"I—"
"Then why did you come here to disturb my peace?!" The redhead's hair suddenly burst into blazing red flames, a striking contrast that mirrored the fury swelling within him.
Samuel, completely unfazed by this—as if it were a common occurrence he had seen a hundred times—continued,
"I've brought you a roommate, Caleb."
"What?! I told you I like living alone in this room!" The redhead, with fire jetting from his hands and eyes flickering like embers, was known as Caleb.
There was a certain pride in being the only student in the entire dormitory who didn't share his room. It earned him respect, admiration, and a certain aura among his peers.
More than that, he genuinely cherished his personal space—and tonight, he had planned to throw a wild party in it.
'Samuel always tries to send newbies to my room first. But after three days of suffering with me, a bit of psychological warfare, some minor pranks, and a few not-so-subtle threats usually drive them to switch rooms themselves.
'Kekeke, fresh meat.'
"Okay, fine. But if he later says he's not okay with sharing, you'll give him another room, right?" Caleb asked with a crooked, mischievous smile curving across his face.
Samuel rubbed at his hair, caught in a frustrated loop of indecision, before reluctantly agreeing.
"Sure."
The protagonist didn't care much about their exchange. Without hesitation, he stepped into the room.
As he passed Caleb, there was a sickening expression of suppressed rage hiding beneath a paper-thin smile. His eyes twitched, brows quivering—a clear sign of just how displeased he was about Victor's sudden arrival.
It took only six steps for Victor to get inside, and immediately he was taken aback by the sheer horror of the room's condition.
If someone claimed the pitch-black void that birthed abyssal monsters was the most terrifying place imaginable, they hadn't seen the nightmarish mess of this dorm.
Dirty laundry dangled from every corner of the ceiling like grotesque decorations. The floor was littered with greasy paper wrappers from chip bags, half-crushed cans of beer, and random trash that stank faintly of mildew and regret.
Strangely rolled tissues were bunched up in clumps all over the ground, with some inexplicably stuck to the walls like cursed ornaments.
The crumpled tissues had hardened over time, forming eerie handprints—each one a fossilized piece of horror.
'Don't tell me... is that nut?!'
'Hahaha, it's the solidified nut of your new roommate. What a simp!' the wolf taunted inside his head, laughter echoing coldly.
"You can take that side of the room," Caleb said casually, hopping onto the bed that provided him ultimate comfort, releasing all his built-up stress into the springs.
Victor's eyes twitched again as he scanned what was supposedly his side of the room. The entire area was a war zone. The sheet was tossed to the floor, stained and crumpled. Two of the wooden bed legs were broken, leaving it sagging dangerously to one side.
More snack bags were crammed into every possible crevice—under the bed, beside it, and even stacked loosely on top.
"This bastard!" Victor exclaimed, his voice laced with disgust and rising fury.
Without warning, he reached out and gripped Caleb's ankle with supernatural speed. With one powerful yank, he hurled him skyward like a sack of trash. Caleb was flung across the room, crashing headfirst into the opposite wall.
He was knocked into dreamland instantly. Luckily—or perhaps not—his landing was cushioned by the very filth he had created.
Victor's chest heaved violently as he struggled to calm himself. His claws had already emerged, glistening with faint silver light. Patches of silver fur appeared across his cheeks and neck. Six-inch canines jutted past his lips, and his eyes reflected the deep, starry blackness of the night sky.
As his breath slowed, the monstrous features began to retract. His body returned to normal—at least in appearance. Thankfully, Caleb had been unconscious since the moment his skull met the wall. If he had remained awake, he would've been traumatized by what he'd seen.
'Wolf Rage,' Borack's icy voice echoed in Victor's mind. 'Victor, do you already hate this academy you just arrived at?'
"What do you mean?" Victor muttered, slightly dazed.
"When I was in my prime, I possessed something I called Wolf Rage. It's not an ability or a skill. It's a state of being—something you tap into to release every drop of fury you've buried over the years. And it looks like you've inherited it. Fascinating."
Borack went quiet for a few seconds, lost in his own memories.
"You just have to learn to control it. Use it as fuel. That's what I did. Kekeke..."
Victor slumped onto his bed with a heavy sigh. He turned his gaze to a mirror hung far across the room—yet somehow, it still clearly reflected his image.
An average-looking twenty-year-old stared back. Dull black eyes with roughly symmetrical brown pupils. Raven-black hair that barely covered his forehead and thin stubble growing beneath his chin.
His eyes were lifeless—doll-like, hollow from years of suffering. He wore the look of someone who had lived through far too much pain for someone so young.
His body was frail, lacking in any real muscle. His bones nearly jutted through his pale skin, and he looked as if he might collapse from sheer exhaustion at any moment.
'Life really was a bitch to this guy. And now that same bitchy life has a grudge against me for being thrown into this body.
Though… I guess it showed me a bit of mercy—by giving me a golden finger for survival in this new world.'
This world was nothing like the one he came from. Back when he was a commander, there were no academies, no structured learning. If you were eighteen—or simply strong enough to carry a weapon—you were sent to war.
'Maybe this is my calling. I just need to get stronger—strong enough that no one can ever control me again.
Anyone or anything that stands in my way will know nothing but death.'
And so, a new chapter begins—his life at the academy.
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