The rooftop slowly emptied.
One by one, the girls said their goodbyes to Emily—soft smiles, reassuring nods, gentle words.
"We'll talk later,"
"Don't stress,"
"You're not alone anymore,"
"We'll see you after class."
Emily nodded to each of them, still processing everything, but no longer afraid.
Kathy stayed by her side.
Zumi gave Emily one last look—steady, calm, reassuring—then turned with Gia, the two of them heading back toward the stairwell together.
"We'll see you in class," he said.
Emily smiled. "Yeah… see you."
Zumi and Gia returned to the literature room first.
Serafina was already at the front, arms folded, expression composed—perfectly professional. The board behind her was filled with neat writing:
Silent Reading — Annotate themes of myth as cultural memory
The room was quiet. Almost unnaturally so.
Students sat with books open, pens moving softly across paper. No whispers. No chatter. Just pages turning.
Zumi slipped back into his seat near the middle-back.
Gia took her place diagonally behind him, against the wall.
Moments later, the door opened again.
Emily stepped inside.
The room reacted instantly.
Not out loud—but felt.
Heads lifted.
Eyes followed.
And when Emily's gaze flicked instinctively toward the back of the room and met Zumi's—
She smiled.
It wasn't big.
It wasn't bold.
It was small, genuine, and unguarded.
Zumi returned it with a calm nod before looking back down at his book.
That was all.
But it was enough.
Across the room, several boys stiffened.
Brows furrowed.
Jaws tightened.
A few exchanged glances—quick, sharp looks filled with irritation.
They hadn't missed anything.
They'd noticed yesterday.
They'd noticed today.
And now, seeing Emily smile at him like that—
A silent agreement passed between them.
That guy needs to back off.
He thinks he can just walk in and take her attention?
We'll say something.
Soon.
Serafina felt the shift immediately.
Not fear.
Not danger.
But hostility—small, immature, simmering.
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the boys… then to Zumi.
He hadn't noticed.
Or rather—
He had.
But he didn't react.
He simply turned a page, golden eyes calm, posture relaxed—utterly unconcerned.
Emily took her seat, heart steady.
She opened her book, pen poised.
And without realizing it, she felt it again—
That quiet sense of safety.
Like no matter what anyone thought they were planning…
Nothing bad was going to happen.
Not with him in the room.
Zumi's eyes never left the page.
He sat relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, fingers turning the page with unhurried ease—every inch of him looking like a student quietly doing his assigned reading.
But beneath that calm surface, his awareness stretched outward.
The faint spike of hostility from across the room was unmistakable now.
Not dangerous.
Not skilled.
Just bruised egos and immature bloodlust.
Without moving a muscle, Zumi opened a telepathic channel—clean, precise, silent.
✦ Telepathic Link — Zumi → Gia & Serafina
Zumi: Ignore the boys projecting bloodlust toward me.
Zumi: Don't intervene.
Zumi: Let them come.
Gia didn't look up from her book. Her pen continued moving as if nothing had happened, but her aura pulsed once in acknowledgment.
Gia: Understood.
At the front of the room, Serafina paused for the briefest fraction of a second—so subtle no human could notice. Then she resumed walking between the desks, heels clicking softly against the floor.
Serafina: Understood.
Her lips curved into the faintest, almost imperceptible smile.
Zumi continued reading.
Calm.
Unbothered.
Almost bored.
To anyone watching, he looked unaware.
To Gia and Serafina, it was obvious.
He wasn't ignoring the threat.
He was allowing it.
Across the room, the boys who'd been exchanging glances felt something strange stir in their chests.
A pressure.
Not fear exactly—more like the unsettling sensation of stepping forward without realizing you'd just crossed a line.
But pride pushed them onward.
They didn't know it yet—
—but they'd already been given permission.
And whatever came next would be entirely on them.
The bell rang—sharp and final—cutting through the quiet tension of the classroom.
Chairs scraped softly against the floor as students began packing up. Zumi stood smoothly, slinging his bag over his shoulder as if nothing in the room had changed.
He leaned just enough to Emily's desk to speak quietly, his voice low and calm.
"Say hi to Kathy for me," he said. "I'll see you later. After school, follow her—everyone's meeting again."
Emily's heart fluttered, but she smiled, warm and genuine.
"O-okay," she replied softly.
Zumi straightened, already turning away. Gia was at his side instantly, matching his stride as they headed for the door.
Behind them—
The air shifted.
The boys who had been watching from their desks saw it clearly this time.
The quiet exchange.
The smile.
The ease.
Their jaws tightened.
Their anger sharpened.
Zumi didn't look back. He didn't acknowledge them. He didn't need to.
As soon as they were out in the hallway, he spoke calmly to Gia without slowing.
"I promised Bia I'd visit gym."
Gia glanced sideways—and instantly noticed the footsteps trailing behind them. Too synchronized. Too deliberate.
Zumi's golden eyes flicked toward a hallway sign.
"Go ahead," he said evenly. "Head to Bia's class. Let her know what's going on. Tell her I'll be there after I deal with something."
Gia didn't question it. She nodded once.
"Got it."
She veered off down the hall toward the gymnasium, her pace quick but controlled.
Zumi continued walking alone.
The footsteps behind him followed.
He took a turn toward the gym—but instead of entering through the main doors, he slipped around the side, moving toward the back corridors where storage rooms and equipment cages sat mostly unused during class.
The sounds of sneakers and hushed voices grew closer.
Perfect.
Zumi pushed open a side door and stepped into the rear of the gym, where the noise of whistles and bouncing balls faded into distant echoes.
He stopped.
Turned.
And waited.
The boys rounded the corner a moment later—three of them—faces flushed, eyes sharp with pent-up resentment. They hadn't expected him to stop.
