On the other hand, the air crackled with pure pressure, the sky above Silver Blade Academy deepening into a solemn dusk, and yet—within the courtyard, a white streak tore across the tiled ground like a comet striking the earth.
Principal Duldor sprinted at full speed, a feat unseen in decades.
His old bones creaked in protest, but the sword in his hand glinted with a strange, pure aura—something unseen in the academy for many years.
His robes whipped violently in the wind, strands of his silver hair fluttering behind him as though the wind itself was drawn into his wake.
His face was grim.
Why? he asked himself.
Why does my heart race when I think of Nolan? Why does my instinct scream 'Grimm?'
He couldn't explain it. But when he checked Nolan's room using his spy crystal and it didn't work, and in that moment, he immediately remembered for some unknown reason where a teacher in the assessment program named Granfire said that Nolan was a grimm.
His instincts flared like they hadn't in years.
He had no proof, but there was something—something—about that man.
A spy aura.
A masked truth.
It made his skin crawl.
He had to reach the students of Room 33.
—
Across the Academy grounds, as Duldor moved like a white flame, others saw it too.
A pair of new instructors chatting over lunch on the veranda blinked as the streak of light passed them by.
"Was that… a spell?"
"No spell makes that kind of pressure. That's a person! Wait—just who!?"
Further ahead, a squad of guards patrolling the perimeter stumbled back as a sonic boom nearly split the gate in half.
"The hell was that!?"
"Someone just blitzed past us like a meteor!"
Up in the observatory tower, a trio of senior scholars studying arcane fluctuations dropped their telescopes.
"Look! Down there!"
"Something just warped the very air! The path! It was like space tore!"
"But I didn't feel any mana surge…!"
Still further, a gardener tending to spirit flowers near the main fountain blinked as petals exploded around him.
"Wha—my flowers!"
But only one person—only one—truly saw the figure clearly.
A middle-aged professor, glasses perched low on his nose, sipped quietly from a steaming cup of herb tea in the faculty balcony.
He caught the movement. His glasses glinted.
Then his eyes widened.
"...Principal Duldor?"
He murmured, nearly dropping his cup.
Why is he moving like that? That speed... that sword… is something happening right now that he wasn't aware of?
—
Inside the Academy's main building—a colossal construct of tiered learning halls, dormitories, and dueling grounds—Duldor didn't stop.
He stormed through the first floor. Wide-eyed students pressed themselves against the walls as his blur of movement rushed past.
He blasted through the second floor, his boots barely touching the ground.
And then—he reached the third floor.
Hallway 'C'.
Room 33.
Duldor halted.
He stood in front of the thick wooden door, his heart pounding, his breath still steady despite his age. He raised his hand to grip the handle—but paused.
From inside, he heard something.
A chant.
"SLAP THEM ALL! SLAP THEM ALL! SLAP THEM ALL!"
Duldor blinked. He leaned closer, ear against the door.
Then he heard Nolan's voice—firm, commanding.
"TOMORROW! Show those who looked down upon us… that we are STRONG as Knights! DESTROY the other students!"
Then—
"BULLY THEM!" the students screamed.
"No, no—don't bully—just defeat them!" Nolan added, now panicking.
"BULLY THEM!!"
"BULLY!!"
"BULLY!!"
Duldor stepped back, hand trembling.
His eyes widened to full size.
What… in the nine sacred mountains… is happening in there?
This wasn't the class he had tossed Nolan into expecting it to implode. No. Room 33 had been filled with troublemakers—sons and daughters of nobles from Silver Blade City, arrogant, disobedient, disrespectful.
He wished that Nolan could scare him as a punishment for their troubles. But at the same time, he had also expected that Nolan would be crushed by them too if it didn't work.
But this—THIS—was not what he expected.
Inside that classroom, it wasn't chaos. It wasn't humiliation.
It was like there was some kind of REVOLUTION.
And Nolan was leading it!
Duldor staggered back, shaking.
He's not Grimm? But he's… he's leading them? What is going ON!?
—
Inside the room, Nolan wiped sweat off his forehead. His grin strained.
"Alright. Get out now. It's already afternoon."
The students blinked. One by one, they began to collect their things.
"Thank you, Teacher!"
"Goodbye, Teacher!"
"Thanks for the Pathogen Knife!"
"Let's prepare for tomorrow!"
"SLAP THEM ALL!"
The door creaked open.
