"Hiss—"

Witnessing Professor Pulan’s severe vow, Professor Gran couldn’t help but inhale sharply through clenched teeth.

"Isn't this too much? What if he actually takes it seriously?"

"Take it seriously? Hah..."

Professor Pulan sneered. "I’ve been teaching for fifty years. I can see through students with just one glance.

Let me put it this way: that Moen Campbell—unless he gets possessed by the dark god—will always be a good-for-nothing. Utterly useless, unable to rise above mediocrity in his entire life."

"Well, I agree it's unlikely, but... wait, wait, wait! Look over there—doesn’t Moen Campbell seem to be apologizing to Ariel?" Professor Gran suddenly exclaimed.

"Apologizing?"

Professor Pulan froze for a moment, then instinctively turned to look.

And there, in front of the academy’s grand entrance, amid a crowd of onlookers, Moen Campbell—a man notoriously proud and arrogant—was actually bowing his supposedly noble head toward Ariel.

"This must be a joke..."

Professor Pulan thought he might be hallucinating.

He saw Moen Campbell—that infamous Moen Campbell, who was so arrogant that even the professors had often complained of him; that Moen Campbell who flaunted his status as a duke's son and acted obnoxiously around campus—actually bowing, admitting fault, and apologizing to the illegitimate child, Ariel, whom he had notoriously belittled and ostracized?

What on earth was going on?

Could the apocalypse be nigh?

"No, this has to be a ploy. He must be scheming something! Hmph! Trying to deceive these sharp eyes of mine with fifty years of teaching experience? Moen Campbell, you’re not even close!"

Professor Pulan leaned out of the window with both hands gripping the sill, his neck stretched long. His slightly aged eyes glinted with an air of wisdom.

"In front of a crowd, you may pretend, but once you're alone, your true nature will undoubtedly surface!”

Just wait and see. I won’t take my eyes off you—not for an instant—until I unmask that phony facade of yours!

"Ah, he’s entering the school," Professor Gran play-by-play narrated.

"Huh? He picked up litter on the ground…and even righted a toppled trash can."

"He just put a fallen bird’s nest back on the tree—and those birds seem oddly affectionate toward him."

"He handed a tissue to a heartbroken girl. Although… she ran away crying the moment she saw him."

"Oh, look at this—he’s reading a book while walking, and reading quite fast!"

"And... wait for it..."

"He’s saluting the statue of the academy’s first dean!"

Even the often cheerful Professor Gran was astonished.

"This is the paragon of student virtue—an ultimate role model! I’ve never seen a student salute the statue of the first dean!"

"..."

"Professor Pulan?"

Noticing the sudden silence beside him, Professor Gran turned instinctively and found Professor Pulan staring blankly at Moen’s direction, utterly frozen like a statue.

After a long pause, his voice dry, the elder professor finally spoke, "Not even I have ever saluted the statue of the first dean."

"..."

Silence.

Silence blanketed Santa Maria this evening.

Moen Campbell’s inexplicable behavior had left even these seasoned professors at a loss for words.

It wasn’t until Moen vanished into the dormitory area, out of their sight, that Professor Gran broke the silence. He glanced at Professor Pulan with a mischievous grin and asked,

"So, are you going to eat your desk whole, or tear it apart piece by piece?"

"..."

Professor Pulan’s face twitched. He looked down at his cherished antique mahogany desk, then over at Gran’s teasing grin. After a long internal struggle, he ground out through clenched teeth:

"This is just a single day—it proves nothing. Mark my words, I will keep an unyielding watch on Moen Campbell. I will prove to you that I’m right."

With that, he turned and left without even a backward glance.

"Well, well~"

Watching Professor Pulan’s retreating figure, Professor Gran whistled softly and muttered to himself:

"Stubborn as always.

Though, I have to admit..."

He turned to gaze toward the dormitory area, his grin growing more playful by the second.

"I have a feeling this school year’s going to be very entertaining."

...

"I vaguely remember I accidentally kicking this statue’s head clean off once," Moen muttered, tilting his head as he examined the white-bearded old man’s statue before him. Sure enough, he immediately noticed the clear seam around its neck.

“They still haven’t noticed that?”

His lips twitched.

He couldn’t help but wonder who this statue even represented—it clearly wasn’t very esteemed, judging by how neglected it was. No one even seemed to bother paying homage to it.

As for the name on the pedestal… it had long since been obscured by vines, rendering it unreadable.

"Whatever the case, I’d better at least apologize."

Bowing deeply to the statue, Moen spoke solemnly, "Let’s consider this a farewell to the old Moen Campbell."

