Fenrir decided to head toward the Academy the next morning.
He ignored the pristine, custom-tailored uniform that had been delivered to his apartnt the night before.
It looked stiff, uncomfortable, and too flashy—designed more to flaunt status than serve any practical purpose.
Instead, he wore a plain black hoodie and dark jeans, blending into the city's morning crowd as he made his way to school.
'This is fine. How can they expect anyone to learn in those fancy clothes? They're more of a hindrance than any help during dangerous situations. I won't put myself into that situation.'
The Academy lood in the distance, its towering spires casting long shadows against the pale blue sky.
Fenrir wasn't nervous, but there was a distinct buzz in his gut.
Not anxiety—more like anticipation. It felt like he was heading to a battlefield that would only benefit him.
He had barely reached the main gate when he ca across a group of students gathered in a tight circle near the sidewalk.
They all wore the silver-accented uniforms of Argent Academy, making them imdiately recognizable.
Most of them were laughing, their expressions ranging from amused to smug, and their focus was fixed on sothing—or soone—in the middle of the circle.
Fenrir could see a flash of green hair among the crowd.
His first instinct was to walk away.
Bullying was nothing new, and frankly, he didn't care.
People being cruel for sport wasn't worth his attention.
But just as he turned his body slightly to move past the crowd, sothing in him tugged—an instinctual sense that said-
Stop. Look closer.
He sighed and stepped toward the group.
The students didn't acknowledge his presence at first.
They were too busy laughing at the girl kneeling on the ground, hastily gathering up books, pens, and so scattered pieces of paper.
Her green hair fell like a curtain around her face, shielding her expression, but Fenrir caught the tremble in her fingers and the way her shoulders curled inwards, like she was used to making herself smaller.
The system pinged softly, identifying her as Betty Rose, first-year, combat track.
[Overall potential: D]
'D, huh?'
Fenrir frowned slightly.
There was nothing obviously special about her. Weak aura. Slouched posture. Easily ignorable.
But then she spoke, murmuring a flustered "Sorry," to no one in particular. Her voice was soft, shy even—but it had an edge beneath it.
A subtle tension, almost too controlled.
It set off every alarm in Fenrir's body.
His instincts scread danger, but not in a threatening way—more like... potential. Sothing buried and dangerous, like a dormant predator waiting for the right trigger.
Fenrir knelt beside her and picked up a laminated photocard that had fluttered near his foot. He handed it to her silently.
Betty blinked at him, clearly startled.
"T-Thank you..."
There it was again—that note in her voice.
Polite, gentle, but too asured. Her eyes flicked up to et his for a brief mont, and Fenrir felt a chill crawl down his spine.
He stood up and turned toward the crowd, his expression unreadable.
"Get lost."
He said simply.
The group blinked, confused. Then one of them—taller, cockier than the others—snorted.
"What's your problem, man? You siding with that freak?"
Fenrir didn't respond. He just stared.
That was enough.
Another voice cut through the tension.
"Wait... isn't that Fenrir Black?"
Heads turned. Whispers started.
"The youngest Black heir?"
"He's the one with the high-tier mana gun, right?"
"I heard he was a troublemaker. It's best not to engage with him?"
"Tch. Rich kid. Leave him alone."
The mood shifted. The mockery turned into murmurs of caution.
A few students gave Betty disdainful glances as they backed away, clearly not wanting to deal with potential fallout from ssing with a Black.
Fenrir watched them scatter before glancing back at Betty.
She was still on her knees, looking at him with wide eyes, the photocard clutched tightly in her hand. She looked confused... and oddly disappointed.
"You alright?"
He asked.
She nodded slowly.
"I'm... used to it."
"That doesn't an it's okay."
He said, more to himself than to her.
He turned and began walking toward the school gate. After a mont, he heard soft footsteps behind him—Betty was following. Not too close. Just enough to not be left behind.
Fenrir didn't tell her to stop.
He'd made a decision.
Betty Rose may look weak, and the system might say she was average—but Fenrir trusted his instincts more than a flawed machine.
Sothing inside that girl was dangerous. Maybe she didn't know it herself yet, but he had no intention of ignoring it.
______
As the last of the students dispersed and Fenrir walked away without a backward glance, Betty remained kneeling on the ground, her hand still wrapped around the photocard he had returned to her.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, she eased her other hand open.
A small glint of tal slipped from her palm and fell to the ground with a soft clink—a concealed blade, thin and sharp, perfect for quiet cuts.
She stared at it for a mont before clicking her tongue and muttering.
"Tch. Ruined again."
Her green eyes narrowed slightly as she reached down and picked the knife back up, slipping it into her sleeve with practiced ease.
"I wasn't done with them. A few more minutes and they would've begged to stop. But nooo, soone had to play the hero."
She said with an annoyed sigh, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt.
Her gaze flicked up in the direction Fenrir had gone, her lips curving into a small pout.
"Idiot. Doesn't he know it's rude to interrupt soone else's hunt?"
But even as she complained, a faint pink hue dusted her cheeks.
It was subtle—almost unnoticeable—but the way her fingers toyed with the edge of the photocard betrayed a strange excitent.
Her heart, which had been cold and bored for so long, now beat just a bit faster.
"That look in his eyes...He wasn't scared. He looked at like he saw sothing."
She whispered to herself.
The thought made her smile—genuinely, this ti. A slow, eerie kind of smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"He might be the first person who actually noticed ."
Standing up, Betty dusted herself off and turned away from the scene entirely, the incident already behind her.
She walked down the path alone, humming softly under her breath, the sa tune she always humd after a kill—except this ti, she hadn't gotten to finish.
But she wasn't upset for long.
Because now, her interest had a new direction.
"Fenrir Black, you're interesting. Too interesting to let go."
She murmured, the na rolling off her tongue like a promise.
She paused near the edge of the garden path and looked up at the sky, her eyes gleaming with a strange mix of amusent and hunger.
"I'll make you mine. Not now. Not yet. But one day... I'll hunt you properly."
She said sweetly, almost dreamily.
And for the first ti in what felt like forever, Betty Rose felt alive.
Not because she'd scared soone. Not because she'd almost drawn blood. But because he had stepped into her world uninvited... and left a mark.
That was how Betty found herself obsessed with Fenrir.
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