The egg was almost ready to hatch, its shell cracking just a little, like a tiny fissure in a fragile glass.
Masakiro sat calmly in front of it, legs crossed, with a serious expression that looked more like he was waiting for a train than an imminent hatch.
In his hands, he held a piece of paper and a pen, as if he was taking notes or trying to brainstorm a plan—perhaps to bribe the egg into hatching or to remind it of the importance of punctuality.
He whispered softly, almost pleading,
"Come on, egg. I don't want to repeat CM class, please..." His voice was gentle, yet full of a desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, the egg would listen.
But the egg, stubborn as ever, refused to hatch. No dramatic cracks, no sudden surprises—just silence.
Masakiro sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his head with a mixture of frustration and disbelief.
He looked at the egg, then at his notes, as if expecting it to give him some sort of answer.
"Really? Not even a little pop?" he muttered, leaning forward to examine the shell.
"Fine, if you don't want to hatch, I'll just sit here and wait. Maybe you'll crack under pressure—or at least give me some entertainment."
He leaned back, crossing his arms again, eyes fixed on the unyielding shell. "Next time, I'm bringing popcorn," he added with a small smirk.
---
The classroom buzzed with its usual chaos—shouts, laughs, and the clatter of weapons and magical artifacts clashing in the background.
Just as the noise reached a peak, the sharp, commanding entrance of Mrs. Kurohana silenced everything instantly. The air seemed to tighten with her presence.
Her eyes, piercing and calculating, swept across the room like a predator scanning its prey.
Her wings, folded neatly behind her, shimmered faintly with a dark iridescence. Her expression was calm but laced with a hint of amusement as she fixed her gaze on Luna, the shadow-wielding vampire girl.
A slow smirk curled on Mrs. Kurohana's lips.
"Well done, Luna," she muttered, voice smooth and measured.
"I've heard what you did, and I am genuinely delighted." Her eyes lingered on Luna with a mixture of approval and intrigue.
She clasped her hands behind her back, wings fluttering softly.
"You see, class," she continued, "responding to violence with violence is sometimes not necessary. Just as Luna demonstrated yesterday—"
Mrs. Kurohana gestured elegantly with her hands, the flow of her words almost hypnotic. "Sometimes, the greatest strength lies in restraint. Using your mind instead of your sword..."
From her cabinet, she retrieved a mysterious box, its surface etched with runes that shimmered faintly in the dim light.
She placed it on her desk with a gentle tap, eyes gleaming with a knowing smile.
"Today marks the third week of your time at this school," she announced, "and some of you are from DW class. Some, like Luna here, are from the shadows of darkness. But all of you will begin to understand the true meaning of power." She smirked as she reached into the box and pulled out an unusual item.
It was an eyeball—alive, but not—crafted with meticulous detail. Its surface was smooth and white, but the iris was a vibrant, glowing blue, clear and piercing.
It was an enchanted, moving camera shaped like an eyeball, capable of recording every moment.
"With this," Mrs. Kurohana explained, holding it delicately, "you will record your daily activities. Think of it as a magical diary—your eyes everywhere. And once a month, you can call your family, no matter where they are in the realms."
The class stared in awe at the strange, living eye. Whispers filled the room, filled with fascination and curiosity.
"Masakiro Malakar," Mrs. Kurohana said, turning to the boy and placing the eyeball back into the box. "This one is yours."
Masakiro's eyes widened slightly as she handed him the box. His hands trembled a little—this was no ordinary gift.
"But before I hand it over," Mrs. Kurohana's voice lowered, "I want to show you the records of the previous students. I'll present three categories:"
She raised three fingers dramatically.
"Number one—the disturbing, the unnerving. Number two—the hilarious, the absurd. And number three—the righteous, the inspiring. Buckle up, class—this will be quite the journey."
She tapped her staff on the ground, and the classroom dimmed, shadows flickering as magical images flickered into existence on the walls—tales from students past, each more fantastical than the last.
"Let's begin," Mrs. Kurohana said with a sly smile. "Prepare yourselves for a glimpse into the strange, the funny, and the truly heroic."
Suddenly, the flickering images shifted, revealing a scene that made the entire classroom fall silent in horror.
The first record appeared—a disturbing, twisted spectacle. It was a dimly lit chamber, filled with shadows that writhed like living things.
A demon with jagged horns and glowing crimson eyes prowled the room, snarling and growling in a guttural voice.
Without warning, a huge, half-wolf creature burst into view—fur matted and stained with dark blood, claws scraping the stone floor as it lunged at an unseen target.
The voice of the student, distorted and unnatural, echoed through the chamber, speaking in a low, menacing tone:
"They think they can control us… but we are the true rulers of this darkness..."
A grotesque, demonic figure appeared—its face a mosaic of snarling wolf features and demonic horns, eyes burning with primal rage.
It snarled, revealing sharp, bloodstained teeth.
"This world belongs to chaos. Power belongs to the strong... and I will tear down everything in my path."
The scene showed the demon-wolf hybrid tearing through shadowy figures—humans, perhaps, or other monsters—leaving a trail of destruction and blood.
The echoes of growling and shrieking filled the air, chilling in their brutality.
Masakiro's eyes widened in horror, a sick feeling twisting in his stomach.
"What… what kind of monster is that?" he whispered, voice trembling. His face paled as he looked at the nightmarish scene, unable to look away.
Tsuramo, with a cold, satisfied smirk "That's perfect. A true predator—nothing better than a beast that doesn't hold back."
Luna, unbothered, her gaze steady and calm "It's just a monster. No different from the others. Power's what matters—nothing more."
Mrs. Kurohana, voice measured, almost poetic "This is the record of a demon's true nature—an embodiment of primal chaos. A creature born from darkness and blood, refusing to be tamed. Such beings are terrifying, yet fascinating—reminders of what lies beneath the surface of our world."
Mrs. Kurohana's eyes gleamed with a mixture of admiration and warning. "Some students harness this darkness, understanding that true strength often comes with a cost. This demon-wolf hybrid is a testament to that truth—an example of what happens when primal fury is unleashed without restraint. Remember, not all monsters are mindless; some are driven by purpose... and chaos."
The image faded, replaced by the flickering glow of the next scene. The room was silent, heavy with the weight of what they had just witnessed.
Masakiro's face was pale, and his hands clenched into fists, fighting the unsettling feelings stirred inside him.