From now on:

Study.

Learn.

Train and grow stronger.

Be a good student.

Completely reject the fate of a doomed blond villain.

After silently making such a vow, Moen strode lightly toward the dormitory.

...

"Dormitory 526, Moen Campbell."

Moen first stopped by the dorm manager’s office to pick up his key.

"Moen Campbell?"

The dorm manager, a plump and matronly woman, looked up at him in shock.

"You arrived this early? And... alone?"

She still remembered vividly the spectacle Moen had caused when he first arrived at the academy. Back then, he’d descended from the skies in a griffin-drawn carriage, followed by dozens of maids bustling to organize his room.

That scene—oh, that scene—it had etched itself permanently into her memory.

"Well, I’ve prepared everything myself this time, so of course, it’s just me," Moen replied with a smile. "I’m not a child anymore."

"Oh, oh."

Flustered by Moen’s dazzlingly handsome smile, the dorm manager handed him the key in a slight daze.

"Here’s your key."

"Thank you."

With a polite nod of acknowledgment, Moen turned and headed upstairs.

After he disappeared, the dorm manager clutched her chest, feeling her heart race. Her chubby cheeks flushed a faint pink.

"My goodness, how did he become so charming after just one holiday break?"

...

"To think I came back to this academy after all."

Opening the door to his single-occupancy dorm room, Moen sighed, a mix of nostalgia and exasperation sweeping over him.

He had originally decided against returning to the academy. After all, it was filled with both the protagonist Ariel—his mortal rival—and Celicia, whom he wasn’t quite sure how to face. Moreover, it was soon to become the central stage for a number of perilous events.

For someone like him—a designated "blond villain"—it seemed far too dangerous.

But...

Fate had other plans. Or, rather, fate seemed to delight in tormenting a character like him.

He had no choice but to come.

Closing the door behind him, Moen walked over to a mirror. Removing his shirt, he gazed at his reflection.

His physique was already beginning to show distinct muscle definition—a clear improvement over the scrawny body he had inherited upon transmigrating here. Yet, his pale skin bore faint and peculiar patterns, resembling fingerprints.

The marks were remnants left by the dark god King of Wither.

"So, it’s impossible for them to fade away by time?"

Moen extended a hand. Flames of red ignited in his palm.

But compared to the overwhelming power he’d wielded in a desperate battle against another dark god, this fire seemed pitifully weak—barely on par with what an ordinary cultist could summon through dark rituals.

"It’s just like one of those shady pay-to-win gacha games," he muttered.

Oh, congratulations! A mere six-dollar top-up unlocks a world-shattering power. Amazing, isn’t it? Feel invincible yet? Good! Want more? Fork over more cash!

No money? No problem! You can always trade something else... like, say, your soul!

It was painfully obvious to Moen what the King of Wither’s true intentions were in leaving this sliver of power behind.

"You’ve got to be dreaming if you think I’ll fall for it."

Extinguishing the flames in his hand, Moen’s voice dropped to a whisper.

That was precisely why he had come to Santa Maria College.

With not just one but two dark gods now keeping a close eye on him, Moen had little choice but to push himself harder. He needed to grow stronger—fast.

And beyond sheer strength, perhaps the academy held knowledge of a way to sever his connection to these sinister entities entirely.

...

"But seriously, Moen Campbell, you were *such* a loser!"

His resolve firm, yet unable to prevent himself from groaning in frustration, Moen clasped his head with both hands in despair.

Of course, the “loser” he referred to wasn’t himself—it was the former Moen Campbell, the original owner of this body.

Merely reflecting for a moment on what little knowledge he’d inherited from this brain, Moen could tell just how reckless and unambitious the original Moen’s first year at the academy had been.

To be fair, he wasn’t too worried about his martial training. Thanks to his duke father’s careful planning—and the mysterious Black Book in his possession—Moen had confidence he could quickly catch up, even after such a wasted year.

But magic? That was an absolute disaster.

As of this very moment, Moen Campbell could cast precisely one spell: the humble "Lighting Spell."

For those unfamiliar, the Lighting Spell wasn’t anything impressive—it was essentially a reduced-function version of Holy Light. Aside from allowing the caster to function as a glorified human flashlight, it had no practical applications whatsoever.

Its mechanics were laughably simple: gather light-element mana into the palm, then release it.

Yet here Moen was—after an entire year "studying" magic, the only spell he could cast was this basic Lighting Spell! His theoretical knowledge of magic was practically nonexistent. By all accounts, the original Moen had probably spent every magic lecture either napping or totally zoned out.

