I remember hiding underneath my bed.

  I remember the screaming.

  I remember the touch of Ochre swelling inside my uncles, my aunts, my friends.

  I remember the smell of burning flesh and the sight of ash.

  I remember standing in what remained of my home, of my village, as the blazing sun charred the bodies of my sister, my brother, and my mother.

  I promised myself on that day…

  I would return the destruction. I would return the needless deaths. I would return everything, tenfold, and bring the villains endless despair.

  Today, I finally know your names.

  Lee Seung-chul. Lee Na-yoon. Lee Yoon-jung (???). Lee Yoon-ho. The Taeyang Group.

  You will face death by my hand.

  I swear it.

  [ROUTE: HERO]

  ***

  <...Who’s that?>

  

  

  

  

  Good news! I entered Baekyong Academy without any trouble at all! In fact, the employees treated me like royalty. They had volunteered to move my bags into my assigned dorm-room while I could attend a meeting with the Headmaster of the Academy. I’d already informed the bosses that my transfer was smooth and painless.

  That was one problem solved, a hundred more to go.

  Walking around Baekyong Academy was… It was something else alright. I'd watched hundreds of videos and read countless articles and threads about its history, culture, and everything in-between. Baekyong was founded around forty years ago as a glorified college, focused on teaching the next wave of prestigious Slayers through competition—cutting the bullshit aside, it was a private Slayer academy for kids of the rich and famous to beat each other up. It never lost that reputation.

  I gotta admit, though: the place was pretty. The architecture really made you feel like you were a part of the upper-class. Everything was pristine and clean and advanced and nice-looking. Our dorms were amazing; we all had our own room, bathrooms, and warm beds. The dining halls were even more crazy, giving out fuckin' gourmet dishes like it was fast food. Most of all, we got a million different services to entertain ourselves and fulfill our every need and vice.

  I wouldn’t be fooled, though. This place was as rotten as rotten could be.

  I ventured into the administration district of campus, identifying important halls that I’d studied on the campus-map. Along the way, I passed students. First-years, second-years, and third—everyone, and I mean absolutely everyone, gave me a lingering glance. It was a small world here, and I had already marked myself as an outsider. Oh well.

  It wasn’t time for my introduction yet.

  After walking for at least a mile, I found the Headmaster Building, the main administrative hall for the academy. The front was populated by annoyed faculty, pouty students, and bitchy parents. Guess they had some problems to resolve from the previous semester. In Korea, the academic year actually started in March—not August or September like in the States—and ended in February. Because I enrolled in the fall (or second) semester, I was transferring in the middle of the academic year.

  It meant my section—the Year 1 Combat Section—had already settled its hierarchy and split themselves into factions.

  Which made my position as a transfer more impactful.

  According to the kind employees who’d brought my bags in, the Headmaster explicitly ordered me to wait at the back entrance. Made sense. They didn’t want me to fight through half-a-dozen different families of Korea’s elites. Going around the building, the traffic was hilariously minimal. Just a few faculty members entering and leaving, someone was smoking off to the side, and a guy my age was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  He loitered by himself, scrolling through his phone with a steady frown.

  If you looked up the word “emo” online, his mugshot was the first thing you’d see. Hair dark as dead ravens, hung like a criminal from the gallows! His left blood-crimson eye was buried in bush-thick bangs! His entire existence was bathed in anguish. There wasn’t any love left in him, just pure contempt for fate itself. The sort of guy who’d say, “You don’t wanna get involved with me,” when you first approach him. And how he liked his coffee? With lots of cream, but in public, black as his soul.

  Sheesh, though, he definitely wasn’t your average pretty boy. He was handsome, strong, and probably a ruthless assassin sent to murder spoiled kids. Just like me! If I had to take a guess… He was also in a combat section. Which one, though, your guess was as good as mine. I couldn’t match his face against the section roster (that I'd mostly memorized, but I had it in my [Notes].)

  Well, time to make my first friend!

  I approached him and spoke in perfect Korean:

  He didn’t respond.

  

  No response.

  <…I’m a student here, what about you?>

  Nothing.

  

  The jerk clicked his tongue and kept his one eye glued on his phone.

