"Lenna, put your skirt down! Everything's showing. Mind the impression!"

"No one sees from the back row. I only want Professor Sister to see. Besides, my stockings cover it."

But that just made it even more tempting!

"Lenna!" Agnes frowned slightly, her voice tinged with annoyance.

She was furious, yet when truly angry, she fizzled like a dud firework—zero impact.

Agnes earned respect partly for her nature: too gentle, too easygoing.

Those who knew her saw a born softie—never truly mad at anyone, endlessly kind, radiating elder-sister patience.

"Bulldozer Girl!"

Now, Lenna had pushed Agnes to her limit, even muttering under her breath.

But it oozed the coquettish vibe of a devoted wife sweet-talking her exhausted salaryman husband after work.

"Hmm?" Lenna shrugged, perfectly justified.

Agnes sighed in frustration: "Act like a student. Study properly. What would teachers think seeing you like this?"

"Think about pushing me down?" Lenna smirked.

Agnes snapped, "Like hell!"

Still, she had to admit this empire-famous human bulldozer was likable. Her ways of defending others were refreshingly bold, lacking the flippant airs of spoiled rich kids.

Sure, she talked nonsense—but that face? Breathtakingly gorgeous, racking up major impression points.

Even Agnes, a woman herself, envied that snow-pale skin and stunning figure.

I should ask her skincare brand someday.

"Quiet down, class."

Agnes cleared her throat, walking back to the podium from the high steps. Her blue hair swung in a graceful arc.

"Forgive this interruption. Twenty minutes left—don’t disrupt class rushing to the bathroom without permission."

*Whack!* The seven-inch ruler slammed the blackboard.

Hearts jolted. Chattering mouths snapped shut.

Silence settled.

A tense, gunpowder-like scent hung in the air.

Lenna’s threat had drained the lesson’s meaning, but Agnes’s rescue reignited hope…

Thank goodness Professor Agnes—the goddess in every hot-blooded boy’s heart—remained untainted by the devil.

...

"Hey, didn’t see you all night. Thought you were dead!"

"Piss off!"

Camilla shook off the hand on his shoulder, face twisted in disgust.

"Seriously, bro—you thought I ditched you? I got backup yesterday!" Owen exclaimed, dead serious. "Ask security!"

"No energy for your nonsense. Get lost."

"Hey—!"

Owen chased Camilla. As a high-society regular, he desperately needed this family heir as his guide—like a tourist needing a local expert.

"Don’t be petty—"

"I almost died!"

Camilla halted, turning with a gloomy, unnerving stare.

"Vanish before I feel like killing someone."

"Damn… you’re ruthless!" Owen turned to leave, then paused, back to Camilla. "Don’t you want revenge? That Falmore heiress—I know someone dozens of times more dangerous."

Dangerous? Could anyone top a Sixth Rank Necromancer?

Camilla sneered.

Freshly recruited by Lenna, he was stressed about his mission. Who’d expect that cowardly fair-weather friend to return, boasting revenge plans?

Just the Falmore name was terrifying—revenge was pure fantasy.

"You’ll never guess who I met getting backup last night."

Owen winked, slowing his speech like a glitchy movie scene.

"Her Imperial Highness Princess Diana is inspecting the academy!"

He threw his arms wide, dramatically revealing it.

"Oh."

Camilla’s expression stayed flat. After countless heart-wrenching deaths, nothing interested him anymore.

Not even women.

Women were evil—especially beautiful ones. Hiss…

"Snap out of it! That’s not you!" Owen yelled in the crowded hallway, drawing stares. "The Imperial Princess’s arrival reshuffles all factions. We must find our circle first—or drift like a lone boat at sea…"

"And if we pick right, someone might tame that arrogant public enemy."

"Wake up, bro! Yesterday was my fault—but you’re fine. We’re safe. Perfect ending!"

The khaki-spiky-haired boy leaned close, flashing a confident smile:

"Trust me—we’re running out of time. Didn’t we promise to conquer all women together?"

Owen thought his words worked.

Childhood friends knew each other’s tempers. Real anger faded fast. Two hopeless lumps of mud, only clinging together for warmth.

But he missed Camilla’s resolve.

Like smoke, the person before him had changed.

Camilla sighed maturely. "I’ll consider the reshuffle. Thanks for the news. Find your place too. That’s all."

That’s all—

"The hell does that mean?"

Owen watched dumbfounded as Camilla vanished into the crowd, muttering, "It’s over…"

"Is he cutting ties with me?"

...

Camilla pushed through the throng, calling to the most striking lead-gray head.

"Lenna!"

"Hmm?"

Lenna turned, holding Lingling’s hand. Camilla stopped half a meter away.

"Princess Diana’s coming—Her Majesty’s favorite. Tread carefully. Avoid her."

"Oh, I know."

Lenna walked on, slipping Lingling’s backpack off and tossing it to Camilla.

He caught it awkwardly under prickling stares.

A proper young master reduced to a book-carrier—his reputation ruined.

But what choice? Angering Lenna meant this fate.

Staying alive was hard enough. Was anything scarier than death?

...Yes.

Dying thirty-two times straight—each death unique.

Survivors said it was great. No refunds for mental breakdowns.

"Um…"

"More questions?"

"That big shot you mentioned assassinating—is it who I think?"