The bell marking the end of the last Magic History class of the afternoon echoed melodiously across the academy.
Greg didn't surge toward the cafeteria or return to his dormitory like most students; instead, he sat alone in the emptying classroom for a moment to clear his thoughts.
Then, he stood up, left the classroom, and walked down the long corridor dyed orange-red by the setting sun, finally stopping before an oak door embedded with the academy emblem.
This was the Student Council office.
Once upon a time, he had thought he would never have any connection with a place like this in his entire life.
Yet through a strange turn of events, not only had he entered it, but he had also spent a period of time here—neither particularly long nor brief—under the mismatched title of a Disciplinary Committee member.
Now, faced with actually leaving, he suddenly felt a touch of nostalgia.
"I'm not some sappy idiot, so why am I suddenly getting sentimental?"
Greg chuckled self-deprecatingly in his heart.
He knew this was merely human nature's inertial reliance on familiarity acting up in the face of change.
But he was even clearer on the fact that rather than wallowing in this false nostalgia for his comfort zone, he needed to take another step forward.
He took a deep breath, and that faint sentimentality was rapidly replaced by a firmer resolve.
Hesitating no longer, he applied force with his hand and pushed open the heavy door.
"Creeeak—"
The sound of the door hinges turning sounded exceptionally clear in the relatively quiet evening corridor.
The scene inside the office came into view.
A dark red carpet, bookshelves lined along the wall, a long conference table, and figures scattered about, busy or chatting.
Because Greg had lingered in the classroom for a while before coming over, almost all the main members of the Student Council were present at this moment.
In the most prominent spot, President Vivian sat poised, just like every other evening.
Her long ice-blue hair was meticulously tied back, revealing her smooth forehead and perfect side profile.
She tilted her head down slightly, absorbed in reviewing the stack of documents before her, her quill pen gliding smoothly across the parchment with soft rustling sounds.
The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the tall stained-glass window behind her, casting dappled light and shadow over her, making her look like an exquisite yet cold ice sculpture that radiated an aura of distant aloofness.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the conference table, the trio of boys who had once mocked Greg mercilessly were still sitting in their usual spots.
Except today, the moment Greg pushed open the door and entered, the three froze almost by reflex. Their eyes dodged, and not a single trace of their former contempt or disdain remained on their faces, replaced instead by a profound dread.
Ever since they had personally witnessed Greg standing beside the remains of the Undead Knight at the old graveyard catacombs, radiating an invisible pressure all over, their perception of Greg had been completely shattered, followed by immense lingering fear.
They were terrified that Greg had come to settle old scores and hold them accountable for their disrespectful words and actions from the past.
As for the girls who used to circle around Yelena, saying in sickly sweet voices, "Good sisters support you!", but actually harbored little goodwill toward Greg, their reactions at this moment were entirely different.
Seeing Greg appear, their eyes lit up almost instantly.
They immediately set down what they were doing and swarmed forward like butterflies, blocking Greg right near the entrance.
"Greg! Good afternoon! Was class tiring?"
"Greg, you're finally here! We've been waiting for you for so long!"
"We heard all about what happened earlier. That was so dangerous! You didn't get hurt, did you? We were so worried!"
"Exactly, exactly! You can't do such dangerous things in the future! If you need help with anything, you must tell us!"
A chorus of sweet, chirping chatter surrounded Greg in an instant. Attentive pleasantries and subtle probings flooded in like a tide.
The scent of perfume and cosmetics blended into a slightly intoxicating warm current.
"..."
Looking at the overly enthusiastic scene before him, Greg's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly as a strong sense of déjà vu welled up in his heart.
However, unlike this morning in the classroom where Vivian eventually appeared to bail him out, Vivian, sitting poised in the President's chair right now, seemed not to notice the small commotion at the door at all.
She didn't even raise her head. Her ice-blue eyes remained firmly locked on the documents before her, and the movement of her quill pen was steady without a single pause, as if the boy being idolized like stars surrounding the moon at the door and the girls crowding around him were merely irrelevant background scenery.
Instead, it was Yelena—petite and looking like an exquisite doll—who immediately stood up from her seat upon seeing this.
Stepping over with light, quick strides, a look of well-measured concern mixed with a touch of helplessness on her face, she reached out her slender arms and pushed aside the girls surrounding Greg one by one with strength disproportionate to her petite frame.
"A-Alright, everyone, stop crowding around Junior Greg like this."
Yelena's voice was crisp and sweet:
"Junior just went through such a battle and definitely needs to rest now. Squeezing around him like this will only make him uncomfortable!"
Her words sounded entirely reasonable. Although the girls were a bit reluctant, they disappointedly scattered a little, though their eyes remained fixed intently on Greg.
Only then did Yelena turn around, looking up at Greg with her small face. A flash of playful reproach darted through her light brown eyes before being replaced by deeper concern.
Resting her hands on her hips, she adopted the adorable guise of an angry Senior and quietly scolded:
"When we parted last time, I specifically instructed you to rest well! But look at you! The moment you turned around, you went and did something so dangerous! Do you have any idea how worried I was when I heard about it?!"
After scolding him, she immediately leaned in closer, her voice lowering even further with genuine concern:
"How is it? Are you really not hurt? Why don't you leave the Student Council duties alone for the next few days and rest for a few more days? I can handle your work for you first."
Facing Yelena's sincere concern, a faint warmth welled up in Greg's heart.
He shook his head, his tone softening:
"Thank you for your concern, Senior. I'm really fine, just a few superficial wounds and mana exhaustion. I'm feeling much better now."
He paused before continuing:
"Besides, the main reason I came over this time is to... resign from my position as a Disciplinary Committee member. Starting today, I intend to officially leave the Student Council."
As the words left his mouth, a brief silence fell over the office.
"Click."
A very faint sound came from the President's seat.
The tip of the quill pen in Vivian's hand seemed to press heavily on the parchment almost unconsciously, leaving behind an unsightly ink blot.
Rate on N.U.
