Morning broke over the city with a chill that bit through the haze lingering over the dorm rooftops. Nox was already up. The sky was still bleeding dark blue when his boots hit the gravel of the rooftop. Wrapped in a black hoodie and combat-fit joggers, his breath coiled in faint mist before dissolving into the morning air. A coffee mug rested in his gloved hand—no sugar, no milk, only the bitter dark roast. The first sip scorched his tongue, grounding him.
He dropped into a strict regimen of high-intensity bodyweight exercises: explosive pushups, clap pushups, pistol squats, knuckle-burpees. Then the punishing rounds began—kicks, elbows, shadowboxing. Every movement was clean, brutal, and precise. Sweat soaked his back and neck as he pushed his new body further. The results were showing: 6'2", lean mass, carved muscle. The softness from transmigration was gone.
The rooftop echoed with the rhythm of strength.
Shower. Icy. Quick. Steam clouded the mirror, and he wiped it with a towel just enough to see his cat-slit violet eyes staring back. No face was revealed—his surgical mask always stayed on.
Clothes: All-black ensemble. Tactical boots. Reinforced hoodie. Gloves. Eyes shadowed by a cap. Silent steps down to the dorm hall.
He checked his secure encrypted terminal, hidden in the modified drawer. A blinking green light. Payment received. The last sniper mission, a clean one-shot job. Six figures deposited in a crypto wallet accessed through a quantum bypass hidden in a mirrored app. Attached was a confirmation of a new weapon order—a modified Accuracy International AXMC, chambered in .338 Lapua Magnum. Arrival expected within days.
Lectures began at 10. Nox sat at the very back, never speaking. Leo sat three rows ahead, posture perfect, answers sharp and curt when professors asked. Ash, ever trying to bridge the silence, kept glancing back.
"Hey—uh, any thoughts on the assignment?" Ash asked after class, lingering at the exit.
Silence.
Nox brushed past, not unkindly, but coldly. Leo simply muttered, "Later," as he followed.
Lunch was cafeteria food. Nox didn't eat. Instead, he hacked the internal network from a corner of the library, rerouting his own attendance logs to mask his access times and tapping into dorm surveillance.
By late afternoon, they were back in their dorm. The shared space was open: Leo's bed to the left, Ash's to the right. Nox's area was by the window, surrounded by reinforced wardrobes—inside were knives, handguns, collapsible sniper kits. On the desk sat a sculpture in progress: Romulus and Remus, half-finished. One brother already bore the imprint of a wolf paw over his heart.
Ash broke the silence. "You really going all in on this one, huh?" he asked, pointing at the sculpture.
Nox, to everyone's surprise, replied. "Art breathes where language fails."
Ash blinked. Leo didn't even turn. But Ash smiled, and that laughter—a warm, light sound—hit Nox harder than expected.
Flash.
Another rooftop. Another life. Her—before—laughing at a silly joke her senior sister told while they bled together under a ruined safehouse roof. That sister smiled even while dying. Nox had pulled the trigger that ended her after orders came.
"Never again," she'd whispered to herself back then.
"I like that," Ash said, sitting down with a pencil, sketching out a few lines for the Roman twins.
Leo leaned over. "That paw mark. Keep it."
Nox nodded once.
Evening fell. Nox ate packaged curry on the roof, watching the night swallow the cityscape. Smoke curled from his lips. Leo was below, focused on reading. Ash was sprawled over his bed humming some tune.
At midnight, Nox slipped away.
He entered the underground cage fights through an abandoned warehouse shaft. The crowd was rowdy, thick with cigarette haze and cheap beer. Bets were shouted over bloodied mats. Nox's hoodie never came off. No name. No chatter.
His opponent was massive. Nox dodged every punch with surgical grace. Elbows cracked ribs, knees ruptured kidneys. A blade flashed—illegal, but the crowd cheered. Nox took a slash across his left bicep and chest. Didn't flinch. Disarmed the man, drove him to the floor. Submission.
He patched himself up in silence. Pain meant the body still worked.
At 3 AM, he returned to the rooftop, bleeding slightly, smoking, watching Leo's window. The mafia prince was safe—for now.
And Nox, once a shattered assassin, now simply watched.
Because uncertainty was a weapon. And until he understood why he was in this novel…
He'd wait. And prepare.
As he always had.
End of Chapter 19