The Academy's Terminally Ill Side Character

"...So, what is this about then?" he asked, voice a bit quieter now.

I reached into my pocket, fingers brushing against the still-wrapped candy Professor Draken had given me earlier. It grounded me for a moment.

Then I looked up.

"You know what it's about. I'm just here to take out the trash that is piling up for long time and I think it's about time put that trash into dustbin."

"I see."

Then his expression changed for worse as he stairs at me.

But that was only for moment before that cheerful expression came back to his face.

Disgusting.

"Hahahah... I don't know what you're talking about."

He laughed, scratching the back of his head like this was all some big joke. "Really now, trash? That's a bit harsh, isn't it?"

I didn't respond. Just watched him.

Watched how the corners of his eyes didn't crinkle with the laugh. How his hand clenched, just a little too tight, around the strap of his bag.

The smile on his face wasn't fooling either of us.

"I mean," he continued, voice still light but with an edge creeping in, "you call me out here, throw around dramatic lines, and now you're acting like some kind of executioner. That's not very junior-like, is it?"

I stepped closer. The sunlight was almost gone now, shadows stretching long across the floor. We were caught in them—two silhouettes in a room that had forgotten time.

"You should've stayed in character, senior," I said quietly. "The harmless act. The friendly upperclassman who helps underclassmen with their formations."

I tilted my head.

"But you got greedy. Got sloppy. And worst of all, you underestimated the people around you."

The smile slipped then—fully this time.

"You think you've got everything figured out," he said, his voice dropping, losing its earlier humor. "But you don't know the whole picture. You're just playing at something way bigger than you can handle."

"I don't need the whole picture." I met his eyes coldly. "I already know more about this world than you ever will."

He blinked, thrown off. "What?"

The confusion in his voice told me everything. He had no idea. And I wasn't going to explain it to him.

He didn't deserve to know.

I tightened my grip on Lan—its form tonight was a dagger, simple and familiar in my hand. I flipped it into a reverse grip and let my body hum with reinforcement. My breathing slowed. My focus sharpened.

"First," I said, stepping forward, "please die."

"W—what!?"

He scrambled back, trying to reach for his bow, but I'd already moved. My body was faster, strengthened from hours of practice and a mind that no longer hesitated.

He dropped the bow just in time, letting it clatter to the floor as he twisted away. My blade caught his shoulder—a shallow graze, nothing fatal, but enough to draw blood.

He staggered back, hand pressing against the wound, eyes wide.

"What the hell is this!? Who put you up to this!? Is this some kind of test!? Look, I—I don't even know what I did wrong! I don't have any enemies!"

I didn't answer right away. Just watched him—watched the panic rise behind his eyes. Watched the cracks in his confidence start to spread.

Finally, I spoke.

"You really don't get it, do you?"

I took a slow step forward, blade still low at my side, gleaming red at the tip.

"I know everything, Senior Vice President Samuel Askal. You know what I am talking about don't you?"

"…You…!"

Samuel's voice cracked as he lunged at me, eyes wide with rage.

He came fast—faster than I expected—but not faster than I was ready for.

He probably thought this was going to be easy.

After all, I was just a first-year. He was a third-year cadet with two years of training on me, and from the outside, the difference in our physiques made it look like a done deal.

But that arrogance…

That would be his biggest mistake.

My muscles were already humming—strengthened by my [Enhancement] talent, flowing like a current through my veins.

And then there was the other thing.

The dagger in my hand.

A half-divine artifact, bound to my soul. [Soul-Bound Staff].

Disguised in its dagger form. Waiting.

As Samuel closed the gap, confusion flickered across his face.

He must have sensed something was off.

Too late.

He stepped into range—right where I wanted him.

"Extend, Lan."

The command left my lips in a whisper, but the effect was immediate.

The dagger shifted with a soft whirr, elongating into a sleek, silver blade in an instant.

"Wha—?"

That's all he managed to get out before the blade tore through him.

The sound was horrible.

A wet, splitting noise—flesh and sinew parting under metal.

My fingers trembled from the impact, not from fear—but from the jarring weight of it.

The first real cut I'd made against someone who looked human.

