The air turned heavy. The murmurs stopped. William couldn't take it anymore.
The plate in front of him trembled slightly on the table. His knuckles were white, eyes locked on the noble who had just struck a commoner with a tray.
Angel's voice, distant and cold:
"Warning: cortical activity elevated. Response threshold exceeded."
"Eternal Mode," William whispered, and the world slowed down.
Ti shattered like glass. Every breath from others felt like an eternity. Every blink, an opportunity. He rose, legs coiled like a spring, and in a single second, he was upon the first noble.
A punch to the jaw. Another to the stomach. A kick to the chest launched the boy against the wall.
The others reacted too late.
"Calculating enemy trajectories."
William charged the next. He dodged by re centiters an improvised stab with a silver fork. He shattered the attacker's nose with his elbow. Spun. A third ca at him with a chair.
CRACK!
Wood exploded against his shoulder. Pain shot through like fire, but he kept going. That boy beca the next target. A knee to the side, a hand to the throat, and he smashed him into the table.
"Structural damage detected in right scapula."
Didn't matter. He kept moving.
Another noble shouted, raising a kitchen knife. William barely dodged—almost. The blade grazed his cheek, leaving a red line. Soone else hit his back with a tal tray.
Sweat and blood mixed on his forehead. He could barely see through one eye.
"Warning: muscular system exceeding operational capacity. Accumulated damage critical."
He didn't stop. He couldn't. Every blow was an answer to hatred, to neglect, to scorn. To the death of the Roseharts.
After ten had fallen, panting and staggering, a larger noble, broad-shouldered, charged with a chair held high above his head.
William couldn't dodge in ti. The strike crushed his left shoulder. Sothing cracked.
"Fracture detected in left hurus!"
Pain stole the air from his lungs. Then ca another hit, right in the face. He felt his nose break. Another blow to the ribs. A kick to the legs threw him to the floor.
Even there, he kept fighting.
With both arms broken, he used his legs. He spun on his back, kicking with all his strength, knocking two more down. Then he pushed himself up with one good arm, swaying.
He was bleeding. His vision blurry. Every movent was an explosion of agony.
One last noble, tall, blond, arrogant, grabbed him by the throat and lifted him into the air.
"That's all you've got?" he spat with disdain. "Beg. Beg, and maybe I won't leave you a vegetable."
William gasped. His body trembled. And then he smiled, lips coated in blood.
"Go to hell..."
And spat blood into the noble's eye.
The boy let go instinctively, blinded by the sting. In that instant, William dropped to the floor and spun upward with a kick to his stomach. The noble bent over, groaning.
William lunged at him and, with a scream of fury and despair, bit into his neck. Hard. Like a beast.
"DANGER: severe damage detected! Cease physical activity imdiately."
He didn't hear it. He only roared. Only bit. Only fought.
Until the instructors arrived.
Captain Irven and Master Elric burst into the cafeteria amidst screams. Irven pulled him away by force, locking his torso in a brutal hold. William growled one last ti—and then, simply, passed out.
His body collapsed like a broken doll.
Chaos gave way to silence. Cadets lay everywhere—wounded nobles, shocked commoners. The cafeteria was in ruins.
Master Elric stared at the scene, wide-eyed.
"He's lost his mind! That commoner attacked sons of six noble houses!" he roared.
"And those noble sons nearly killed one of their own like animals," Irven replied, cold as steel. "If I hadn't stepped in, they would've lynched him."
"You can't justify this!"
"I can't ignore it either. He fought for sothing bigger than himself."
Elric clenched his jaw but said nothing. Irven was already issuing orders:
"Everyone to the infirmary. Commoners to the west wing. Nobles to the east. No one speaks to anyone until we investigate this."
Assistants dragged away bodies. So nobles cried. Others cursed. But the commoners... the commoners looked at William with reverence—and fear.
Dixon, the sa one who had ambushed him days ago, approached the group.
"I... thought he was insane. But now I get it. No one else would've dared to do that. No one."
"He's a damn monster," muttered Theo.
"Yeah," Dixon replied. "But he's our monster."
The others nodded in silence.
anwhile, in the shadow of a column, two young n watched the scene with restrained expressions.
Cassian Draymor and Vayne Redvale.
"You sure it's him?" Cassian asked.
"I saw his eyes. No doubt. That bastard's a Rosehart."
Cassian frowned.
"I thought we exterminated them."
"Well, one survived. And now they worship him. If we let him grow, he'll beco a symbol. And then we won't be able to kill him."
"What do you propose?"
"We'll make it look like an accident. Just like we did with his father."
And they vanished into the shadows.
Hours later, in the infirmary's west wing, William slept. His body wrapped in bandages. His face almost unrecognizable. A tube fed him fluids, and over his left eye, a data lens projected unstable readings.
"Stabilizing vital signs. Severe damage to 37% of muscular system. Multiple fractures. Temporary ocular damage. Estimated recovery ti: 72 hours."
William did not respond. But even in rest, sothing remained etched on his face: fury. Willpower. Instinct.
From the doorway, Dixon watched in silence.
"You've earned our loyalty... though you might have signed your death sentence."
He closed the door behind him.
As he left, like a shadow slipping inside, Commander Anthon entered and stared at unconscious William. Pulling a small bottle from his pocket, he forced it into his mouth.
The mont the liquid entered, William's body began healing at an astonishing rate. In less than five minutes, all his wounds were gone.
Without a word, Captain Anthon left the room, leaving not a single witness.
Except for an ever-watchful AI.
Analyzing healing fluid...
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