Haruto's internal systems were throwing up warning after warning.
[CRITICAL: MAGICAL OUTPUT AT 0%. SYSTEM INTEGRITY COMPROMISED.]
No. Not now. I can't take this risk. The probability of catastrophic failure in a public duel at 15% HP is 99.9%. If I lose, I don't just lose my 'team'—I lose the absolute leverage I've spent time building.
Kenjin stepped closer, his face twisted into a mask of pure mockery. He sensed the hesitation and pounced on it. "What's the matter, 'King'? Why the silence? Does it take you this long to find your courage? Maybe you're too busy practicing how to act like a princess!"
Kenjin gestured toward his laughing friends, their guffaws echoing against the classroom walls. "Hey, everyone! Remember the Wizard Quest? Our brave hero forced Kalen to wear a dress! Hey, Haruto—maybe that's your style, huh? Why don't you put on a skirt and go hide behind your girls? That's all you're good for, right? Playing house with ladies' clothes?"
The classroom went deathly still. The girls' expressions shifted from concern to a protective, simmering rage, but Haruto felt the sting of the insult deep in his code.
His silence wasn't just a protocol anymore—it felt like a cage.
He's insulting my core. He's insulting the very thing I used to survive that hellish quest.
Suddenly, a voice—cold, ancient, and unmistakably authoritative—vibrated through the empty space in Haruto's mind. It wasn't his own inner monologue. It sounded like a fragment of his original identity, a piece of his "Star-Child" origin surging to the surface.
"Are you really going to let this... this insect speak to you like that, Haruto? You, who hold the power of Nothingness? You, who have walked through dimensions?"
The voice echoed like a bell, drowning out the classroom chatter.
"Why are you staying silent? You are a Creator. You are a Reincarnator. You are the one who decides the script of this reality. Stop acting like a 'normal human' and show this parasite what happens when he steps into the line of fire."
Haruto's grip on his desk tightened until the wood groaned. The internal voice was right. He had been so focused on his HP and his temporary magical lockout that he had forgotten the most important rule of his existence: Reality isn't just about magic; it's about authority.
He slowly stood up. His legs felt heavy, but his eyes were burning with a cold, terrifying intensity that made even Kenjin's laughter die in his throat. The girls drew back, sensing that something inside Haruto had fundamentally shifted—something that had nothing to do with levels or mana.
He didn't need to speak. He just stared at Kenjin, and the sheer weight of his gaze—the look of a man who had seen the "code" of the world and knew it could be rewritten—made the entire room feel like it was holding its breath.
The internal voice of Sirehtea echoed sharply in Haruto's mind, slicing through the tension like a blade. Haruto, what are you doing? Are you seriously considering a physical engagement right now?
Wait, Haruto thought, his mental response sharp. How else do I handle this? I'll use brute force.
Oh, really? Sirehtea's tone was dripping with analytical coldness. I've been running the simulations, and your calculation is flawed. You're assuming a 99.9% loss rate? That's generous. Based on your current HP and zero-mana state, your loss probability is exactly 100%.
Haruto felt a surge of grim humor. My confidence is sky-high, as always.
You're reacting, Haruto, Sirehtea scolded. Powerful people don't react; they observe. They record every insult, every slight, and they calculate the exact moment to dismantle their opponent. You're behaving like a brawler, not a King. True authority is about cold, calculated precision.
Haruto exhaled, his stance relaxing just a fraction. You're right.
Enough with the lecture, Sirehtea dismissed. But honestly, this brat is grating on my nerves. I find his insolence... intolerable. You should say something.
Haruto paused, his eyes narrowing. Wait a second. You were the one forbidding me from using my voice earlier! Why the sudden change of heart?
When that shock hit you from the ring, it triggered a system sync, Sirehtea explained, her voice sounding closer, more present. I came back online to run a diagnostic. And for the record, I was observing, but this child's excessive noise is crossing a line. Insulting my incarnation? It's not something I'm willing to overlook.
Kenjin, oblivious to the divine-level debate happening inside Haruto's head, paced in front of him, his smirk growing wider. "What's the matter? Need two minutes to think? Take all the time you need, 'King.' It won't change the fact that you're about to be humiliated in front of everyone."
Haruto looked at Kenjin. The desperation, the jealousy, the loud, clumsy posturing—he saw it all now. He wasn't seeing a rival; he was seeing a bug in the code that needed to be patched out.
Haruto kept his gaze locked on Kenjin, his voice cold and steady. "I can use my voice now."
Deep in the back of his mind, Sirehtea's voice crackled with a mix of authority and warning. Meaning, yes, you can speak. But listen carefully: restoring your magic core takes time, and forcing a bypass is extremely dangerous. I've granted you a three-hour window of vocal access because it is safe, but after that, I always lock the voice pack again.
And if I try to push the magic past the limit? Haruto asked, his internal thoughts racing.
