Chapter 162
Student Council (3)
The building loomed before them, its four stories rising like a silent sentinel at the edge of the path. It didn't just look official—it radiated authority. Like it had been carved from the very rules that governed the Academy.
The exterior was sleek and sharply geometric, constructed from black obsidian-like stone that shimmered subtly under the afternoon light. Tall columns framed the entrance, painted in deep crimson that bled into the stairs beneath, each step polished so cleanly they reflected the students' figures as they approached.
Above the doorway, a heavy plaque of silver was mounted, its surface engraved in bold, angular letters:
"The Student Council"
Bands of white metal framed the edges of each window, and the glass itself was tinted a pale red that gave the illusion of smoldering embers within. The entire façade was dressed in the Academy's signature palette—red, black, and white.
The windows on the upper floors were tall and narrow, arranged in symmetrical rows like watchful eyes. Intricate ironwork curled around the balconies—shaped in a pattern that vaguely resembled binding chains or looping thorns.
Above the entrance, an overhang jutted out, supported by sculpted beams carved with what looked like names—long lists of past Council members etched in fading gold script, some almost worn away with time.
The group took a big deep breath as they stepped through the building's double doors.
The space opened up into a wide lounge-like atrium, the ceiling high and the lighting casting shadows that danced faintly along the polished black stone floor.
Several couches were arranged in the waiting area, accompanied by short tables topped with neat stacks of black folders and white envelopes.
The moment they entered, they were met with an open area that resembled a lounge. Just ahead was a counter, behind which sat a receptionist, quietly tapping away on a screen.
Behind her was a wall panel fitted with glowing white letters that spelled "STUDENT COUNCIL", beneath was the academy's official badge.
They had barely taken a step forward when the elevator behind the counter let out a soft ding.
From the far wall, one of the elevators opened with a smooth hiss, and out stepped a girl that none of them mistook for an ordinary student.
Snow.
She looked around nineteen and stood tall. Her blonde hair was glossy and were curled gently at the ends, resting just at the base of her shoulder blades. Her light brown eyes scanned the lounge with slight urgency.
She wore a different uniform than the one most students wore. It was red—slightly deeper in tone—with a white line that ran down from each shoulder. Her skirt stopped just below her knees. It was the official Student Council uniform.
Unlike most academy students, she wasn't allowed to have her brand customise the outfit. That was one of the rules for Council members.
A rule enforced by the academy itself to ensure neutrality—within these roles, personal brand meant nothing. It was the school that endorsed you now.
When working under the Student Council, it didn't matter who backed you. You served the school, and the school backed you in return.
In a way, it replaced the brand entirely. Giving you benefits. Giving you responsibility and making you theirs.
Snow, unlike her usual upbeat self, carried a strange anxiousness in the way she moved. Her shoulders were tight, and her eyes kept darting around like she expected something—or someone—to appear at any moment.
The moment she spotted the group of boys near the reception counter, her posture stiffened, and she quickened her pace, walking straight towards them.
"You guys are the ones with council service, right?" she asked in a rushed tone, barely waiting for confirmation before scanning the room behind them, as if expecting someone to jump out from the shadows.
Henry, caught off guard, blinked. "Yeah, why—"
"You guys need to run," she said, cutting him off. "Or hide. Quickly."
The group collectively blinked, processing what she had just said. Reuel took a step forward, confusion on his face. "Wait, what? You can't be serious. What do you mean? I thought we had to clean— I mean, help you guys with whatever responsibilities you have?"
Snow glanced over her shoulder nervously, then back at the boys. "We were having a discussion just now about what to do with you guys and… well, the truth is, we realized we don't really trust you with any important tasks."
"That's harsh," Reuel whispered under his breath, looking genuinely offended.
Snow winced slightly, but her eyes didn't waver. "What can we do? You got in trouble in the first week of entering the academy. That's… not exactly the kind of track record that inspires confidence. For all we know, you're delinquents trying to blend in."
Her gaze drifted pointedly toward Henry, though her tone didn't change.
He held up both hands in a peace gesture. "Trust me, we're not delinquents. This is all just a huge misunderstanding."
"Maybe," Snow replied with a tight-lipped frown. "But the issue is, you guys are a bit of a bother to deal with. No offense... So the Council had to come up with things for you to do—nothing too important, just enough to count as punishment. We actually had a few decent tasks lined up, but then…"
Her voice trailed off as a subtle ding echoed through the open lobby.
All heads turned toward the elevator.
At some point during the conversation, the elevator had silently returned to the top floor—and was now on its way back down.
Snow turned toward it slowly, her lips parting in dread.
"Oh sugar," she muttered under her breath.
The elevator let out a faint chime, and with a smooth mechanical glide, the doors slid open.
A figure stepped out.
