The screen zoomed in again.
Felicia's golden eye narrowed as she smirked. "Starting off from the most illustrious..."
"The Paragon family's third son, Rin, has joined us this session."
The boardroom echoed with gasps.
On the feed, Class 1C was seated in disciplined, tidy rows, awaiting the ESC 106 professor's introductory lecture. The room looked deceptively calm, until the identity of one student became clear.
The green-haired boy held himself like royalty. His posture was neither relaxed nor stiff, but poised; honed into a silent statement of intimidation. He moved as if he knew the world's collective gaze was fixed on him.
A few board members leaned forward, their voices erupting in a cascade of awe.
"A Paragon heir in the flesh! This is monumental!"
"It's safe to say he takes after his father and brothers. That face, that bearing… What a terrifying lineage."
"I wonder if his Imprint will align with Possession and Manipulation, or if he'll forge something new."
"The Paragons dominate that niche. None surpass them. Rin will surely achieve the same."
Felicia cleared her throat, smiling as if she hadn't just been subjected to real-time fanfiction.
"Yes yes, I know we're eager, but let's curb the hero worship for a moment, ladies and gents. We still have other candidates to review~"
Velloria let out a giggle. "This Felicia—always the baiter, she is."
She leaned forward. "You got us good. Now I can only wonder who the remaining students are, following the appearance of a talent like the Paragon's heir."
Murmurs of agreement followed.
Felicia's ears twitched playfully. She'd always been the one to rile people up, only to leave them stranded on the edge. But this time, she wouldn't. Only because she was still on the clock.
The tablet feed shifted again.
The camera drew close on a boy whose hair was pale as snowfall, eyes glimmering crimson like blood freshly spilled.
He leaned lazily across his desk, posture casual, as if the lecture about to begin was background noise to the apocalypse he was sketching.
His right hand was wrapped in bandages, red seeping through. He drew with his left, pencil scratching, smile serene.
At first glance, one might think he was doodling rainbows or hearts or something equally harmless. But when the camera zoomed in, the boardroom's composure evaporated.
"Goodness gracious!"
"My, my. How interesting."
"What in Dreamsdale?!"
Grotesque figures sprawled across the page. Ribs cracked open, faces blurred into faceless hollows, black splotches bleeding through empty torsos. The kind of images archivists usually filed away under: do not speak aloud unless you wish unemployment.
Felicia's smirk sharpened. "That is Zach. Adopted son of the Ghoul conglomerate."
Gasps rippled again.
Elder Maekel barked, "The Ghoul family?! They're still around?"
Another member scoffed, affronted. "Excuse you, old quack! Of course they are. Just because they aren't dominating the nightmare industry like they once did doesn't mean they've lost their reach. Their subsidiaries thrive in other sectors; music, film, theatre. They pivoted."
Still, unease lingered. Everyone knew the Ghouls had peaked decades ago, back when black-and-white horror was cutting edge. Since then, their name had been fading ink.
"Zach…" Professor Uriel murmured, his brow deeply furrowed. "He looks remarkably like Zara, a second-year student. I've had my eye on her for some time."
"Ah, Zara!" another chimed in, his voice thick with eager excitement. "That girl is a beast! Top twenty in the current rankings—seventeen, if I recall correctly. Now that you mentioned it, the resemblance is uncanny. The hair, the eyes, the aura… you can feel the skin crawl just looking at him."
Felicia, basking in the attention, gave a satisfied, lazy flick of her wrist. "That is because they are siblings~"
The room erupted. The gossip, the tea, had just hit a new, exhilarating high.
Zara Ghoul?!
The revelation sparked confusion and thrill in equal measure. Someone swore they remembered her registering under a different family name last year. Another confirmed it immediately. But the chatter soon twisted into fever-pitch excitement.
Two Ghoul siblings, both promising. Perhaps the family name was about to crawl out of the crypt and back onto the marquee.
Felicia let the excited murmurs linger, a slow, theatrical buildup before she swiped her tablet.
The feed shifted.
The camera focused on a boy with a thin bandage wrapped around his head, his posture coiled tight with anxiety. His fingers were restless, his eyes darting across the room in a constant, panicked flicker.
The boardroom went instantly, violently silent.
