Ashok lay sprawled across the bed like a lifeless corpse, his upper body sinking into the plush mattress while his legs dangled off the edge, suspended in the air.
His arms rested limply at his sides, his face buried in the pillow, utterly indifferent to his awkward position.
He was dead asleep—so exhausted that neither discomfort nor the state of his surroundings mattered.
The weight of both physical strain and ntal fatigue had dragged him into a deep, undisturbed slumber.
Knock! Knock!
The soft rapping at the door barely registered in Ashok's unconscious mind.
The magically enchanted bedsheets cocooned him in warmth, their spell ensuring maximum comfort, while the temperature regulator maintained the perfect atmosphere—cool enough to soothe his weary muscles, yet warm enough to lull him deeper into sleep.
The outside world ceased to exist.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
A faint twitch flickered across Ashok's eyelids, a subtle protest against the intrusion.
But as the knocking abruptly ceased, so did the twitching. His body surrendered once more to the embrace of sleep, sinking back into its undisturbed state.
SLAM! SLAM!
The next mont, the door shook violently as soone abandoned all pretense of patience and resorted to outright assault.
The sudden noise jolted Ashok awake, his body jerking upright as his senses scrambled to catch up. His gaze darted around the dimly lit room until his eyes finally landed on the clock.
8:00 A.M.
Only an hour had passed since he had drifted into sleep, yet here he was—rudely torn from his much-needed rest.
Rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses, Ashok dragged himself out of bed, his movents sluggish but his mouth anything but.
A steady stream of curses spilled from his lips, utterly venomous.
"Which fu** is banging his m*m outside my door? If this is for nothing, I swear I'll start banging the hell out of his sis***."
His voice was little hoarse with sleep, but his irritation was razor-sharp.
Despite his awkward sleeping position, his appearance remained oddly pristine—no bedhead, no creases on his skin, as if exhaustion had drained him but left no physical evidence behind.
As he trudged toward the door, his ears picked up muffled voices from the other side.
"Let's go to the next door, maybe he's not inside." "We can go ahead later, but this is the room of Mr. Speci—"
Before the sentence could be completed, Ashok swung the door open mid-conversation.
Standing outside were Gideon and Leon. Gideon, mid-motion, had his leg raised, poised to deliver a kick to the door.
But with the door suddenly opening inward, he was left awkwardly suspended, his foot hanging in the air like a poorly tid attack.
Slowly, he lowered his leg, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish grin.
Turning to Leon, he muttered,
"See? I told you Mr. Special was inside."
The mont Ashok heard those words, he felt an overwhelming urge to pull out the Magic Scrolls from his Storage Ring and Inventory and turn Gideon's smug face into a pile of enchanted ashes.
His fingers twitched at the thought, but he took a deep breath, suppressing the impulse—barely.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice flat.
But instead of an answer, he was t with stunned silence.
Gideon and Leon stood frozen, their eyes wide, staring at him as if he had just casually announced he was the lost heir to the throne or had grown a second head.
"Y-You can speak normally?" Leon stamred, his gaze locked onto Ashok like he had just witnessed a divine beast in existence.
This was the first ti Leon had ever heard Ashok speak without his usual commanding tone—the voice that carried the weight of authority, the kind that made people question who were they talking to.
And more than that were his piercing red eyes that usually looked down on the world in contempt, the eyes made the one being look down think just how can a human have eyes like that.
"A MIRACLE!"
Gideon suddenly threw both hands into the air, his voice booming with exaggerated enthusiasm, as if he had just witnessed the art of resurrection.
Leon turned to him, his expression shifting from shock to sheer bewildernt, his gaze silently screaming: 'What the hell are you doing?'
"I was just giving a reaction. You know, sothing to make the mont feel a bit more real," Gideon said, spouting whatever words ca to mind, as if that sohow justified his dramatic outburst.
Leon, however, stared at him blankly, utterly lost. What in the world was he even talking about?
anwhile, Ashok's patience was rapidly lting away, evaporating like water under a scorching sun.
He had been dragged out of the deep, blissful sleep he had fought so hard to get, only to be greeted by these two acting like absolute fools at his doorstep.