  

  My sudden shouting startled him—and everyone else in our vicinity—but that got him to pay attention to me. He said, trying to deflect eyes off us,

  I dramatically pointed at him.

  His head snapped back, confused.

  I laid a hand over my forehead. <’Oh, pretty girl I just met, you’re so beautiful and sweet, but I can’t! I have a dark and mysterious past, so let me push you away! I beg of you, don’t get involved with me!'>

  My new friend blinked several times. <...I’m going to call the police.>

  

  

  <’Otherwise you’ll regret it.’>

  

  He glared bloody death at me.

  Man, I’m doing such a good job at making friends!

   a voice called out from behind.

  It belonged to a middle-aged man who had the same composure as Uncle. His posture was impeccably rigid as though he was marching to an invisible drum, and his suit was immaculate—like, picking-every-ball-of-lint-with-tweezers immaculate. Even without my previous knowledge, I could figure out he had experience in the military. With my knowledge, he was a high-ranking naval officer—and, oh, also formerly the No.3 Slayer in Korea. Meet the Headmaster of Baekyong Academy, Baek Min-seok (???) or otherwise known as Chungmu (??).

  Chungmu rubbed his freshly-trimmed salt-and-pepper beard with a gloved hand, the other behind his back, and observed us.

  

  I looked at Mister Emo.

  He looked at me.

  

  Oh.

  This… This was not in our initial intelligence. No wonder why I didn’t recognize him. He was a surprise transfer just like me. Dammit all, I gotta send a report to Ordo after this and see what we could dig up.

  I mustered the brightest smile possible. I reached out for a handshake—

  He slapped my hand away.

  Chungmu raised his hand and immediately, we settled down.

  Mister Emo stiffened like steel, his expression twisted in surprise but in the most insulting way possible. It's like he was asking, “How the fuck is this girl recommended by the fuckin’ Murim-in Throne?!”

  Chungmu followed,

  Now it was my turn to look at him with that same surprise.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Kim Min-jae gritted his teeth, looking like a million thoughts were swimming in that emo-head of his.

  He was fishing for information. Better play my cards right. I said,

   Chungmu said before gesturing toward his castle.

  Without waiting for our answer, he scaled the steps.

  Got no other choice, right?

  I looked at Kim Min-jae and smirked, knowing we would have a long relationship in this shitty place. He knew it too; I saw it in his eye(s). Pretty sure I already made him regret his transfer.

  Go me, I was doing good things for the world one joke at a time.

  ***

  Every square inch was decorated to reflect the academy’s prestigious history. Y’know, portraits of previous headmasters and department heads, a mile’s worth of trophies and accolades, and over on one wall, it was dedicated to a memorial for the alumni who’d passed away in the line of duty. Most of the memorial was filled by casualties sustained during Hangzhou.

  Everything smelled like cleaning solution and flowers and copper.

  Chungmu led us into an open lounge: half-lobby, half-museum. It displayed old signatures, weapons and armor and items, stored in thick glass cages while some were mounted on walls like taxidermied kills. Don’t ask me about anything here. I knew Korean pretty well but not so much its systemic history.

  Min-jae on the other hand didn’t give a shit ‘bout any of this. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

  Chungmu admired the years and sighed in a masturbating way.

  Min-jae eyed me.

  The hell you’re looking at me for?

  Chungmu turned around and faced us with the pressure of a high-ranker, his small smile dropping into a damning chill. We weren’t kids to him anymore. We weren’t adorable or cute; we were warriors. Soldiers. For that, I knew immediately he wasn’t gonna give mercy no matter the circumstance.

  

  I gulped. Here was his famous educational philosophy. Probably the only headmaster in Baekyong’s history to intensify the Student Ranking system instead of cooling it down. I’d already familiarized myself with its mechanics, but reading a hundred articles online was nothing compared to the real experience.

  And y’know, Min-jae didn’t seem to give a shit or give much of a reaction at all.

  Chungmu continued, taking our silence as affirmation,

   I said to disarm the tenseness. Didn’t work. Nobody laughed. I felt stupid.

   He glanced at me when he said that.

