There was some blood on Arsene's lips, and a few bruises on his handsome face—of course, the result of blows from the other Singulars who were present.
He was staring at a man and a woman, who looked to be in their early twenties. They both gazed back at Arsene, as if blaming him for his earlier actions.
The woman had a slender, athletic build. She wore a tight, sleeveless shirt and practical short pants. Her brown hair was tied back in a swaying ponytail, and her sharp brown eyes scanned the area vigilantly. Her gaze darted quickly between small details, as if expecting a threat at any moment. Her movements were swift and confident, blending seamlessly with her surroundings, as if she were a part of them.
Beside her stood the man, tall and striking, with serious, handsome features. His clear blue eyes gleamed beneath tousled dark blond hair. His appearance radiated strength and defiance, and he moved with unwavering confidence, as if always on alert. He wore a fitted leather jacket and dark pants that suited his combat-ready nature. His expression was so tense that anyone who saw him would instantly sense the gravity of the situation he was in.
For a moment, Arsene thought... were they characters from his previous world? Video games? Or something like that? They reminded him of Lara Croft and Leon S. Kennedy.
But he knew they weren't the same people. The two continued staring at him, as if waiting for his reaction, but Arsene did nothing—he simply sat on the ground, waiting, just like them, for something to happen at any moment.
While everyone waited, Jolovier's screams didn't cease. He kept screaming, blood dripping from his lips. His vocal cords were on the verge of tearing apart.
It had been five minutes since they'd called for medics, but no one had arrived yet. Arsene glanced toward Jolovier and spoke calmly to the two without looking directly at them,
"I can heal him. Just let me touch him, that's all."
Arsene rose to his feet. He didn't want to get dragged into another mess. Holdem had died just days ago, and Faradais might have faced the same fate had Arsene not intervened.
Jolovier himself would soon suffer the same if nothing was done. But when Arsene stood, the other two stopped him, insisting he couldn't approach.
They blocked him, even though Arsene was offering help. The woman smiled,
"We can't let you. You caused trouble. What if you do something else to him? Just sit down and wait until a medic or someone else arrives."
Arsene knew that wasn't their real concern. The two simply didn't want him to help. Perhaps they belonged to factions that harbored hostility.
They didn't want him to offer assistance. They could easily dodge responsibility later. At least they had sent someone to call for a medic, but Arsene—despite defending himself—was still the cause of the incident.
After minutes of back-and-forth, someone hurried out from one of the capsules. He was a staff member. He approached Arsene and, more specifically, the two observing him, then spoke,
"The head of the infirmary ordered his transfer to Madame Gilles' office. But when I went there to inquire, I found she wasn't there—she's here in the Sky Arena, in one of the upper VIP boxes. We have to move him there."
The two watched him, and the man cursed,
"Ah! I have to move him too? Damn it, they better pay me for all this hassle. How much does that lump of idiocy even weigh?"
His demeanor and way of speaking contradicted his appearance. Most would think he was the calm, quiet type who showed actions more than words and relied on his mind more than his tongue.
Perhaps there were such cases. Arsene could be considered similar but in an indirect, opposite way—yes, perhaps Arsene was like that.
As for the woman beside him, she asked after glancing at Arsene,
"What about him? Aren't there orders to discipline him? He broke the rules!"
The staff member looked confused and glanced nervously at Arsene,
"Orders, uh? Yeah, maybe there were orders but—no, no, I don't remember any orders about him! Yeah, I suppose there are no orders to detain or arrest him. We can just leave him alone!"
The man responded in surprise,
"Hey, hey! Are you sure? What if we get in trouble too? Shouldn't we at least do something about him?"
Arsene smiled inwardly. It had always been like this—there were no orders.
Arsene stood under their watchful gazes and spoke calmly with a smile,
"Thanks for the hospitality. I have something important to attend to now, so I'll excuse myself. If there are other orders, you know where to find me, right?"
"Just as I thought!" Arsene added before chuckling and stepping out through the door into the corridors, looking for a spot and angle that offered a close view of the fight, of course leaving behind the sounds—
The corridors were magnificent and meticulously maintained, silver-white paint and engravings gave them an aesthetic grandeur, as if they belonged solely to this academy's heritage.
The halls were full of students, but their numbers quickly dwindled until only a few remained—probably because Arsene was heading upward, climbing every staircase he found. Naturally, there was heavy security, and the splendor of the place only increased with each higher floor.
The few students who crossed Arsene's path questioned him as if they had memorized every face allowed here.
Arsene passed through security simply by showing his card. The guards didn't even dare to search him or verify his identity. Had they done so, Arsene would've been back in his apartment, relegated to the first-year student floor—even though he was a Singular.
He was allowed to be here, but under one condition: he had to be accompanied by a professor or an escort authorized by the academy administration.
Those were the rules, and Arsene didn't meet either of them. He was wandering alone here. At some point, he felt lost in this place. Multiple staircases kept appearing, one after another, everywhere he went—as if they were leading him upward to somewhere.
Perhaps he had lost his way. He no longer encountered anyone. It was as if the hallways had swallowed them, leaving him alone on these stairs, climbing whenever they appeared.
He became slightly dizzy, as if the entire place was spinning around him—but that wasn't the case. Arsene had simply forgotten where he was stepping. His steps lost their steadiness, like a drunk wandering the streets past midnight.
Soon he felt his legs would betray him and that he would fall. He didn't know where he'd fall—was he still climbing stairs? Or would he collapse onto the floor? He felt like he was above the sky, and if he fell, he would plummet to his death instantly.
But he quickly caught himself, as if trying to grab onto something before falling—but he misstepped and almost collapsed. At the last moment, it was as if he fell into someone's hands.
Arsene's blurred vision slowly cleared. Colors returned, and he could see clearly. There was a person in a formal black suit holding him to prevent his fall. The man had long, silky black hair, lips slightly cracked and pale, and a faintly gaunt face with silver eyes.
He was slightly tall, almost the same height as Arsene. He gazed at him with an empty stare. Arsene leaned on him briefly until he regained his balance, then stood on his own and looked at him directly.
"Thank you—you did me a favor."
The place they stood was a corridor with red carpets and lit candles that gave off a dim glow. They looked as if they were burning, but Arsene knew they weren't—they were just for decoration.
The person before him smiled. His smile was beautiful. Arsene didn't expect anyone could possess such beauty. Perhaps if Arsene had been a woman, he would've fallen in love with him.
Yet, somehow, he felt a strange pull toward him.
"No need to thank me. You looked a bit unsteady. Are you alright now?" the man asked, extending his hand for a handshake.
Arsene stared at him for a moment.
The young man smiled and introduced himself,
"Sebastian. Nice to meet you."
Arsene gazed at his hand and finally shook it, saying,
"I'm fine now! Thanks for your concern. My name's Arsene, by the way."
Arsene felt there was no point in hiding anything from him. Maybe he already knew who he was. It wouldn't leave a good first impression if he lied.
This man, who resembled a vampire—with his bright, beautiful smile, aligned teeth, and slightly elongated fangs—seemed ethereal and carried an aura beyond this world. Perhaps the dim, muted lights, the red carpet, and the golden-brown engravings on the walls all contributed to that image.
Their reflection on his appearance and attire might have been the reason—but it left an impression on Arsene, whether he liked it or not, even if it wasn't intentional.
Arsene would remember him.
He would remember Sebastian.