Fenrir leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded as the classroom buzzed around him.
The teacher at the front was going on about combat theory—some lesson about optimal mana distribution when summoning—but Fenrir couldn't have cared less.
His chin rested on his arms, folded on the desk, and he stared at the wooden surface like it held the secrets of the world.
In reality, he was just counting down the minutes until this miserable excuse of a school day ended.
He could feel them though. Dozens of stares. Students throwing glances his way, whispering among themselves.
Not just because he was new—but because of who he was. The brother of Legion's CEO.
The rumored Mr. X. The mysterious potion maker. Everyone had an opinion, but no one had the guts to ask him anything directly.
Not that Fenrir would've answered them anyway.
The teacher's gaze burned holes into him a few times, her face twitching with restrained annoyance.