His grip on the door tightened, fingers curling around the edge with barely restrained frustration.
Leon, ever perceptive, noticed the subtle shift—the way Ashok's knuckles whitened slightly.
"Ahem!"
Leon cleared his throat, attempting to steer the conversation back on track before Ashok decided to slam the door in their faces—or worse.
"We didn't an to disturb you," Leon began, his voice carrying its usual kind and gentle tone, "but we're here to deliver an invitation on behalf of the Second and Third Year Seniors of the Aether Class. They've organized a small Welco Party for us First Years, which will take place tonight at 10:00 P.M. in the Compound of the Dormitory."
"The Seniors have also ordered for everyone to be present, so make sure to arrive and don—" Gideon started, but Ashok had already stopped listening.
He didn't need to hear the rest. He already knew exactly what this was about.
This wasn't so friendly Welco Party. No, it was far from that.
Ashok recognized it imdiately—it was a starting social event in the ga.
A glorified display of dominance disguised as a social gathering. The Seniors weren't hosting this to welco the First Years; they were gathering them to establish control.
The so-called "Rules of the Aether Dorm" were nothing more than a system of exploitation.
There were two primary rules:
The newcors must pay the Protection Fees to the Senior Years.
The Protection Fees weren't so trivial amount. They were paid in Credits, the very currency that determined a student's survival and standing within the Academy.
This paynt ensured that the Seniors of the Aether Class would "protect" the First Years from the Seniors of the Wyrd Class.
The second was the First Rank of the First Year must surrender 'so' of their privileges granted by the Academy.
The Academy rewarded the top-ranked student with significant advantages and that was sothing the First Years ca to know from the mouth of Mia, but the Seniors had their own system in place.
Whoever claid the First Rank would be forced to give up so of their privileges—though the exact details will be revealed when the First Rank will be selected.
It was as if they were informing about the Predetermined.
In simple terms, the Welco Party was nothing more than an introduction to the bullies of the Academy.
However, unlike the Wyrd Class, which suffered from direct physical bullying, the Aether Class operated differently.
After all, this was Aether—the elite, which ant they must hold their standards to the na of their class.
Standards can't be sullied.
Their thods weren't crude beatdowns in dark alleyways; they followed a Nobility's Way of Bullying.
It was social bullying, carefully crafted within the frawork of noble hierarchy. Manipulation, forced obedience, and structured exploitation—all disguised under the pretense of tradition and order.
But beneath this system lay an even larger story.
Everything—the hierarchy, the rules, the forced submission—was part of a sche orchestrated by the Crown Prince.
His goal? Absolute superiority.
Not just over his sister, Elara, but over every genius from around the world who had gathered at the Academy.
Through the Aether Dorms, he ensured that no matter the year, no matter the rank, everything remained under his control.
In the ga, this was one of the mandatory social events—skipping it would instantly cause a massive decrease in affinity with the entire Second and Third Years. It was a carefully designed trap, forcing players to engage with the hierarchy whether they liked it or not.
But Ashok wasn't just any player.
'Just who do they think I am thinking they can take away my hard earned Credits?' thought Ashok as a plan to take care of the Seniors.
Before he could dwell on that thought, Gideon clapped his hands together, grinning.
"There will also be food, so make sure to keep space in your stomach!" he announced with a dramatic salute, already turning to leave.
Ashok, however, wasn't done.
"The Hero of Light," he said, his gaze shifting toward Leon.
Leon blinked, then quickly cut him off. "You can just call Leon."
Ashok's eyes then moved to Gideon.
"And Fool."
Gideon froze mid-step, whipping around with an indignant expression.
"Hey! Why am I the Fool?" he demanded.
"The job of delivering ssages suits you both—the Hero of Light and the Fool—quite well," Ashok said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
But sothing about his tone—about that smile—felt off.
Leon and Gideon exchanged a glance, sensing an underlying aning behind his words.
Before they could question it, Ashok continued.
"So, make sure to deliver a ssage of mine to our Seniors."
His voice was calm, almost casual.
Yet, sohow, it carried a weight that made the air feel heavier.
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