The Academy's Terminally Ill Side Character

Trent's body hit the wall with a thunderous crack, the air crushed out of his lungs.

He slumped to the floor, the remains of his shield clattering beside him—bent, warped, useless now. His arms twitched, chest rising in painful, shallow heaves. The world spun sideways.

He heard Ama scream his name, but it sounded far away.

His ears were ringing again. Worse this time.

Carl was standing exactly where Trent had been a moment ago, arm still half-raised, fingers clenched like iron. There was a faint glow across his knuckles—residual mana, pulsing faintly with rage.

He turned his head, slowly, scanning the group. His eyes were calm now. Cold.

"I'm done asking nicely."

No one dared to move.

Ama crouched beside Trent, grabbing his arm. "Trent—Trent, can you get up? Come on—!"

He tried. He really did.

But his legs wouldn't obey. His ribs screamed with every breath, and one eye had already swollen halfway shut. Still, he chuckled hoarsely.

"Did you… see that?" he muttered, blood trailing down his chin. "Took… that bastard's punch and lived…"

Ama stared at him like he was insane.

"You idiot, that wasn't a punch. That was a spell-punch. You're lucky to be breathing."

But Trent only grinned wider. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was the pride.

For once, he hadn't hesitated. He'd stepped forward.

He'd made Carl angry.

Leo, meanwhile, had raised his spear—face grim, stance tense.

Leo glanced at him one time and Trent could tell that Leo wa angry, Not at himself or Trent but at the enemy.

"It's time to use my new weapon."

Saying that Leo took out [Drakevolt Spear] and ready himself for a long battle

...And at the same time Trent went unconscious.

-----

Rin POV

This guy—Carl Thompson—was no pushover.

He might not have had the [Soul-Tamed Staff] like in the original story, which meant he couldn't fully replicate the nightmare he was supposed to be… but that didn't mean he was weak.

Far from it.

The fact that Trent—who was decently skilled and had held his own in monster fights—got flattened in a single hit was all the proof I needed. It wasn't even a contest.

Carl wasn't some reckless thug swinging wildly. He moved like someone who had seen real combat, someone who had bled and survived. Again and again.

These weren't amateurs. They were criminals, yeah—villains. But ones who lived by the sword, and clearly knew how to use it.

And the only reason heroes hadn't already wiped them out?

Because technically, they hadn't crossed the big red lines yet. No major crimes. No mass murders. Just enough restraint to stay under the radar. The Hero Association hadn't sent anyone ranked B or above after them.

Which was smart. Strategic.

But that didn't change the reality in front of us.

We were cornered.

And realistically? I wanted to avoid a head-on fight. It would've been the smart thing. Let someone else talk, find an opening, run if possible.

But the truth was simple: staying on the defensive would only get us all killed.

We had to fight.

There was no other way. No one was coming to save us.

I glanced at Trent, still unconscious and body twitching slightly the floor, his shield a twisted mess of metal. His breathing was ragged, but he was alive. Barely.

I hadn't expected much from him anyway. Not in a fight like this.

But we had Leo. The Weapon Master. That title wasn't just for show.

And me? I wasn't empty-handed either.

I had a few cards I hadn't played yet. Just in case.

"Hmm," Leo muttered beside me, spinning the [Drakevolt Spear] with one hand, testing its weight. The weapon crackled with dormant lightning, humming like it was eager for a real fight.

He smiled, sharp and unbothered. "Feels good," he said. "I think it's time I put this thing to work."

His tone wasn't cocky. It was calm. Focused.

He wasn't scared.

And neither was I.

We didn't have the luxury to be.

Carl had already proven he was deadly. But that just meant we needed to be deadlier.

I tightened my grip on the bracelet wrapped around my wrist—the one everyone thought was worthless. It wasn't flashy. No glow. No hum. But I knew what it was.

Insurance.

I took a deep breath, calming my heartbeat.

Then I stepped forward, just slightly, until I was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Leo.

"We go in together," I said, eyes never leaving Carl.

Leo's smirk widened. "Yeah. Let's make this old man regret picking the wrong group of kids."

"You've got quite the mouth on you, kid. Nobody ever teach you respect?"

The voice came from a tall man stepping forward, his tone soaked in contempt. A long scar ran down the left side of his face like a jagged lightning bolt. He wore his sneer like armor, proud and ugly.

And yeah—he was the guy who was supposed to have the spear Leo now held.

His name?

Not important.

Didn't matter then. Doesn't matter now.

I don't even remember it.

He pointed at Leo with the back of his weapon, eyes narrowing.

"Hand it over. That spear—my spear—doesn't belong to some punk who doesn't even know how to use it."

Leo barely reacted. Just tilted his head a little, eyes glinting with mild amusement.

"Pathetic," he muttered.

"…What did you just say?"

Leo raised the [Drakevolt Spear] slightly, letting it catch the light. Sparks danced across the tip like it was itching for combat.

"You're not just pathetic," he continued, calm and cold. "You're also delusional. You think you're worthy of this weapon?"

The man snarled. "You little—"

"You're not even a good warm-up," Leo cut in smoothly, resting the spear across his shoulders. "But fine. Consider it an honor. You'll be this spear's first prey."

The villain's eyes burned with fury. "Big words for a brat. I'll wipe that grin off your face."

He roared and charged.

The ground trembled under his boots as he surged forward, spear pulled back in a killing thrust. He was fast—no question. Trained. Precise. Deadly, to most.

But not to Leo.

"Too slow," Leo said softly.

Leo deflected the incoming spear with the …butt of his own.

A sharp clang echoed across the battlefield as Leo's [Drakevolt Spear] met the enemy's mid-thrust—effortlessly knocking it aside with a twisting flick of his wrist. The momentum of the attacker's charge was completely broken in that single motion.

Then came the follow-up.

Leo didn't hesitate. The moment the enemy's balance wavered, he stepped in, rotating his spear in a tight arc, the crackle of lightning dancing down its shaft like a coiled predator ready to strike.

BZZZT!

A bolt surged out the moment the tip touched flesh—straight into the man's chest.

The villain spasmed violently, his body locking up as the electricity coursed through him. His mouth opened in a silent scream, muscles seizing, the stolen spear clattering from his hands before he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

Smoke curled from his body.

Leo exhaled once through his nose, barely fazed.

"See?" he said casually. "Didn't even warm up."

Another step forward.

I couldn't help but glance at the downed enemy—still twitching slightly, probably alive, but completely out of commission.

One hit.

That was all it took.

This wasn't the same Leo from before.

This was the Weapon Master.

Carl didn't move. He just watched—unreadable.