He wore the same red and white student council uniform, but it somehow looked far more aggressive on him—like the threads themselves were struggling to contain his energy. His hair was spiked up messily and dyed a loud, fiery red, like a flare warning of danger. Broad shoulders stretched his uniform taut, and his jaw flexed as he grinned, revealing unnervingly sharp teeth— almost canine-like.
He was a descendant of the Beastman.
And he looked thrilled.
That wide grin split into a cackle that echoed off the marble floors and walls.
"Ahhh, there you are! My brand new punching bags have arrived!"
Snow visibly stiffened. She took a hesitant step back as she forced a smile and explained in a rushed voice, "That's Blaze… One of the ideas we came up with for your punishment was to have you do rounds around the academy— to help enforce rules, and solve minor disputes—but Blaze said we couldn't assign you anything until we saw how strong you actually are..."
She gave an awkward chuckle, her hand twitching toward her skirt as if tempted to tug at the hem.
"And now… he's decided to test you himself. But he's just really battle-hungry! He's not even supposed to—"
"No no no," Blaze interrupted with a laugh that bordered on manic. He raised one hand and wagged a finger mockingly. "Ka-ka-ka! Let's not spread rumors, Snow. This is just a perfectly normal and very fair test."
He took a heavy step forward, his footfall thudding against the tile, his grin never faltering.
Snow stepped between the boys and Blaze, her voice sharp and quivering with restrained authority. "Listen now, Blaze! As the current president of the Student Council, I demand that you stop this nonsense right now."
The hallway fell silent. Even the distant hum of the lights seemed to hold its breath. Blaze's grin lingered… but his eyes narrowed.
There was a pause.
Blaze slowly pulled off his blazer, each movement was almost theatrical—like a predator undressing before the kill.
Beneath it, he revealed a densely packed eight-pack, every muscle sharply defined, taut and coiled like steel cables under immense tension.
Veins traced intricate patterns across his arms and torso, highlighting the raw power contained within his frame.
His physique radiated a quiet, dangerous intensity, a silent warning that every movement he made could unleash devastating strength.
But that wasn't what drew everyone's attention.
From the base of his neck downward, Blaze's skin was an uninterrupted canvas of black ink. Intricate tattoos wound like vines across his flesh, some chaotic, others symmetrical, patterns and symbols twisted together in ways that made it impossible to look away. On his chest, two immense bull horns were inked rising upward, curling over his shoulders like a crown of violence, the tips trailing behind to vanish somewhere across his back. They seemed to throb with their own life, branding him with menace.
He looked dangerous before... Now he looked feral.
Blaze's grin widened, the jagged edges of his canines gleaming under the light. Then he spoke, each word drawn out like it physically pained him to let go of them—his voice was thick, low, and primal:
"YOU... DO... NOT... HAVE... THE... AUTHORITY... TO... TELL... ME... WHAT... TO... DO."
Snow's face lost a shade of color, her hands curling slightly at her sides. Her lips parted, but no sound came.
Blaze's voice dropped further, each word sinking deeper than the last.
"Your position... is only temporary. All this bullshit... about authority... is irrelevant. You're just a fake... Now stop bothering me... you stupid bitch."
The words cracked like whips in the room. No one moved. Snow stood frozen, her face stiff, mouth opening and closing in useless rhythm, as though her brain was still searching for the right words to challenge him. But none came.
Then Henry stepped forward.
With a sharp movement, he placed himself between her and Blaze.
"You can't say that to someone," Henry said, voice firm but quiet, his jaw was clenched tight. "Is there something wrong with you? Take that back."
Blaze's grin widened even further until it looked painful, until it looked like something had unhinged. He let out a mad, shrill cackle.
"Ka ka ka ka—"
"I said take it back," Henry repeated, his eyes narrowing.
"Ka ka ka ka..." Blaze leaned forward now, face twitching with amusement.
"Take it back!!"
The room held its breath. Blaze stopped laughing, eyes settling on Henry like a hawk watching a mouse try to puff up its chest.
"Ka ka... and what?" His voice fell to a whisper, his fangs on full display, the grin splitting his expression like a wound. "Who's gonna stop me...?"
He pulled at his face with both hands, dragging the skin down as if he were peeling away his own patience.
"Don't tell me... you think you are enough to stop me."
Henry opened his mouth to speak, but before any words could form, a blur of motion streaked past IAM. In an instant, it burst through the doorway and skidded across the floor, leaving a trail of dust in its wake.
IAM's head turned slowly, following the motion, and his eyes widened—the something was Henry, sprawled across the floor.
Then IAM's gaze shifted forward, landing on Blaze, who now had one boot exactly where Henry's head had just been. The room seemed to hold its breath as Blaze's chest heaved, and a low, cruel cackle began to roll from his throat.
"Ka ka ka ka ka ka… what are you waiting for?! Come at me!!" he shouted, voice thick with menace, each syllable vibrating through the space like a drumbeat of impending violence.