Kairos did not reply to Rivet. He only stared, waiting for him to speak again, unwilling to give off a sad or weak impression.
"Co on, answer , please," Rivet's voice carried a teasing lilt, but beneath it lay an undertone of command.
He was truly a son of the Thorne family—a man well-polished, trained since birth, taught to fight, wield his summon, and conduct himself as a proper gentleman.
White hair, a masculine build, broad shoulders, and a dashing look... He was the complete package.
It must have been an unbearable pain for soone like him to be bested by an unkempt bastard.
Is that all you've got, dumbass? Kairos thought. Stretching out one hand while pocketing the other, he gave a lazy wave at Rivet.
"Hi."
His casual response sent murmurs rippling through the gathered crowd. Whispers of disbelief and doubt spread among them. Kairos was ranked sixth among the top summoners—a prestigious position. Yet, if people started questioning his authority, his reputation would crumble, making him a laughingstock.
"Oh, so you're the friendly type?" Rivet said, an amused smirk curling his lips. "You know, I'm a Thorne. But Veyl? I haven't heard of that before. Are you a nobody, perhaps?"
The way Rivet said it was so smooth that it could have been mistaken for a complint.
But it was nothing more than a veiled insult.
Kairos smiled at the provocation. "I see. But I have sowhere to be."
Turning away, he started walking towards the exit, hoping to leave the cafeteria without causing further trouble.
When—
"Oh, please, let him run away. Not many can stand up to Rivet, can they?" One of Rivet's friends sneered, and the crowd erupted into mocking laughter.
"Oh, co on, Mikey, let's not mock our elders. They resign early, don't they? Because, sooner or later, they turn out to be crap anyway," Rivet added, his voice dripping with condescension.
Kairos halted mid-step.
Slowly, he turned around, his eyes locked onto Rivet's with an icy glare.
"Look at you, all self-righteous," he said, voice calm yet cutting. "Thinking you're sothing special just because you got lucky being born with a na you'll never be able to live up to in the end."
A heavy silence fell over the cafeteria. Even Rivet looked montarily stunned.
No one dared to laugh—not wanting to incur Rivet's wrath—all except for Darnell, who burst into laughter, completely unbothered.
He grabbed Carlos by the wrist and pulled him along as they both followed after Kairos.
Rivet clenched his fists, his pride demanding that he make Kairos pay for every word he had uttered. But when his gaze shifted to the person Kairos was walking with, his thoughts froze.
How in the hell did he et that guy?
"Co on, Rivet, we can't let this slide," Mikey whispered urgently, but Rivet ignored him, pushing down his frustration. Without another word, he turned on his heel and went about his business. The crowd, seeing that the fight was over, gradually dispersed, though many believed Rivet had simply chosen not to beat down soone beneath his level.
With that, the three boys made their way to their first academy class.
---
Upon reaching their designated classroom, they scanned the room for seats. Since they had arrived early, they managed to find three spots near the back and middle of the class, taking them before the room filled up.
Ti passed, and soon the classroom brimd with students. Kairos watched as a familiar figure entered and took a seat near the window—Lina.
The girl from yesterday.
She sat alone, her posture poised, eyes avoiding those around her as if she were used to being scrutinized.
What was her na again? Kairos thought, recalling it from the screen. Lina.
Her fiery red hair frad her striking features. She was probably from a noble family, and her aloof deanor only reinforced that assumption.
While Kairos was lost in thought, Darnell, ever the troublemaker, tugged on his sleeve, forcing his attention away.
"Look at that girl's large breasts," Darnell whispered mischievously, his grin widening as he successfully derailed both Kairos and Carlos from any serious thoughts.
Darnell, ever the self-proclaid expert, began pointing out girls with "cute face IDs"—as he liked to call them—analyzing their figures, their mannerisms, and their supposed appeal.
The conversation quickly devolved into a perverted discussion. Despite their bold talk, none of them had actual experience with won—except for Carlos, who claid to have a long list of past conquests. The other two, however, were nothing more than drears admiring the beauty of won from afar.
Their banter ca to an abrupt halt when a loud, authoritative voice silenced the room.
A massive man strode into the classroom, his presence alone commanding imdiate attention. He wore a military uniform, his body built like a fortress. His hardened features and sharp eyes carried a weight that told of years of battle.
"I am Sergeant Henry, your horoom teacher," he introduced himself, his thunderous voice echoing throughout the room. "I will be managing this class and overseeing all information related to it."
With heavy steps, he walked toward the front and dropped a stack of docunts onto the large desk.
"As you all know, you are in the military academy. And I welco you with the best wishes I can muster. But make no mistake—this is not an academy for leisure."
His voice deepened, carrying the gravitas of a seasoned warrior addressing his troops before battle.
"The war between humans and the Nyxaris has not ended. There is rely a peace treaty—a fragile one that can shatter at any mont."
The room fell deathly silent. Even the students who had been previously chatting now hung onto every word.
"So I urge you to give your all. Train hard. Grow stronger. Whether you choose to beco part of the military or join a faction, it doesn't matter. Either way, you must beco powerful. You must at least reach the level of a Grade Three Summoner. The Nyxaris are brutal creatures."
Without hesitation, Sergeant Henry pulled up a portion of his uniform, revealing his hardened, scarred torso.
Gasps filled the room.
A massive wound marred his side—a grotesque reminder of a brutal battle. The deep, darkened lines and the burn marks told a story of survival against insurmountable odds.
"This," he gestured at the wound, "is one of many scars I earned in war. I fought through a battlefield littered with the corpses of my brothers and sisters. I was ambushed by two Nyxaris and nearly lost my life."
His eyes swept across the room, eting the gaze of each student with unwavering intensity.
"You are better off training for war than training in war. So do your best."
He pointed at the docunts on the desk.
"That is all for today. One by one, from the front row, co forward and pick up a handbook. These contain the list of classes available to you in the academy. Choose wisely, as this will determine the type of Beast Summoner you will beco."
With a final nod, he concluded, his voice still carrying that guttural authority.
"Now step forward, students, and collect your handbooks."
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