---

The office was quiet when Michael pushed the door open.

Afternoon sunlight poured in through the half-open blinds, striping the wooden floor in golden bands.

The faint scent of parchment and ink lingered in the air, remnants of the paperwork Maria had been organizing before she left for her afternoon class.

Now it was just Michael, and the boy who trailed behind him with hesitant steps.

The student's uniform was a mess in mud clung to the fabric like stains of shame, his nose still bore the dried crust of blood, and his hands trembled faintly at his sides.

He didn't lift his gaze; instead, his eyes clung stubbornly to the floor as if afraid that even the walls of this room might judge him.

Michael gestured toward one of the wooden chairs.

"Sit."

The boy obeyed quickly, like someone used to following orders. Michael studied him for a moment before leaning against the desk across from him, arms crossed.

"I see you've got the strength of at least E-." His tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp. "That's not weak. With a little grit, you could've fought back against those idiots. So why endure it?"

The boy's shoulders stiffened. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

His hands clenched tightly, knuckles turning pale, and his eyes still fixed on the floor glimmered faintly. It wasn't just fear; it was pain, humiliation, something deeper.

Michael exhaled through his nose. He had seen this before students who could fight but didn't, because the enemy wasn't just fists and kicks.

He decided to push. "You realize," he said slowly, "that as Chief Inspector of the Disciplinary Committee, I can report today's incident directly to the Vice Principal. Those noble brats could be suspended him, even expelled. You don't have to carry this."

That got a reaction.

The boy's head snapped up, panic blazing in his eyes.

"No! Please—don't do that!"

Michael straightened, eyes narrowing. "Why not? They broke the rules. Punishment is the Academy's law."

The boy's lips trembled. For a heartbeat, he looked like he would clamp his mouth shut and say nothing. But desperation slipped past his defenses.

"They'll harm my family!"

The words were out before he realized it, and as soon as they escaped, he slapped a hand over his mouth, horrified. His breathing quickened, his shoulders shook.

Michael's gaze sharpened. He caught it—the truth hiding beneath all the silence. Family. Threats. This wasn't simple bullying.

He crouched slightly so he was eye level with the boy. His voice was calmer now, softer but firm. "So it's blackmail, isn't it? They're not just hitting you. They're holding something over you."

The boy flinched, but he said nothing. His eyes darted away like a trapped animal searching for escape.

Michael didn't press harder. Instead, he leaned back and folded his arms again. "You're having a hard time, that much is obvious. But listen—I'm not here to make things worse. If you can't tell me everything, fine. Then let's start simple. Basics."

He paused, studying the boy carefully. "Your name."

The silence stretched before the boy finally lowered his hand from his mouth. His voice was shaky, small, but he forced the words out.

"My… My name is Alex Vonstel. Class C, first year. I'm… I'm a commoner. From Selorn City."

Michael blinked. The surname tugged at something in the back of his memory. Vonstel.

He'd heard it somewhere before but no clear image came. A merchant guild? A minor quest giver? He couldn't recall. It was like chasing smoke.

So he let it go for now. "Alright, Alex. Let me ask you again, was today the first time they targeted you? Or is this a regular thing?"

Alex bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. He hesitated, his fists trembling on his knees. Then, with a voice weighed down by frustration, he whispered:

"…Regular."

Michael's jaw tightened. His instincts were right. This wasn't a one-time skirmish—it was systematic.

He leaned forward. "Then tell me everything. From the start."

---

Alex's words spilled out slowly, haltingly, as though each one cost him something. But Michael listened, every detail fitting into the picture he already suspected.

"They're… from noble families," Alex said. His voice cracked, but he forced himself to continue. "Russell Belnic. His family holds a baron's title. He's the one who leads them. Then there's Anross Pery… he's from a branch of the Braveheart family. The other two are just his followers."

Michael's fingers tapped the desk in a slow rhythm, his thoughts sharpening with every name. Braveheart. A branch family, but dangerous enough.

But he asked "Why don't you tell the instructor about your situation?

"I tried," Alex went on, tears welling in his eyes. "I went to Instructor Relaon. I thought… if I reported it, they'd be punished. He called them in, scolded them in front of me. But then… then they came back. And it was worse." His voice cracked into a choked laugh. "They said I embarrassed them, and for that, I'd pay double."