Then I'll be the one to watch you burn, Sirehtea replied flatly.
But you told me not to react! Haruto countered, confused by her sudden shift. You said powerful people observe and record.
Yes, she retorted, and I also told you that the biggest risk is taking no risk at all. Do you want to be a King who hides behind silence, or one who commands the room? Be scared if you have to, but still do it. If this were easy, anyone could sit on the throne.
Haruto took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. He looked at the classroom, at the girls who were waiting for his next move, and finally back at Kenjin.
Haruto's internal panic flared. No, Sirehtea! I can't do this. He's level 5 now, and I'm effectively level 1! The system won't even let me pull from my mana core. This is a suicide mission!
Sirehtea's voice cut through his hesitation, cold and sharp. Haruto, stop. I stopped you from reacting earlier because you were acting out of petty annoyance. But this? This is different. You need to fight.
Fight? Haruto thought, his heart racing. He's literally active, level 5, and powered up. I'm a sitting duck!
Sirehtea sighed in his mind. I've been digging through your memory archives, and I found something you've forgotten. Remember when you were ten? You begged your father for that game—'Conqueror.'
Haruto paused, the memory surfacing. Yeah, the one with 100 levels. Why?
You didn't know how the leveling system worked, Sirehtea continued, a hint of amusement in her tone. You didn't know you were supposed to upgrade your character stats. So, you took your basic, level 1 character and beat the entire game—all 100 levels—without leveling up once. Everyone told you it was impossible, that it was dangerous, but you didn't care. You were just laughing, having the time of your life because you thought it was a fun challenge. When you showed your father the screen, he was stunned. You just scratched your head, confused why everyone was making such a big deal out of it.
Haruto's grip on his desk loosened. The memory hit him with surprising clarity. He hadn't been scared then. He'd been having fun.
Look at yourself now, Haruto, Sirehtea commanded. If the ten-year-old version of you could see you shaking in your boots because some brat went from level 4 to level 5, he'd be embarrassed for you. You beat the game once as a level 1. Why are you acting like this is any different?
Haruto looked at Kenjin, who was puffing out his chest, reveling in his recent jump to level 5.
He thinks levels are everything, Haruto realized, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his face. He thinks he's stronger because the system says so. But I've already proven that system limits are just suggestions if you know how to play the game.
He stood up straight, the fear replaced by that old, familiar thrill. He wasn't just a level 1 student anymore—he was the kid who beat the hardest game in the world with his eyes closed.
"Level 5, huh?" Haruto said aloud, his voice calm and steady. "You've spent all this time obsessing over your level, thinking it makes you a god. But you're still playing by the rules, Kenjin. I'm not."
He walked toward the center of the room, feeling the eyes of every student on him. He didn't have his magic, he didn't have his full health, but he had something much more dangerous: the mindset of a player who had already conquered the impossible.
"Let's see if that level of yours is actually worth the pixels it's written on."
Just as Haruto took a step forward, the classroom door swung open with a sharp bang. Professor Elara strode in, her gaze sweeping across the tense room and landing instantly on the half-formed circle of students surrounding Haruto and Kenjin.
"What in the world is happening here?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the silence like a whip. "Since when did this become a gathering spot for group projects? Sit down. Now!"
The tension evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. The girls scrambled back to their desks, and Kenjin scurried toward his seat, looking both relieved and frustrated that his "moment of glory" had been interrupted.
Inside Haruto's mind, Sirehtea groaned. Ugh, figures. Forget it. There will be plenty of other chances to break that brat's spirit.
Shut up, Haruto retorted internally, annoyed.
Elara walked down the aisle, her eyes fixed on Haruto. She stopped right beside his desk, her presence looming large. "I thought I made myself very clear, Haruto. No wandering, no unnecessary social gatherings, and absolutely no fighting. Is that clear?" She glanced at Emilie, who stood motionless in the corner. "And you, leave the servant outside next time. This is an academy, not a royal court."
Haruto gave a stiff, silent nod. Elara leaned in, a knowing, almost predatory smile touching her lips as she whispered, "Good. Now, let's get started with the lesson."
She turned back to the front, and Haruto slumped into his seat, his mind still reeling.
Sirehtea? he called out mentally. I need to ask you something about her—
Too busy. Work to do. Bye.
Wait! Haruto mentally shouted. Listen to me!
But there was nothing. Total silence. Sirehtea had gone dark, leaving him completely alone with the one person he was trying to figure out. He stared at the back of Elara's head as she began to lecture, his heart sinking. He had so many questions about her—about her connection to the system, her "red eye," and her weirdly specific knowledge of his past—but for now, he was stuck in the middle of a classroom, silenced, watched by a woman who seemed to know every single one of his secrets.
He leaned back, gritting his teeth. Great. Just another day in this glitchy, rigged game.