How this guy had avoided being murdered by his magic professor remained a complete mystery.

And yet, the Black Book was of no help here. It wasn’t a tool for learning magic; spells couldn’t simply be mimicked through practical demonstration or replicated in combat like martial techniques.

But that didn’t mean Moen had any choice but to flounder hopelessly. If he wanted to sever his ties to the dark gods, pursuing the path of magic seemed his only viable direction.

The alternative?

Turn toward the path of faith? Ha. Considering how much fanatics of the Life Church hated the dark gods, Moen doubted he could even step through their doors without being accused of heresy, dragged to a stake, and burned alive.

"So, in other words, the current situation is..."

Moen’s gaze shifted to the neatly stacked yet practically untouched pile of magical textbooks on his desk.

Flipping one open, he stared blankly at the lines of dense text that might as well have been written in an alien language. He chuckled bitterly.

"Me, a brute with an intelligence of just nine, starting from scratch to learn magic?

Sounds tough.

But…

Isn't it kind of fun too?

Since I’ve decided to stop slacking, I might as well unleash my hardworking resilience.

If I wasn’t afraid of 996, why would I be scared of a little magic?

Let’s go, full steam ahead!

...

Having determined his path forward, Moen wasted no more time.

He put a bit of effort into tidying up his room.

Then he headed to the cafeteria to grab a quick bite.

On the way, he happened to bump into some freshmen who were just arriving.

These freshmen hadn’t yet heard of Moen Campbell’s name and reputation. Some of the girls even looked at him with starry-eyed excitement. If their parents hadn’t been nearby, some might have rushed up to strike a conversation with him.

"Looks like my charm is even more impressive than I thought,"

he mused, stroking his chin.

That is, of course, assuming there weren’t any of those nasty gutter-level rumors ruining things.

Improving the way others viewed him was something Moen under control now.

In the afternoon, he returned to his dorm again.

After taking a shower, he went to bed much earlier than anyone else.

He closed his eyes.

He opened his eyes.

The familiar black space filled his vision.

He looked ahead at a short distance.

A man stood there, entirely naked, exuding an overwhelming aura like a ravenous beast.

"Have I kept you waiting?"

Moen gripped the short knife in his hand tightly, a sinister smile creeping across his lips.

"For the hundred and ninety-seventh time, I swear I’ll force you to teach me that bizarre lightning move."

The man grinned.

It was like a silent laugh.

...

"Hey, hey, Ariel, is it true that Moen Campbell apologized to you?"

In Ariel’s dorm room, Lea leaned on the edge of her bed, asking curiously.

She had just returned from outside, and it was obvious she’d rushed. A faint sheen of sweat glimmered on her forehead.

But she didn’t care about that; her focus was solely on Ariel, eager to get an answer.

"Yeah, it’s true."

Ariel was absorbed in the ancient book in her hands and nodded absentmindedly.

"Moen Campbell did apologize to me."

"It’s really true?!"

Lea gasped, slapping her forehead in disbelief, which caused her ample chest to jostle noticeably.

"I thought it was just another one of those baseless rumors!"

"There were so many eyewitnesses today. How could it be a rumor?"

Ariel rolled her eyes.

"Really? Then the rumor about Moen Campbell forcing you to get an abortion isn’t baseless either?"

"Of course not! Wait, what? What did you just say?"

Ariel shot up in shock from her bed, staring at Lea in disbelief.

"Did I hear you mention something absurd about ‘abortion’?"

"Yeah, isn’t that what’s being gossiped about everywhere outside?"

Lea ticked off her fingers one by one, recounting,

"The story goes like this: Moen Campbell dislikes you because you’re his ex-girlfriend, still pining over him and even following him to this school. He’s constantly trying to push you out. Supposedly, the two of you had a child, but Moen Campbell, concerned about protecting the Campbell family’s reputation, forced you to terminate the pregnancy. Apparently, his guilt over this is what compelled him to apologize.

Oh, and there’s more—while he was dating you, he was, in fact, juggling relationships with thirteen other girls. You were, allegedly, the toughest one among them, and he secretly nicknamed you—"

"Stop, stop, stop, stop! Cut it out! Cut it out!"

Ariel waved her hands frantically, stopping Lea mid-sentence.

She was utterly shocked.

"Where on earth did you hear such ridiculous nonsense?"

"From outside, of course."

"What outside?"

"You know, from those casual conversations between classmates—mostly among the girls."

"And how dare they spread such shameless rumor?"

Ariel slammed her hand on the table in fury.

"Don’t they know I could rip their mouths apart for this?"