Michael's chest tightened, a cold fury coiling beneath his ribs.

"So you went back to Relaon," he guessed.

Alex nodded, trembling. "Yes. I begged him to do something. And he—he told me… he told me I was lying. That if I falsely accused noble students again, I'd be expelled from the Academy."

Michael's eyes darkened. "And he didn't even ask for evidence."

Alex wiped his tears roughly, his voice breaking. "Because Russell bragged. He said his family bribed Relaon. That no matter what I said, nothing would stick. And if I tried to go to another professor or instructor, they'd frame my family as traitors to the Kingdom and throw them in prison."

The room fell silent. Michael clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms. His earlier suspicion solidified into certainty: this wasn't just student cruelty. It was corruption, festering in the heart of the Academy.

He took a steadying breath and asked quietly, "Instructor Samuel Relaon… that's the same one who showed up earlier, isn't it?"

Alex hesitated, then nodded. "…Yes."

That was enough.

Michael leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable, but his mind burned with cold determination. His instincts had screamed at him the moment that fox-faced instructor appeared, and now he had confirmation.

But Alex wasn't done. His voice trembled as he looked at Michael desperately. "Please… don't tell anyone. If they find out I spoke, they'll—"

Michael cut him off sharply. "Why? Why keep living like this? Why not fight back, or accept help? What good does silence do you?"

Alex's eyes flared. He slammed his hands onto his knees, shaking.

"I'm not a coward!" His voice cracked, filled with raw pain. Tears streamed down his face, but his gaze burned.

"Do you think I haven't tried? Do you think I haven't fought? I… I train every day. Harder than anyone in my class. I swing until my hands bleed, until my body won't move anymore. Because I want to get strong enough to enter the Royal Knight Training Camp after graduation. I need at least C+ rank for that. I need it, more than anything."

His shoulders shook, his voice turning hoarse. "But talent isn't fair. People like you, Rank 1—everything comes to you. For me? I work ten times harder, and still… I'm still here. So don't look down on me for enduring. Don't call me weak because I can't fight them without risking my family."

The outburst hung in the air like a blade.

Michael stared at him, stunned for a moment. Then he slowly exhaled, the weight of Alex's pain sinking into him. This wasn't cowardice. This was endurance, the kind that came from someone who refused to break, even if the world pressed down on him.

"…You're right," Michael said at last, his voice softer.

"You're not a coward. You've carried this weight far longer than most could. For that… I respect you."

He rose from his chair and stepped forward. With a faint smile, he extended his hand.

"How about it? Be my friend. You don't have to carry this alone anymore."

Alex blinked, his tears still flowing. Then, slowly, he smiled. A fragile, genuine smile. He reached out and clasped Michael's hand firmly.

"Yes… Chief Inspector."

Michael chuckled faintly. "Just Michael."

And at that moment—

Ding.

A familiar mechanical tone echoed in Michael's head.

[Host has triggered a Hidden Quest]

[Expose the Corruption of the Arcade Academy]

[Progress: (0/100)%]

[Rewards: 50 Stats, 100k SP, ???]

Michael's mind whirled.

' A hidden quest? From Alex? He wasn't supposed to matter in the game. Why… Why now?'

His thoughts snapped back as Alex cleared his throat awkwardly. "Um… Michael, could you… let go now?"

Michael blinked and glanced down. He was still gripping Alex's hand tightly. Heat rose to his cheeks as he quickly released it. "…Sorry."

Alex laughed faintly, shaking his head. "It's fine. I… I should get back to class."

Michael nodded. "Go. But remember—you're not alone anymore."

Alex left, the door closing softly behind him.

Michael sank back into his chair, staring at the empty room. His mind buzzed with too many threads—Alex's suffering, the corruption of Instructor Relaon, the hidden quest, the system's interference in the "story."

He clenched his fist.

If the Academy itself is rotting… then I'll dig out every root, no matter how deep.

His eyes drifted toward his watch. For evidence gathering, he'd need help. Someone outside the Academy. Someone who knew how to dig in the shadows.

The answer came to him immediately: The Dawn Mercenary Guild.

He lifted his watch, dialing a familiar number.

"Time to call in a favor," he muttered.

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