   Min-jae answered first, his voice layered with seething contempt.

  Chungmu couldn’t help himself from forming the smallest yet devious grin.
  

   muttered Min-jae.

  

  Chills. Leo had sat me down and told stories about Baekyong. This was the experience I was in for: a constant war within my section for the top rung of the ladder. Although Chungmu highlighted a few privileges, they were nothing compared to the unspoken consequences. Golds were treated like monarchs while Grays and Blacks were treated like hobos. Everything felt like a fucking psychological experiment performed by sadists and perverts, wanting to see how kids tore each other apart just to move up one place in the Rankings.

  But there was a reason why Baekyong kept getting applicants.

  People were attracted to power and dominance, sort of like politics or corporations. Betrayals, bloodshed, corruption, they were the name of the game—don’t me and Alex know that?

  I raised my hand.

   Chungmu had a little laugh to himself.

  Min-jae huffed steam.

  

  I nearly asked about details of our first exercise, but realized that was a pretty dumb question. Instead I asked,

   answered Chungmu.

  The emo-guy had been biting his thumb as soon as he was mentioned.

   I popped another question.

  

   Min-jae was next.

  Chungmu thought about it then shook his head.

  Thank goodness I got a new phone and phone number. Didn’t want to risk getting my data tracked.

  We had nothing else to say. We knew what we were in for and Chungmu made his expectations clear: we gotta shake up the ladder somehow. At least I was expecting this. It matched Leo’s anecdotes: the Student Rankings always changed shortly after the second semester—

   a cheery voice startled me.

  I turned ‘round and—

  “Holy shit,” I said in English.

  I saw quite possibly one of the most gorgeous guys ever in the history of the world. Look at how sparkly he was in-person! He had better skin than most runway models; his features were so soft and pretty that even Rector would get jealous! This season he’d dyed his hair hot red and tar black to reflect his rebellious phase. Everything about him was perfect. White teeth, pretty eyes, strong body, everything—as though a mathematician had invented the ultimate equation for beauty and applied it to him.

  This was the most talented K-pop idol of today: Tae Jun-hyeok (???), and the star of MS Entertainment, a talent agency owned by the Taeyang Group. In other words, he was Lee Yoon-ho’s best friend.

  I was standing in the same room as the Tae Jun-hyeok. He made the other guy look ugly.

   Chungmu began,

  He checked his watch.

  In spite of his rebellious phase, he saluted the authority figure in the room. Jun-hyeok spun on his feet and led us away.

  Once we were home-free, I half-thought the idol would drop his smile and start acting like a conceited asshole. However, he maintained his carefree attitude as we went downstairs. As though on stage, he smoothly skipped down, deft and agile, gliding over every step. He was the first to reach the ground-floor and ended his small performance with a cute bow towards his new friends.

  Min-jae murmured,

  I quietly applauded the idol while nudging the buzzkill. I cleared my throat.

  Jun-hyeok pulled out a small note with his autograph.

  I took it.

  Min-jae, against his will, took an autographed note. He held it by the corner like it was covered in vomit.

   Jun-hyeok began walking backwards toward the back exit.

   I asked.

  

  Min-jae scratched at his cheek.

  

  Not as bad as, hypothetically, getting thrown right in the middle of a city-wide crisis and having to fight an Alternate by yourself, but this could get second place. This was to be expected anyway. We possibly had the stopping power of Golds, so naturally the existing superpowers wanted to check us out.

  Min-jae scowled, cynicism bleeding from his teeth.

  Jun-hyeok laughed.

  Yup, yet another anecdote proven true. Everyone was involved with a faction one way or another. That meant I had to conduct field research before planning any big moves. Like for example, acting against the Taeyang Faction. Who were their biggest supporters, who were their biggest enemies?

  This operation sounded exhausting already…

  When we left the building, Min-jae stopped just outside the doors.

  Jun-hyeok detected hostility in his voice and flashed a disarming smile.

   I raised a finger.

  Min-jae glowered.

   Jun-hyeok’s arms dropped to his side.

  I glanced at Min-jae, he glanced at me. Neither of us were running away.

  The silence gave Jun-hyeok his answer.