"Ugh…!"

He staggered, eyes wide with disbelief as he stumbled back.

Shock painted across his face—like he couldn't understand what had just happened.

Why he was bleeding.

Why I was the one holding the blade.

And for a second… I almost felt bad.

Almost.

Because this Samuel—the one gasping and clutching his side—wasn't truly him.

Not the real one. Not the original.

Just a shell. A personality that probably didn't even know what kind of thing it was housing deep inside.

"W…what?" he managed to choke out.

His voice trembled—not with pain, but with confusion.

And then the light came.

A low hum filled the room as something began to pulse from within his chest.

My grip tightened on the sword.

Of course it wouldn't end so easily.

Because Samuel Askal… wasn't really Samuel Askal.

And this?

This was just the beginning.

The glow from his chest spread—slow at first, like a heartbeat pulsing under his skin.

Then it began to grow.

Brighter.

Stronger.

The air around him twisted, shimmered like heat haze.

The faint scent of metal and ozone filled the room. My instincts screamed at me to step back, and I did—just in time.

With a crackling burst, light surged outward from Samuel's body, slamming against the walls like a wave. Dust exploded into the air. Windows rattled. The old classroom groaned under the pressure.

He straightened.

No longer gasping. No longer holding his side.

His eyes…

They weren't his anymore.

Where there had once been confusion and panic, now there was calm. Cold, detached calm.

And underneath it, something ancient. Something inhuman.

A low chuckle escaped his lips, but the voice didn't match the one I'd heard just moments ago.

It was deeper. Layered. Like two voices speaking at once.

"It wasn't time yet. I wasn't supposed to wake up before the plan kicked in."

He muttered the words more to himself than to me.

All his wounds—slashed flesh, torn muscles—had already vanished. Not even a scar remained.

There was a reason for that.

He had more than one artifact bound to him.

The first was called The Marionette Mask.

A sinister relic that created an entirely new personality inside its host—one that believed itself real. That fake self had no idea it was a puppet, making it virtually undetectable by most truth-based relics or spells. As long as certain conditions weren't met—like direct threats to the body or a triggering keyword—the original mind stayed buried, sleeping.

It was perfect for infiltration.

That's how he managed to enroll in the academy every few years under different names and faces, always as a new student, always passing under the radar—even the Chairman's.

The second artifact?

The Gambler's Mercy.

A cursed coin, bound by fate. It flipped itself once a week—and if luck sided with the user, it granted one complete resurrection from a fatal wound. The cooldown was strict, but the reward? Lifesaving.

That was how he'd survived my strike.

He looked down at his ripped clothes and slowly raised his eyes to meet mine. Calm. Cold.

"Did you do this?"

"Yeah," I replied without hesitation.

He studied me for a moment.

"…You look like a cadet."

"I am one."

His brow furrowed just slightly.

"You're not Ryen. You're not Leo. So… what? You didn't like the fake version of me, so you stabbed me?"

"No," I said. "I stabbed you because I know what you are. What you've been doing. And what you planned to do next."

A pause.

He exhaled. Almost a laugh.

"You're awfully talkative for someone who's just exposed himself to something bigger than he understands."

"Maybe. Or maybe I've just decided I'm done letting monsters play dress-up in front of my friends."

His smile faltered.

Just a bit.

"You're not supposed to know this much," he said quietly. "That blade… That aura... You're not a normal first-year."

"And you're not really a student. So let's stop pretending."

The tension crackled in the air between us. One heartbeat. Then another.

He rolled his shoulders, shaking off the remnants of the previous personality like a snake shedding its skin. His voice changed again—cooler now. Controlled.

"…Alright, cadet. You've seen behind the curtain."

His fingers twitched. I could feel the faint hum of power build around him. Another relic, maybe. Or worse—his true self starting to seep through.

"You've just made yourself a target. But I'll admit…" he stepped forward, slow and deliberate, "…you've made things more interesting."

I didn't move. I didn't need to.

My grip tightened on the hilt of my weapon.

One of us had broken the rules first.

And now neither of us would be walking away without consequences.

---

Thanks For The Reading.