The once-bustling hallway of Ebonvale Academy had settled into an uneasy calm, the aftermath of chaos hanging in the air like static before a storm. Students clustered in hushed groups, their whispers a tangled mix of awe and disbelief, recounting the spectacle they had just witnessed. And at the heart of it all stood Rynn Yogini, the very embodiment of disruption, his presence still crackling with residual energy.

  Yet before the pandemonium erupted, there had been Zeta King. She stood beside Rynn, her stance equally commanding, though there was an unspoken fragility beneath her sharp exterior. As they lingered near the academy’s atrium, her story unfolded—a confession carried on the weight of old wounds.

  ---

  “My world,” Zeta began, her voice steady but ced with something raw, “was obliterated by an asteroid. The kind of destruction you can’t outfight, outrun, or outthink.”

  A pause. Her turquoise eyes glimmered, reflecting memories too vast and painful to contain. “I tried to save my family, but my father… he always wanted a son. To him, I was a failure. A wasted legacy.” Her tone hardened. “And my mother? She left. Didn’t even gnce back.”

  Rynn’s sapphire eyes flicked toward her, his expression unreadable. The glow of the overhead mps traced along the unruly shadows of his jet-bck curls as he tilted his head—a silent cue to continue.

  Zeta’s lips curled into a wry, humorless smile. “So I left, too. Joined the Voyager Guild, hoping to prove I was more than the forgotten daughter of a dead world. They sent me across the cosmos—exploring civilizations, infiltrating governments, repcing leaders with our own puppets.” Her voice turned razor-sharp. “It was all for one purpose: strip pnets bare, drain them dry before anyone realized they were already dead.”

  She folded her arms, tension radiating from every muscle. “I did my job well, Rynn. Too well. And yet, here I am—alive, while my home is nothing but dust.”

  Rynn exhaled, his usual smirk subdued but present. “Sounds like we’re both good at leaving a mark.”

  Before Zeta could respond, the world erupted in light.

  ---

  A blinding fsh detonated in the hallway. The sudden burst of white-hot brilliance sent students stumbling, shielding their eyes. A heartbeat ter, chaos roared to life—gunfire, sharp and relentless, filled the air.

  Shouts. Screams. The acrid sting of smoke and burning fabric.

  Armored Catkin soldiers flooded the corridor, their bck-pted forms moving in calcuted aggression. Their machine guns spat fire, their ruthless efficiency cutting down the first casualties—a Bearkin and a Wolfkin who had been too slow to take cover.

  For most, fear reigned.

  For Rynn Yogini, fear did not exist.

  He stood amidst the pandemonium like an unshaken monolith, his gaze steady as the soldiers trained their weapons on him. His sapphire eyes glinted—not with panic, but with something between defiance and amusement. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his hands in mock surrender.

  “No need to make this worse than it already is,” he drawled, stepping forward, utterly unbothered.

  The order was given. Triggers were pulled. Bullets tore through his coat and struck his body—only to leave nothing but scorch marks, dissipating upon impact. He did not so much as flinch.

  To the onlooking students, it was like watching the storm ugh at the rain.

  Rynn took another step. Then another. With a casual grip, he reached the first soldier, seized his weapon—and snapped the machine gun in two. The soldier barely had time to gasp before a swift strike knocked him unconscious.

  Holding the limp body aloft like a discarded toy, Rynn turned to the remaining attackers, his grin sharp as a bde.

  “Who’s next?” he mused, voice dripping with pyful menace. “Because I promise, I’ll make an example out of them—and look good doing it.”

  Hesitation cracked through the soldiers’ ranks, their grips faltering. One finally barked an order:

  “Kill or take hostages! Everyone in this academy is expendable!”

  The words barely left his mouth before Rynn moved.

  The first soldier never saw the blow coming. The second barely had time to fire before Rynn twisted his weapon from his hands and sent him crumpling with a single, effortless strike. The third ran. The fourth hesitated too long.

  By the time the echoes of the gunfire faded, the hall was silent.

  The remaining students—once cowering—rose to their feet, cheers erupting in the aftermath. Rynn stood amidst the fallen soldiers, utterly untouched, exuding an aura that was less hero, more force of nature.

  ---

  As the students basked in the afterglow of victory, Zeta pulled Rynn aside, her grip firm on his wrist. Her turquoise eyes burned with something between anger and awe.

