I didn't answer.
I couldn't show fear.
Even if my whole body was already trembling under the weight of it.
I had to hold.
Just a few more minutes.
They were coming.
They had to be.
My grip was starting to slip.
I could feel it—the ache in my fingers, the sweat on my palm, the subtle but relentless throb in my temple. I tried to blink away the sting in my eyes, but it was getting harder to breathe, harder to stay calm.
Damn it.
This wasn't supposed to be my fight.
I wasn't some chosen protagonist with plot armor. I was just… me.
Rin Evans.
Some transmigrator who barely knew what the hell he was doing half the time.
I came here hoping to stall Ethan with a half-baked bluff and a few enchanted toys. I didn't sign up to stand between a madman and a room full of terrified cadets. This wasn't a strategy anymore. It was desperation.
I glanced down again. The light on the nearest repellent was dimmer than before.
My throat tightened.
This wasn't going to hold.
Not for long.
