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Chapter 279 - The Razor

The three of them walked together through the buzzing corridors, their footsteps lost in the chatter of hundreds of students. Today felt different—more alive, more serious. Classes were finally starting.

Asher adjusted his tie nervously, Mira walked with calm elegance, and Zane… well, Zane strolled casually with a blindfold on, hands in his pockets, like nothing about this was weird.

Snippets of conversation floated around them.

"Did you hear?"

"Some seniors were found passed out near the sparring grounds last night."

"Yeah, and their power levels dropped. Like… permanently."

"What could even do that?"

Zane's head tilted slightly, but he kept walking. He could almost hear his shadow snicker inside him. He didn't say a word though.

Mira and Asher, distracted by the schedules they were comparing, didn't pay the rumor any mind either.

Finally, they reached a branching hallway. Mira pointed left. "We'll be over here."

Asher nodded. "Fun classes," he said with a grin. "Practical combat, elemental control, weapon theory. You know, the good stuff."

Zane groaned. "Lucky you. I get politics for babies." He waved lazily, then headed the other way. "Don't wait up."

---

Zane pushed open the door to his assigned classroom and stepped in. Immediately, every head in the room turned toward him.

He froze, then raised an eyebrow beneath the blindfold. What? Never seen a guy look cooler than you before breakfast?

The classroom was packed—rows of desks filled with students who all radiated power. Flames flickered on fingertips, tiny sparks arced between hands, one girl's eyes glowed faintly as she read. It was obvious. Every single person here had powers.

Zane thought dryly, Yep. These are the "I'll be a great leader one day" types. The future big shots. Or the future corrupt politicians. Same thing, really.

At the front stood a tall woman in her thirties. Her posture was razor-sharp, hair tied back neatly, spectacles perched on her nose. She had that aura of strictness teachers used to crush students before breakfast.

"Mr. Zane," she said flatly. "You're late."

Zane tilted his head, smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm sorry for waking up late to a class I was forced into and possibly already have more knowledge than you in."

The room went dead silent. Then—

Gasp.

Students stared, horrified. A few muttered under their breath.

"He's done for."

"Dead. He's actually dead."

"Doesn't he know who she is?"

The woman's lips twitched upward—not in amusement, but in a cold, dangerous way. "Bold words."

She picked up a piece of chalk from the board. With barely a flick of her wrist, she hurled it.

The chalk whistled through the air like a bullet, cutting straight toward Zane's forehead. The speed was unnatural—no normal person could ever react.

But Zane's hand shot up. Snap.

He caught the chalk between two fingers. Smoke curled faintly from the chalk's edge, as though friction had burned it.

The classroom erupted.

"No way!"

"He… caught it?!"

"With a blindfold on?!"

"He's supposed to be a nobody!"

Zane twirled the chalk between his fingers and let out a lazy sigh. "You're gonna have to do better than school supplies if you want to scare me, teach."

Meanwhile in Zane's mind:

" Never do that again, keep calm that chalk is hot and it was by pure luck I caught it.

I could have been dead by now. Keep acting cool like you meant to do it and you can do it again "

The teacher's eyes narrowed. Her name—Professor Elira Veyra, a lecturer so well-known for her sharpness that students nicknamed her The Razor.

And yet, in that moment, even The Razor had to admit… this boy was not ordinary.

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