"Congratulations, Moen Campbell."

In the student council room, Weier was off busying herself with something else, leaving Celicia to prepare coffee for Moen personally once again.

"One month, from a score of three to eighty. It's unheard of in the entire academy's history. You could say you've made history."

"Thank you."

Moen accepted the coffee from Celicia's hand and watched as she added sugar cubes, one by one, until the coffee became nearly syrupy. She took a small sip and revealed a slightly joyful expression.

Still fond of coffee with an excessive amount of sugar, huh?

Moen smiled faintly and took a sip himself. The coffee was bitter, yet carried a soothing fragrance.

"But isn't 'making history' a bit too much? Compared to this, Ariel's perfect score of one hundred is what truly qualifies as historic."

Getting a perfect score in the subject "Introduction to Magical Theory" was as difficult as achieving a perfect score in Chinese from Moen's past life.

So Ariel's score of one hundred was, no matter how you looked at it, jaw-dropping.

That's how it was described in the original story: teachers, students, and even Celicia herself were shocked by that flawless score.

It was a classic protagonist moment, a show-off scene.

Yet strangely, Moen actually felt there wasn't much buzz about that one hundred score among those around him.

Instead, the topic of which rooftop had stronger winds turned into the point of interest for students.

But after the academy swiftly installed ten-meter-high barbed-wire fences on every rooftop, that topic faded away...

It was replaced by discussions about which river in the academy was clearer.

Fortunately, the students admitted to this academy weren't the type who'd drown in shallow streams and artificial lakes less than a meter deep. So far, this merely resulted in a few sarcastic remarks from gamblers appearing in the school newspaper’s opinion columns.

"Ariel scored one hundred?"

Celicia seemed to be hearing about this for the first time. She gently brushed back her silver-white hair, a hint of admiration flickering in her eyes.

"That's quite impressive."

"...And that's it?"

"Hm?"

"I thought you'd praise her more."

Moen was mildly puzzled. After all, Celicia had been overwhelmingly complimentary about this achievement in the original story.

"Ariel's one hundred is indeed surprising."

Celicia gave Moen a cold glance:

"But since even you managed to score eighty, I feel like it's not that surprising to hear someone else scoring highly."

"Are you complimenting me?" Moen's mouth twitched slightly.

"Let’s just consider it a compliment."

Celicia opened the file in front of her and started working on it.

"And let's be honest, you didn't come here just to brag about your grades to me, did you?"

"Heh, of course not."

Moen chuckled nervously.

"I'm actually here to—"

Before Moen could finish her sentence, a card was tossed onto the table in front of her.

Celicia held her pen, jotting notes on documents without lifting her head, almost as if she already knew exactly what Moen was about to say.

"Go to the school infirmary and present this card. Someone will naturally guide you to visit Emon."

"Thank you."

Moen gratefully took the card, intending to leave, but Celicia stopped him before he could step out.

"Remember, don't stay for too long."

Celicia reminded:

"He's still very weak."

"Weak?"

Moen frowned.

"But it’s been a month. Even if the injuries were severe, with the academy's healing capabilities, he should have recovered by now."

"The wounds have healed long ago. But the potion he drank—its effects are designed to activate latent bloodline powers and potential. Typically, an ordinary person would recover after one or two weeks of rest. However, his body was already severely depleted beforehand. So when the potion forcibly drew out his potential, it almost damaged his foundation. He’s still recuperating."

"I see."

Moen’s mind wandered back to the moment Emon transformed from a frail figure that seemed like it could be blown over by the wind, into an absolutely terrifying wolfman. If the potion didn’t replenish Emon's energy but instead drained his body further, the level of physical toll it took was unimaginable.

But the potion—even if it was just a catalyst—the root cause...

Moen’s eyes flickered with anger.

"Celicia, those people—"

"A few days ago, three senior students at the academy withdrew voluntarily."

Celicia replied serenely:

"The reason? For using improper means to harm a fellow student. The announcement has already been posted on the academy’s bulletin board. Haven’t you seen it?"

"Ah... Thank you." Moen froze for a moment, realizing his attention had been entirely consumed by exams lately. When would he have had time to look at the bulletin board?

"You don’t need to thank me for this. Haven’t I said it before? Punishing misbehaving students is part of the student council's responsibilities."

Celicia remained focused on her paperwork, treating such matters as nothing more than trivial.

"Besides, those individuals really were vile. After all, employing violence against someone utterly defenseless isn't even something the scumbag version of you from the past would have stooped so low to do."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Moen’s mouth twitched again.

"Let’s just consider it one."

"..."

"By the way, the person who gave Emon the potion—has any progress been made in tracing them?"

Moen brought up the matter.

Emon had mentioned at the time that a mysterious woman had seduced him into drinking the potion. While her motives remained unclear, the effects of that potion had nearly taken Moen his life.

So the matter couldn’t be left unaddressed.

"On that point..."

Celicia lifted her gaze, her cold eyes like two deep wells that sent chills down Moen’s spine.

"I'm sorry, but I can’t disclose that information right now."

"Can’t disclose?"

Moen frowned deeply.

The situation—if it was merely a conflict between students—surely wouldn’t compel Celicia to say 'can’t disclose.'

Clearly, there was something deeper at play.

But Moen decided to let it go.

After all, with Celicia's temperament, once she made something off-limits, pressing further would never yield any results.

He could only trust her.

...

...

After Moen left, Celicia finally set down her pen.

She looked at the documents and research materials in front of her—covered in red circles and marked highlights—and couldn't help massaging her temples. The exhaustion on her otherwise icy face briefly surfaced.

"Evolutionary potions... They’re enough to evoke unpleasant associations."

She turned to glance out the window. The sky was bleak with heavy clouds, mirroring the gloom in her heart.

"Let's hope there are no incidents during the upcoming Open Day."

...

...

In the warmth of the hospital room, Emon listened to the news the nurse had just brought back, and fell into a state of utter shock.

"He did it..."

"Master Moen, he actually succeeded?"

No.

That's not right.

Moen’s success was inevitable.

With the look in his eyes back then—the blazing, fiery determination—anyone who saw him would believe he possessed the ability to transform impossibilities into possibilities.

"It’s just..."

"How am I supposed to face him?"

"I... almost killed him..."

Though his memories of transforming into a wolf were hazy, Emon could still vaguely recall.

At that time, he truly seemed to want to kill Master Moen.

Looking at his still frail hand, he could almost picture it wrapping around Moen’s throat. The image filled him with self-loathing and despair.

The young master... surely hates me now.

Surely, he will abandon me again, just as he did before.

After all...

Creak.

Just then, the door opened.

That familiar, reassuring voice, like a gentle breeze, swept into the room.

"Good afternoon, Emon. Have you eaten yet?"