behind his back like some friendly professor.
"I was thinking of buying you a drink, but..."
"No thanks," I cut in quickly. "My next class is hand-to-hand combat. I’d rather not have anything sloshing around my stomach when I’m getting tossed to the floor."
"Ah, fair point," he said with a small laugh. "That class does tend to be... intense."
I stayed quiet, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.
He wasn’t acting threatening.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.
And just to be sure, I asked, "Why me?"
He blinked at the question, then chuckled like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"You’re not like the others, Cadet Rin."
"Today, during the Nyxling talk. Most cadets laughed it off. Treated it like some spooky campfire story. But you..." He gave me a meaningful look. "You looked like you were really listening."
My brow furrowed slightly.
That wasn’t much, but it was true.
"Caution is a good thing," he continued. "Cadets who take things seriously... tend to last longer."
That calm smile. That unsettling honesty.
Like he was complimenting me for knowing I might die.
I let out a soft breath, almost a laugh. "So you’re saying I won’t die early?"
"I’m saying you’re aware," he replied. "And in this place... awareness is everything."
...Okay. That didn’t sound like something a killer would say to his first victim.
"Well," I said, nodding slightly. "Thanks, I guess."
"Of course." He stepped back, as if to excuse himself. "I’m looking forward to seeing how you grow, Cadet Rin."
With that, he turned and walked off—calm, composed, and completely unreadable.
I stood there for a few seconds longer.
"...He’s not targeting me," I muttered under my breath. "Right?"
But even as I walked away, I couldn’t shake the feeling.
Just... the weight of being noticed.
And in Velcrest Academy, that was either the best or worst thing that could happen.
There was never an in-between.