  “What are you?” she demanded, voice trembling. “You take bullets like they’re nothing, you ugh in the face of death, and you dispatch trained killers like they’re made of paper.”

  Rynn shrugged, running a hand through his jet-bck curls, utterly unbothered.

  “Juggernaut. Scionic.”

  The words were spoken like an afterthought.

  Zeta froze. Disbelief flickered across her features before twisting into something uglier—something bitter.

  “That’s not possible,” she hissed, her voice cracking. “Juggernaut and Scionic? You can’t be both. That’s like the Pantheon itself pying favorites.”

  Emotion swelled in her throat, raw and undignified. “It’s not fair,” she whispered, her voice breaking as the weight of it crushed her.

  She was crying.

  The prideful, indomitable Zeta King, breaking down before an audience.

  Rynn exhaled slowly, his smirk faltering—just slightly. Then, as if on instinct, he turned to the assembled students and raised his hands in an exaggerated gesture.

  “See?” he announced, his voice effortlessly smooth. “Even Lionkin may cry—the most prideful of us all.” His sapphire gaze swept across the crowd. “So if any of you feel the need to cry, go ahead. It’s fine.”

  A Bearkin and Wolfkin, still recovering from their wounds, hesitated before one asked uncertainly, “What is… crying? And how will that help?”

  Rynn grinned, his confidence returning in full force.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I bet it feels good.”

  ---

  To the shock of all, Rynn tilted his head back—forcing himself to cry. But what spilled from his eyes wasn’t water.

  Crimson droplets.

  Dark streaks ran down his cheeks, staining his skin as the crowd gasped in horror.

  “Gnawkin craze,” someone whispered, their voice ced with fear.

  Rynn wiped his face with deliberate slowness, his smirk creeping back.

  “A more respectable way to cry,” he murmured, his voice thick with irony. “With one’s life.”

  The crowd fell into stunned silence.

  Zeta, her own tears forgotten, watched him closely.

  She had come seeking answers.

  But Rynn Yogini, the walking storm, wasn’t ready to give them.

  Not yet.

  ---

  The silence that followed Rynn’s dispy of crimson tears was heavy, pregnant with unspoken questions and a palpable sense of unease. The students, moments before celebrating their unlikely survival, now regarded their president with a mixture of awe and genuine fear. The casual brutality with which he had dispatched the Catkin soldiers, combined with the bizarre, blood-like tears, painted a picture far more complex and unsettling than the rebellious prankster they thought they knew.

  Zeta, her own emotional outburst abruptly cut short, stared at Rynn with a newfound intensity. The carefully constructed walls around her own formidable persona seemed to waver, confronted by a being who defied the very understanding of power she had cultivated across countless worlds. The casual revetion of his csses – Juggernaut and Scionic – now seemed inadequate to expin the sheer force she had just witnessed.

  Mira Dusktail, who had been observing the entire scene with wide, fascinated eyes, her auburn tail twitching rhythmically, finally broke the silence. “Well,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady, “that was certainly… dramatic, President Yogini. Very stylish, as always.”

  Lily Brightbloom, her rabbit ears still trembling slightly, peeked out from behind Teris. Her gaze was fixed on the crimson streaks on Rynn’s face, a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity in her ruby-red eyes. Teris himself, ever the pragmatist, was already directing some of the less injured students to assist the wounded Bearkin and Wolfkin, his brow furrowed in concern.

  Aelor Ven’Dral, however, remained rooted to the spot, his deer-like eyes narrowed in contemption. The events of the past few minutes had clearly shaken his normally unfppable demeanor. He looked from the fallen Catkin soldiers to Rynn, a silent question hanging in the air.

  Rynn, seemingly unfazed by the reactions of his peers, simply shrugged, a faint, almost self-satisfied smirk pying on his lips. He wiped the remaining crimson droplets from his cheek with the back of his hand, leaving a faint smear of red against his pale skin. “Just a little… theatrical flourish,” he said, his voice light and dismissive. “Wouldn’t want you all to think I wasn’t taking things seriously.”

  He then turned his attention back to Zeta, his sapphire eyes meeting hers with a directness that made her instinctively wary. “So, sister,” he said, the term still feeling somewhat foreign yet undeniably right, “where were we? Oh yes, the tragic tale of your destroyed world. Perhaps we can compare notes on leaving a sting impression.”