Dagon leaned back, fingers steepled beneath his chin. For a long moment, silence stretched between them, thick as smoke. Then, slowly, he chuckled.

"Lower your voice, Frost," Dagon said at last, his smile curling into something sharper. "This is neither the time nor the place for rashness. I'll explain everything… in due course."

Frost's teeth ground together, the frost at his feet cracking faintly against the wood.

The silence in the Headmaster's office stretched thin, taut like a bowstring ready to snap.

Then—

"You're hiding something," Frost said flatly, his voice hard as ice. "And you didn't have permission to conduct that 'trial.' The other instructors weren't informed. I certainly wasn't. That Dragon wasn't part of the curriculum."

"You sure are very talkative when you're upset. If you were so against my actions, why did you lie to the students that it was a test?" Dagon asked dryly, tilting his head slightly.

'To diffuse the situation the best I could! But even that couldn't convince everyone…' Frost wanted to argue some more, but he knew this was what Dagon wanted to see.

As such, he didn't take the bait.

His tone sharpened, cutting away at the calm.

"You behaved unethically. Even if you're Headmaster, you don't have the right to gamble with the lives of students like that. A Rank 3 Dragon against first-years? Do you realize how close they were to being wiped out?"

"They weren't wiped out." Dagon's reply came smooth, dismissive. "They endured."

"They endured because I intervened," Frost snapped, his voice echoing across the chamber. Frost rarely raised his voice. When he did, it was a storm in itself. "Don't twist this into some noble test. I was there. They would have died if I hadn't arrived. And you knew that when you unleashed that thing."

The Headmaster leaned back in his chair, sighing as if Frost's fury were nothing more than an inconvenience.

"Frost, Frost, Frost… you think too much like a soldier. You see rules, boundaries, and protocols. But the world outside these walls doesn't care about any of that. Dragons are growing stronger. Do you think Rank 3s are the worst our students will face? No. Worse ones are coming. Stronger. Hungrier."

His gaze hardened, his tone lowering to a razor's edge.

"And yet, the quality of Dragon Hunters has been declining. Each year, softer, weaker recruits crawl through these gates. If we keep training them the old way, we will send them out to die. And that is unethical."

Frost's jaw tightened, the frost spreading farther, creeping up the legs of Dagon's desk.

"So your answer is to break them before they even begin? To throw them into the fire and see who survives? That's not training. That's slaughter."

"It's survival," Dagon countered, voice sharp now, the calmness cracking for the first time. "These children need to understand that hesitation, weakness, or fear means death. The sooner they learn, the better chance they have out there. Do you want them pampered in classrooms until a real Dragon tears them apart? Because that's what you're asking for."

Frost took a step closer, the frost following him like a living shadow. His pale eyes glared like frozen knives. "Don't twist your obsession into necessity. I've seen you, Dagon. I know what drives you. You sit here, dreaming of glory you can no longer chase. You want to relive your triumphs vicariously, watching these children struggle and bleed against monsters—because it makes you feel alive again. Don't pretend this is about them. It's about you and your twisted sense of fulfillment."

The words hit like a hammer.

The golden lights dimmed faintly, the wards around the office flaring in silent response to the surge of tension between the two men.

For the first time, Dagon's smile vanished.

His expression darkened, lines etching deeper into his face. His voice, when he spoke, was low and dangerous.

"You go too far, Frost."

"And you not far enough," Frost shot back.

The Headmaster slowly rose to his feet, his presence no less commanding than Frost's icy aura. His eyes gleamed with power barely restrained, the kind of authority that had once carved his name into the history of Dragon Hunters.

"You forget yourself," Dagon said, his voice steady now but lined with steel. "I am Headmaster of this Academy. I decide how these students are trained. I decide what it takes to survive in a world that will not forgive weakness. If you don't like it, you are free to leave."

Frost didn't move, his aura flaring colder, sharper, threatening to freeze the very air between them. "And what if I report you? What if I bring this to the Council and let them judge whether you're fit to lead? You broke protocol, you endangered lives. Do you think they'd let that slide?"

For a moment, silence choked the room.

Then Dagon leaned forward, placing both hands flat on the desk.

"Would you really do that?" His voice was quiet now, but no less dangerous. "Would you really cripple this Academy, sow distrust among the instructors, and weaken us all at a time when we can least afford it? Tell me, Frost Winister… what exactly do you hope to achieve?"

The cold in the air wavered, Frost's expression tightening.

For a long moment, the two men simply stared at each other—frost against flame, ice against iron will.

Finally, Frost's aura dimmed slightly, his breath a steady mist.

"No," he said slowly. "I won't report you. Not this time."

Dagon arched a brow.

"Out of respect for you," Frost continued, his voice edged with reluctant restraint. "And because, in the end, no one died. But hear me well, Dagon. Never do this again. Never endanger students with your games. If you pull a stunt like this one more time, I will drag you before the Council myself."

His words fell heavy, ice cracking across the floor as if sealing his vow.

Dagon's jaw tightened, his fists curling slightly against the desk. His face betrayed nothing but cold fury, though he held his tongue.

Frost turned, cloak trailing a whisper of frost in his wake, and strode toward the door. His boots echoed against the floor, sharp, final. He didn't look back.

The door shut behind him with a thud, the frost fading away.

Dagon stood motionless for a long while, his chest rising and falling slowly. Then, finally, he exhaled, his eyes narrowing at the empty doorway.

His lips curled into a deep scowl.

"You little brat," he muttered, his voice thick with venom.

"Who do you think you are…"

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