For a split second, uncertainty flickered across their expressions.
Then pride took over.
"So," one of them said, trying to sound tough, "you think you can just—"
Zumi raised one hand.
Not threatening.
Not aggressive.
Just… calm.
"You followed me," he said quietly. "So speak carefully."
The air around him felt heavier now. Not crushing—just enough to make breathing feel slightly deliberate.
Enough to make instincts whisper.
This was no longer a classroom.
And whatever happened next—
They had walked into it on their own.
The back exit of the gym led out into a narrow outdoor service area—concrete ground, chain-link fencing, dumpsters humming faintly from the heat. The sounds of class were distant here. Isolated.
Zumi stepped fully outside.
The door shut behind him with a dull clang.
The three boys followed.
The moment the door closed, something changed.
Not visually.
Not audibly.
But instinctively.
Zumi didn't move toward them.
He didn't raise his voice.
He didn't even look angry.
He simply let a fraction of himself slip.
Not his aura.
Not his power.
Just bloodlust—no more than a breath's worth.
The air thickened instantly.
It felt like standing too close to a predator that hadn't decided whether to pounce yet.
One of the boys swallowed hard. Another took an unconscious step back.
Zumi's golden eyes locked onto them—calm, ancient, utterly uninterested in their bravado.
"So," he said quietly, voice low and even, "you followed me out here because you thought you could corner me."
His tone wasn't mocking.
It was… disappointed.
"That tells me two things," he continued.
"First—you don't understand where you're standing."
"And second—you don't understand who you're talking to."
The pressure increased.
Not enough to crush.
Enough to unmake courage.
One of the boys' knees buckled slightly. He caught himself on the fence, breathing faster now.
Zumi took a single step forward.
All three flinched.
"Let's clear something up," he said.
"Emily Hart is not a prize. She is not territory. She is not something you 'lay claim' to because you noticed her first."
His eyes sharpened.
"She chooses who she talks to."
"She chooses who she spends time with."
"And if she doesn't want to talk to you—"
He tilted his head just slightly.
"—that's the end of the discussion."
The smallest flicker of killing intent slipped through.
One boy's face went pale.
Another's breath hitched—
—and then it happened.
A dark stain spread down the front of one of them's pants.
The smell hit a second later.
He hadn't even realized it himself yet.
Zumi noticed immediately.
He didn't react.
Didn't comment.
Which somehow made it worse.
"You're angry," Zumi continued calmly, as if lecturing children,
"because someone else earned her attention without forcing it."
He stepped closer again.
Now they could feel him.
Heat.
Pressure.
A presence that screamed:
This thing is pretending to be human.
"If any of you," he said softly,
"so much as approach her with hostility… if you harass her, threaten her, corner her, or make her feel unsafe—"
His voice dropped to a near whisper.
"I will erase you."
Not shouted.
Not dramatic.
Stated like a fact of nature.
The boy who'd lost control of his bladder sobbed quietly now, shaking.
Zumi straightened, the pressure vanishing instantly—like a storm passing overhead.
Sudden lightness.
Sudden relief.
They collapsed against the fence, gasping.
Zumi adjusted his sleeve, already bored.
"This is your one warning," he said.
"You don't look at her."
"You don't talk to her."
"You don't think about her."
He turned toward the gym door.
"And you never," he added without looking back,
"follow me again."
He walked inside.
The door shut.
The boys were left outside—trembling, humiliated, one of them ruined and shaking—staring at the closed door with a single shared thought burning into their minds:
They hadn't confronted a student.
They had walked up to something that could have killed them—
—and chose not to.
Zumi walked back into the gym as if nothing had happened.
No tension in his stride.
No trace of aggression.
Just the same calm, composed presence he always carried.
The heavy gym doors swung shut behind him with a hollow thud.
Inside, the atmosphere was normal—bright lights, the squeak of sneakers against polished wood, students murmuring as they followed instructions.
Bia stood at the front of the gym floor, leading her class through a stretching routine.
"Hold it—count of five. One… two…"
Her movements were fluid and controlled, every stretch precise. To the students, she looked like nothing more than a strict but impressive gym teacher.
But the moment Zumi crossed the threshold—
Bia felt him.
A subtle shift.
A familiar presence.
Her eyes flicked toward the entrance for half a second—barely noticeable—before she smoothly continued.
"…three… four… five. Good. Switch sides."
Professional. Perfect.
Zumi's gaze drifted to the bleachers.
Gia sat there, legs crossed, posture elegant, pretending to observe the class like any other student. The instant she saw him, relief flickered across her face.
She leaned toward him as he approached and sat beside her.
"How are the boys?" she murmured under her breath, eyes still forward.
Zumi answered just as quietly, voice flat, almost casual.
"Scared shitless," he said. "One of them peed himself."
Gia froze for exactly half a second—
—and then lost it.
She clamped a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking violently, eyes squeezed shut as silent laughter wracked her body.
It took everything she had not to burst out loud.
Zumi didn't even crack a smile.
Gia forced herself to inhale slowly, regaining composure through sheer willpower. Her aura tightened, controlled again, and she straightened,zumi felt it as she returned to her usual composed self.
"Sorry," she whispered, still grinning. "I'll behave."
On the gym floor, Bia shot them a sideways glance.
Not annoyed.
Amused.
She smirked faintly and raised her voice.
"All right, no slacking. If I see anyone cheating on these stretches, you're doing planks."
A chorus of groans followed.
Gia leaned back against the bench, perfectly calm again, eyes forward.
Zumi settled in beside her, arms relaxed, gaze drifting back to Bia as she moved through the class.
Crisis handled.
Order restored.
And to anyone watching—
It was just another ordinary gym period.