No one had to exchange a single glance. They simply stopped breathing.
Those eyes.
Amethyst.
They were unmistakable, a legacy synonymous with infamy, sealed for years within classified files. Historians could only whisper, and dream theorists speculate, but for those with clearance, the meaning was immediate.
Felicia placed her tablet down with a chilling gravity, her voice cutting through the tension.
"We have Zevélin McTerror."
The temperature in the room dropped.
"Oh dear... He looks just like him."
"This is utterly repulsive. My hands won't stop shaking."
"Please don't tell me that h–head injury happened on campus grounds!"
"He's a McTerror? Impossible! Everyone knows the family has only one heir: Malakai McTerror. Could this one be... a branch?"
"Branch or not, look at those eyes! That is McTerror blood."
"I didn't foresee a McTerror being enrolled here. Their minors are always kept under lock and homeschooled..."
"Exactly! Master Roshi, should this boy even be allowed to remain?"
All eyes snapped toward the tiny cricket perched atop his mountain of stacked books, his beard longer than his entire body. Roshi stroked it slowly, antennae twitching.
He chirped. "Hmm. Why—chirp—the hell not?"
Cue the tragic violin.
The McTerrors. A dynasty idolized and condemned in the same breath. Prestigious, powerful, dreaded.
Zev's parents, Owen and Alicia McTerror, were currently industry titans.
Owen specialized in Existential Dread. His nightmares stripped identity from dreamers, dropped them into voids, left them weeping or wondering if they had ever existed. Some never woke up.
Alicia ruled the domain of Emotional Hauntings. Her pièce de résistance: the cheating partner nightmare. The deeper the love, the sharper the betrayal. Entire marriages had cracked under the weight of her artistry, dreamers waking in suspicion, hearts broken by phantoms vivid enough to feel real.
But it wasn't Owen or Alicia that triggered the board's current uproar.
It was him.
The man behind the name. The original McTerror. The nightmare architect whose shadow still loomed over the nooks of Dreamsdale, whose creation had nearly undone human numbers themselves.
The board broke into panicked chatter.
"We've never had one of them so close. How are we supposed to treat him?"
"We can't risk it! Look at him… He already resembles that man. What if he goes rogue the same way? That cannot be predicted!"
"Agreed. Another event like that would collapse the economy overnight."
"Let us not forget the Council of Horrors backed him once—but only before they learned his true aims."
"He sold his soul to a shadow sect of the Otherkin elite. Cashed in with a nightmare that nearly destroyed us all. And we're entertaining another McTerror here?"
Roshi, unbothered, let them stew until he lifted a single claw.
Silence.
"I—chirp—was the one who ordered Zevélin's admission."
Shock crashed over the table.
Roshi's mandibles wiggled. "I want—chirp—to know what a descendant like him can do here, in this—chirp—ecosystem. Would he surpass his parents? Or spiral down the same path? We cannot know unless we observe."
His black eyes glimmered like stones. "You fear him—chirpchirp—because you do not understand him. That boy is a variable. And variables add spice."
Felicia clapped, golden eye amused. "Well said, Master."
The rest of the board sat steeped in unease. Some nodded, cautious. Others frowned.
"Even with that in mind," Velloria warned, her voice dropping to a sharp edge, "carelessness is not an option. His potential threat necessitates swift, exhaustive monitoring. The security of the entire academy hangs on our vigilance."
If only they knew.
Zev McTerror shared only a surname and cheekbones with his ancestor. The rest of him was galaxies away. He couldn't harm a soul if he tried.
Roshi nodded once.
"Fair enough."
Then—buzz.
Felicia's tablet vibrated, the noise cutting through the tension. She glanced down, frowned, then produced a tiny flip phone.
She offered it solemnly to Roshi, clearing her throat. "It's the Madame."
Everyone froze.
Roshi's beady eyes took in the caller ID: Mrs. Roshi. Private line.
He blinked once. Then, with antennae flying, he zipped off toward his private chambers with a speed unbecoming of an elderly cricket.
"Meeting dismissed," Felicia sighed, placing the tablet back on the table.
The board members practically evaporated. No one wanted to be caught within fifty feet of whatever conversation was about to occur.
And just like that, the academy's newest era began.