The atmosphere in the dean’s office was tense. The flickering light from the holographic screen cast sharp shadows on the walls, but the real weight in the room came from the words just spoken.
Dean Leonard Graves’ sharp gray eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, his fingers laced together on his desk. "What did you just say?"
Across from him, standing with a firm posture, was Victor Hayes—one of the academy’s most respected instructors. His dirty blonde hair was slightly disheveled, a sign that he had been dealing with this headache for a while.
"Two of our students—Alice Dhark and Joshua Jeremiah—are off the grid," Victor repeated, his voice even. "They’re out there handling an unauthorized case."
Dean Graves exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That troublesome brat…" he muttered, his irritation palpable. "Ever since Joshua stepped into this academy, he’s been nothing but a thorn in our side. All because of his damn vendetta against the Reaper Mafia." His voice dripped with frustration. "Now what the hell is he up to this time?"
Victor crossed his arms. "Surprisingly? He’s actually been successful."
Graves’ brows furrowed.
"He’s been taking down suspects tied to the Reaper Mafia—and bringing in evidence," Victor continued. "Not just that. He’s been disrupting their operations, one after another. Efficient. Clean. Almost like he’s done this before."
The room went silent for a beat. The tension thickened.
Dean Graves tapped his fingers against the desk, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slow, deep breath, he leaned back in his chair.
"So the brat isn’t just causing trouble… he’s winning."
Victor nodded.
Graves let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Damn fool’s got guts, I’ll give him that." But then his expression darkened. "Still, if he keeps this up, he’s going to step on the wrong toes. And when that happens…"
His gray eyes glinted dangerously.
"The academy might not be able to protect him."
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Victor let out a slow breath, his arms still crossed. "You think he cares?" His tone was laced with something between frustration and reluctant respect. "If anything, knowing the danger would probably just make him push harder."
Graves leaned back, staring up at the ceiling like he was searching for patience. "That idiot’s gonna get himself killed at this rate."
The holographic screen flickered, switching to grainy security footage. Blurry figures darted through the shadows—Joshua and Alice, moving fast. The feed was choppy, but even in low resolution, it was clear. They weren’t just reckless kids playing hero.
Joshua moved with precise, brutal efficiency, every strike calculated. Alice, by his side, was just as sharp, covering his blind spots like they’d been doing this for years. The camera feed cut out just as Joshua disarmed a man twice his size and drove him into the pavement.
Victor’s lips pressed into a thin line. "That’s not the movement of a regular cadet."
Graves’ fingers tapped against the desk. "No. It’s not." His voice was low, thoughtful. "That boy… he’s got experience. Real experience. Not the kind you get from training drills."
Victor hesitated, then muttered, "You think he’s been in this game before?"
Graves didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the blank screen, lost in thought. Then, finally, he exhaled. "Doesn’t matter where he learned it. What matters is what he does next. And right now, he’s forcing our hand."
Victor scoffed. "You mean you’re actually considering backing him up?"
Graves’ gray eyes flicked toward him, sharp as a blade. "I didn’t say that." He stood up, his heavy coat shifting as he walked toward the window. "But ignoring him isn’t an option anymore."
Victor ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "So what? We pull them back? Drag them back to the academy before they make more of a mess?"
Graves chuckled, low and dry. "If only it were that easy." He turned, his gaze settling on Victor. "Joshua Jeremiah isn’t just another cadet. He’s a wildfire. And right now, he’s burning through the Reaper Mafia faster than we ever could."
Victor frowned. "You sound like you admire him."
Graves smirked, but there was no humor in it. "I admire a man who gets results." His eyes darkened. "But even a wildfire has to be controlled before it burns everything down—including itself."
A long silence stretched between them.
Then, the intercom crackled to life.
"Sir," a voice came through, urgent. "We have a situation. Joshua and Alice… they just hit another Reaper Mafia stronghold. And this time—"
The voice hesitated.
Graves’ eyes narrowed. "Spit it out."
The reply was quick. "This time, they weren’t the only ones there. Someone else got involved."
Victor straightened. "Who?"
There was static on the line before the answer came.
"Reports say… it’s him."
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Graves’ expression hardened. Victor let out a low curse.
The air in the office turned heavier.
Graves exhaled, his jaw tightening. "Get me a live feed. Now."
The intercom cut off. The room was silent again, but only for a second.
Because they both knew—whoever he was, things were about to get a lot worse.
The screen flickered to life again, static crackling before a grainy live feed appeared. The angle was bad—tilted, shaky—but it was enough.
A dark alley, dim neon lights reflecting off the wet pavement. Bodies lay scattered, groaning or unconscious. Alice stood to the side, catching her breath, her knuckles bruised. Joshua, a few steps ahead, had his back turned to the camera, his stance tense.
And in front of him…
A man stood in the middle of the carnage, completely still. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a long black coat that barely moved despite the wind. His face was hidden under the shadow of his hood, but the air around him felt heavy. Oppressive.
Graves’ eyes narrowed. "Zoom in."
The feed sharpened, bringing more details into focus. The man’s posture was relaxed—too relaxed. Like none of this mattered.
Victor tensed. "Shit."
Graves shot him a look. "You recognize him?"
Victor exhaled sharply. "Yeah. And if he’s here… Joshua just walked into something way above his pay grade."
On the screen, Joshua tilted his head slightly, studying the figure in front of him. Then, slowly, he cracked his knuckles.
Alice looked between them. "Josh, maybe we should—"
Too late.
The man moved.
The camera barely caught it. One second, he was standing still. The next, he was in front of Joshua, his arm already mid-swing.
Joshua barely dodged, his body twisting just as a gust of wind blasted past him, shattering a streetlight behind him. Glass rained down. Alice stumbled back, eyes wide.
Joshua didn’t hesitate. He countered, his fist aiming straight for the man’s ribs. But before it could land—
BOOM.
A shockwave erupted. The feed glitched, static breaking the image for a second before coming back.
Joshua was on one knee, his boots skidding against the pavement. His sleeve was torn, blood trickling down his arm. The man hadn’t even flinched.
Victor clenched his jaw. "That’s not some regular hitman. That’s a ghost."
Graves’ expression darkened. "You think it’s him?"
Victor didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Back on the screen, Joshua wiped the blood from his mouth, then grinned. "Okay," he muttered. "You’re interesting."
The man finally spoke.
"Go home, kid." His voice was deep, low, like a growl beneath his breath. "This isn’t your fight."
Joshua rolled his shoulder. "Yeah? Kinda feels like it is."
The man sighed. Then, without warning—
He vanished.
Not moved. Not blurred. Just gone.
The camera struggled to keep up, and then—
CRASH.
The feed cut out.
The room fell into dead silence.
Graves exhaled, slow and measured. "Send a retrieval team," he ordered. "Now."
Victor didn’t move. His eyes stayed on the frozen screen, where the last thing captured was Joshua mid-dodge, a smirk on his bloodied face.
"...Damn kid," Victor muttered. "He’s really gonna fight him, huh?"
Graves’ expression was unreadable.
"If he survives."