Elaine's heels tapped briskly against the polished floor, her posture ramrod straight as she led Fenrir through the halls to the principal's office.
She didn't speak a word to him, but the tension radiating off her was sharp enough to cut steel.
Fenrir followed lazily, hands in his hoodie pocket, eyes half-lidded with boredom. He seemed entirely unaffected by her righteous fury.
When they entered the principal's office, Fenrir blinked in faint surprise.
Principal Cale wasn't the older, wrinkled man he had expected.
Instead, he looked to be in his late forties, well-built and youthful in a rugged, experienced kind of way.
His dark brown hair was streaked with grey, but his skin was clear, his gaze steady.
The man exuded calm authority—like someone who had seen wars and returned alive not because of strength alone, but because of calculated survival.
But what really caught Fenrir's attention was the way the man moved—or more precisely, what he didn't move.
Cale's left arm, while still attached, pulsed with no mana at all. Not a trace.
It hung at his side with lifeless ease, and Fenrir's sharp senses picked up the subtle way his shoulder favored the right when he shifted or gestured.
To the average person, it would look like nothing. To someone like Fenrir, it screamed one thing.
'He's lost the use of that arm. Completely.'
Fenrir's gaze sharpened.
Back in his time, there were potions that could regrow limbs.
Even bring people back from the dead if conditions were right. Such high-grade alchemy was once commonplace among elite circles.
But here, even someone as important as a school principal had no way to recover from a permanent injury.
It confirmed Fenrir's growing suspicion—this world was far behind in production. Healing, crafting, mana-forging… it was all primitive here.
That was good for him.
Cale's eyes met his, and Fenrir realized the man had noticed his stare.
The principal gave a faint, knowing smile and gestured for both of them to sit.
"Please. Take a seat. I assume this visit is about something important?"
Elaine jumped into explanation immediately, her voice tight.
"Principal Cale, I've brought Fenrir Black here because he's in blatant violation of the school's uniform code. He's also openly disrespectful, disruptive in class, and shows no regard for school rules. I request that disciplinary action be taken."
Cale's gaze drifted back to Fenrir.
"Is that true? Are you being disruptive, Mr. Black?"
Fenrir didn't bother with formalities. He leaned back in his chair, looking far too relaxed.
"Depends on what you call disruptive. I came to class, didn't talk to anyone, and minded my business."
Elaine scowled.
"While wearing that thing. This school has a dress code."
She snapped, pointing to the hoodie.
Fenrir shrugged.
"The uniform is uncomfortable. It's stiff, and hard to move in if something happens. I'd rather wear something I can actually breathe in."
"It's not meant to be convenient, It's about discipline. Order. Respect.
Elaine snapped.
"Then maybe your rules are flawed."
Fenrir said simply, meeting her glare with a calm one of his own.
Elaine's face turned red.
"Principal—!"
But Cale didn't seem to be paying attention anymore.
His gaze had turned distant, resting somewhere over Fenrir's shoulder. His fingers drummed the desk faintly, not in irritation, but in thought.
Fenrir noticed it instantly—the way the principal's attention had drifted. It wasn't boredom, but detachment.
Like the conversation in front of him didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.
Fenrir studied him carefully.
'This guy has seen real combat. That injury isn't from sparring or school administration. He's been on the frontlines.'
And from the way Cale didn't care about schoolyard disputes, Fenrir guessed he was probably still thinking about something far beyond petty uniform violations.
Maybe he was involved in something deeper. Maybe the school was more than just a place to educate kids.
Whatever it was, Cale was not someone to underestimate.
"Principal?"
Elaine said, clearly annoyed by the man's silence.
Cale blinked, as though returning from a far-off thought, and smiled gently.
"Right, apologies. I tend to space out these days."
He turned to Fenrir.
"Your reasoning for the hoodie… it's unorthodox. But not entirely invalid. We do have combat classes, after all."
Elaine's eyes widened.
"Are you saying you'll allow it?!"
Fenrir leaned back in his chair, clearly done with the back-and-forth.
The entire conversation had become tedious. Principal Cale was visibly disengaged, and Elaine Croix was practically vibrating with self-righteous fury.
"I'm done. Let's just make this simple."
Fenrir said bluntly, cutting through the tension like a blade.
Elaine turned sharply, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Fenrir reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping it a few times before holding it up.
"I'll transfer two million credits. Each. Right now. You drop this uniform nonsense, mark me as an exception, and we all walk out of here with a little more peace in our lives."
Elaine's mouth fell open in sheer disbelief.
"You're… bribing us?"
"Compensating. For your time. And for peace of mind."
Fenrir corrected flatly.
Principal Cale blinked, then chuckled softly, not bothering to hide the amusement in his eyes.
"Two million just to wear what you want to school?"
He asked, tone dry.
Fenrir shrugged.
"It's a fair deal. Saves you a headache. Saves me boredom."
Cale stared at him for a moment longer before letting out a sigh and nodding.
"Alright. I'm not proud of it, but I've got better things to do than argue dress code all day."
Elaine, however, was still frozen in place, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"You think you can buy everything with money? My loyalty? My values? You think I'd throw away discipline just for some—some bribe?"
She snapped.
Fenrir gave her a disinterested glance.
"If not, then don't take it. No one's forcing you."
Her face twisted with fury.
"I won't. I refuse to be part of this!"
She spat, turning on her heel and storming out of the office with a trail of indignation behind her.
Cale watched her leave with a long, heavy sigh. "She's going to burn herself out," he murmured.
"That girl is too high-strung for a world like ours. She doesn't bend. She only breaks."
Fenrir didn't respond. He sat calmly, arms crossed, expression as blank as ever.
"You don't care,"
Cale added with a small, knowing smile.
"Of course you don't."
"I'm here to get stronger. That's all. If the world wants me to play dress-up while doing that, I'll pay my way out. After all, I have money."
Fenrir said plainly.
With a final nod, Cale picked up a sleek digital pen and scrawled something onto a tablet.
After a few seconds, a digital document flickered into place on Fenrir's system screen—a formal dress code exemption, signed and sealed.
"To Fenrir Black…"
The principal signed the note for Fenrir.
Fenrir smirked faintly.
"That's the name that matters."
Cale chuckled again, shaking his head.
"You're going to be trouble. But at least you're honest about it."
Fenrir took the pass, stood, and left without another word. He did not like the vibes he got from that principal. It somehow felt like the principal could see right through him.