The rest of the class proceeded without further conflict, and within minutes, the instructor announced the end of the class.

But then, students kept whispering about what just happened, their gazes drifting towards Damien and Stanley.

Damien simply ignored them, deciding to head back to the elite dormitory.

He was walking down the long stone corridor that led toward the dormitory when he heard quick footsteps approaching behind him.

He turned slightly, only to see two girls running toward him.

Both of them were dressed in the mages silver and blue uniform, their skirts brushing against their thighs as they came to a halt a few meters away from him.

Their faces were flushed pink, and they looked like they were both struggling to speak.

Damien's eyes narrowed slightly. "What's the problem?" he asked.

The two girls exchanged quick glances, blushing even harder.

One of them, a short-haired brunette, looked away as she stammered, "M-Miss Stella… calls for you… she said it's urgent…"

"Stella?" Damien muttered, his brows knitting together.

He easily recognised that name, after all, Stella Himford was the name of one of Stanley's wives in the game.

Before he could question further, the two girls bowed slightly, clearly relieved to have delivered their message, then hurried off down the corridor again.

Damien exhaled and started walking again, his thoughts quiet but focused.

—

A few minutes later, Damien found himself sitting in an unfamiliar room—a large, elegantly decorated hall lined with golden pillars and shimmering chandeliers that reflected off the polished marble floor.

At the center of the room stretched a long rectangular table made of dark wood, its surface gleaming under the light.

There were twelve students seated along each side of the table, all wearing a uniform different from the one other students wore.

Their uniforms were black, trimmed with gold along the collars and cuffs—embroidered with intricate designs that exuded a sense of superiority and distinction.

The elite students.

Each of them carried themselves with an air of confidence, their postures straight, eyes steady.

Some watched him quietly, while others exchanged whispers behind cupped hands, clearly curious about why an outsider had been summoned to their exclusive meeting.

Damien, on the other hand, stood out starkly among them.

He was still putting on his casual clothes, making him look completely out of place in the gathering.

Near the far end of the table sat two familiar faces—one belonging to the noble boy he had met earlier, in the elite dormitory.

The other, of course, was Stanley, sitting stiffly with his arms crossed, his expression cold and unreadable.

Both of them were glaring daggers at Damien from the moment he stepped into the room.

Damien simply returned their looks with a faint smile.

At the very head of the table sat a girl—a strikingly beautiful one.

Her long, blonde hair shimmered like threads of gold under the chandelier light, cascading elegantly over her shoulders.

Her eyes were a deep, mesmerizing shade of blue, calm yet sharp, carrying a regal authority that made her presence command attention without her even trying.

She was the kind of person who didn't need to speak to draw attention—her aura alone did it for her.

This was Stella—the one who had summoned him.

The president of the elite students, and one of Stanley's future wives in the game.

As Damien took his seat at the far end of the table, her gaze swept over him slowly, moving from his mismatched dressing to his face. Her brows twitched faintly.

Then, her eyes flicked toward Stanley, who met her gaze with a self-satisfied smirk, clearly expecting some sort of support from her.

The tension between the three of them filled the air like a tangible weight.

Finally, Stella leaned back slightly in her chair. A faint frown crossed her face, but she quickly masked it with a polite, forced smile.

"I've heard a rather strange rumor," she said, her tone smooth but edged. "Is what I heard true?"

Her eyes moved between Damien and Stanley, resting briefly on each before narrowing slightly.

"That the two of you…" she continued, her voice lowering slightly, "…will be having a True Duel?"

Stanley sighed, his expression carefully composed, though the faint twitch in his jaw betrayed the tension he was trying to conceal.

He leaned slightly forward, adopting an apologetic look as his voice softened.

"I'm sorry…" he began. "I should have controlled myself earlier."

"But," he continued, his expression tightening into one of self righteousness. "Seeing such insolence from a fellow elite… one who couldn't even bother to put on his uniform for such an important meeting—tell me, who wouldn't be angered by that?"

His gaze flicked toward Damien, the frown on his face deepening in annoyance.

A few of the other students nodded almost immediately, their murmurs filling the long room.

"That's true."

"He's right. Proper etiquette is the least expected of an elite."

"Stanley's composure and sense of duty are really commendable…"

A faint smile tugged at Stanley's lips as the compliments poured in.

"He really is perfect to be an elite student," one of the girls seated near Stella said softly, clasping her hands together. "Responsible, disciplined, and noble in both spirit and bearing."

Another boy beside her nodded, his voice firm. "He represents what an elite should be."

Their words only made Stanley's smirk widen subtly, satisfaction flickering briefly across his proud expression.

Then, a familiar voice joined in from the other end of the table.

Tart—the noble boy Damien had encountered earlier—leaned forward with his arms folded, his tone calm but dripping with disdain.

"He's also very rude," Tart said. "And lacks respect. Unique class or not, an uncouth commoner like him shouldn't be among the elite ranks in the first place."

The air in the room grew heavier as a few students nodded in silent agreement.

Damien's eyes twitched faintly, his patience thinning.

He didn't need to think twice to know what Tart's words truly meant. The noble's issue wasn't about discipline, uniform, or attitude—it was about blood.

And it wasn't just Tart. He could feel the same arrogance radiating from most of the others seated at the table.

To them, he was an outsider—someone who didn't belong, no matter how strong he was or how rare his class happened to be.

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.