The first student out was Calien, tall and broad-shouldered, polishing his knife.
He stopped only for a moment in front of the old man standing beside the door, then continued without a word.
"Man, today's class was amazing," one of the girls said, twirling her blade.
"Yeah! Fighting the infected felt so real!" another chimed in, still gripping her knife like a treasure.
"That monster that leapt out of the corner of the food stand almost got me!"
"I told you to dodge left! Teacher even gave a signal!"
"That wasn't a signal, that was him panicking!"
"Hehe, that's what made it fun!"
One by one, the students walked past Duldor, talking animatedly.
"I've never sweated so much in a class before."
"I punched an infected person in the head!"
"The lighting was INSANE! I thought I got electrocuted for real!"
"I didn't even care about ranks for the first time… just surviving was cool!"
"I'm gonna polish this knife every night. It's cooler than my family's heirloom sword."
"I wish class was longer…"
"I actually want homework now! Can we ask Teacher Nolan to give us more?"
"Yeah! Let's go back tomorrow and bully—uh—I mean, defeat the others!"
Duldor stood completely still, letting the chaos of voices wash over him like a storm tide.
His knees nearly gave out.
These weren't spoiled nobles. These weren't troublemakers.
They were unified. Energized. Passionate.
What in the sacred scripts is going on here…?
Finally, the classroom fell silent again.
And from the doorway, the last figure emerged.
Nolan, wiping his hands with a cloth, adjusting his coat, his hair messy and his back slightly sore from all the pacing.
He froze upon seeing Duldor.
Then his eyes narrowed slightly.
"…Huh? Aren't you the Principal, Duldor?"
Old Duldor coughed into his sleeve, a wet and weary sound that echoed in the hallway. He adjusted the collar of his wrinkled robe, looked up at Nolan, and said flatly, "Yeah."
Nolan squinted at him, arms crossed. "Why are you here?"
The Principal straightened his back a little and cleared his throat. "Ah... I got nothing to do, so I decided to check on the students."
Nolan shrugged nonchalantly. "They're fine. Good students."
Duldor tilted his head, raising a bushy white brow. "Did you know what they did these last few months?"
"Not important," Nolan replied. "I got a lot of Mana Crystals from them."
The old man nearly choked. He coughed again, harder this time, stumbling slightly from the shock. "Mana Crystals!?"
"Yeah? Of course. Why not?"
Duldor stared at Nolan as if he'd just grown wings. His mind reeled. These students? The troublemakers of noble blood, the arrogant, the untouchables, the entitled ones who viewed every teacher like dirt under their boots—they paid him? Not only that, but they paid in Mana Crystals?
To this useless teacher?
He remembered the reports.
The screaming. The rebellion. The vandalized trial hall. The duel with the deputy instructor. Not a single teacher lasted more than a week with them. They were an impossible bunch. Untameable.
And yet…
Duldor's lips twitched, trying to form a question, but he bit it back.
He offered only a faint, careful smile. "Really? You managed to teach them? Hm. I thought I wouldn't find a teacher for them."
A lie.
He had expected Nolan to run within the week, perhaps the day. But now here the man stood—ragged, mildly unkempt, but strangely calm.
Duldor folded his arms, leaning on his cane. "Can you give this old man some pointers?"
Nolan blinked.
And then he remembered something. The old internet guides.
The endless 'Top 10 Tips to Survive a Job Interview', or 'How to Keep Trade Secrets from Competitors.'
He smirked faintly. "No."
Duldor exhaled, another cough escaping him—but this one was half laughter, half frustration.
He remembered the last time the spy crystal had worked. That strange image—Nolan fighting against pale-faced humans in some kind of illusion realm, slashing and shouting, dodging waves of infected-like creatures. At the time, he had dismissed it as nonsense. A fever dream brought on by mana distortion.
But now… maybe it wasn't.
Could it be that illusion? he thought. Could that have been his method?
But Duldor didn't voice the suspicion.
Instead, he nodded and muttered, "I see. Then I won't disturb you any further. I just came here to check."
He turned away slowly, steps measured.
But in his head, the whirlpool of confusion spun deeper.
How did this man tame them? Why is my spy crystal not working on him anymore? Worse is, why can't he feel his strength unlike earlier?
He tried to find reason in the nonsense, but none came.
And finally, with a long, exhausted sigh, Duldor mumbled under his breath, "Whatever."
And he left.