"Seeing the students spar makes me itch for a fight of my own."

Having been assessing the students for so long, Grim grabbed her right wrist tightly, her eyes drawn to Art. He flinched, understanding her intention to fight him, but precisely because of that, he didn't respond. He didn't mind facing a student or two, but a professor? That was way out of his league.

"Just a light spar."

Squatting beside him, she pleaded cutely. The contrast between her cute demeanor and gloomy face was uncanny, but Art couldn't refute—not since he'd received a prompt from the system that Grim had grown suspicious of him.

He wasn't sure what he'd done, and he was confident he hadn't messed up in any way to earn her distrust. But this was a veteran assassin he was dealing with—someone who had lived and been molded by negativity for decades. Distrust, paranoia, and so much more were part of her character, so he couldn't blame her.

Judging by her persistence, this spar was a way for her to gauge his full strength. That way, if he were to ever go rogue, she could develop effective countermeasures to handle him.

"What a paranoid freak," Art thought.

Not that he was any different, though. Even as he condemned Grim a little in his heart, he, too, had a set of countermeasures for her. Of course, they would only prove effective if it came to a situation where he had to eliminate her—something he didn't think would ever happen.

"Her core rank should be three ranks above mine. Even in a light spar, I'll undoubtedly be far weaker. Luckily, I have the system."

Glancing around for a weapon, he rose and approached the nearest student with a sword, snatching it from them and thrusting it forward, its tip raised at Grim.

"A spar? What a lovely idea."

With a cold smile that hid his thoughts, his remark echoed across the field, drawing all attention to him.

"Did Instructor Art just say 'spar'?"

News traveled fast as the students on the field began whispering among themselves.

"A newbie instructor against a veteran."

"I heard he's just a three-star."

"Wow, and with such arrogance."

"He's probably a noble who used his connections to get a job here."

"That makes sense. No way the academy would hire an instructor that weak."

Trish, hearing all the slander about her precious teacher, crossed her arms, her expression cold as she fought the urge to rip their faces apart. Couldn't they see he was hiding his strength? Were they so blinded by their egos that they couldn't accept her master was undoubtedly a prodigy in his own league?

"Tsk... what is the value of jewels in the eyes of pigs?"

Pinching her arms to keep her boiling anger in check, she ignored their slander, her eyes wandering to Professor Grim, who stood up, pulled down the zipper of her truck jacket for comfort, and raised her hands to stretch.

"Students, please evacuate the field."

Her tone, laced with kindness, betrayed the vicious expression on her face as the class quickly fled outside, eager to observe the match.

Looking at her bloodthirsty expression, Art finally understood why he didn't feel uncomfortable around her. It wasn't just her presence—her swift switch to that of a killer hinted at a madness that couldn't be hidden, even when she wore that awkward mask of hers.

Even if she killed less now, the habit of decades wouldn't just disappear. It was engraved into her personality, and that tiny spark of madness, once triggered, could lead to unmentionable tragedies.

For a moment, Art had a premonition. He saw Grim's figure overlap with that of a worn-out, bloody woman standing atop a mountain of corpses. Confused, he soon realized this was a memory of Grim's fate.

"How ironic. Her name is quite fitting," he thought, passing her two wooden daggers as he tried to shake off the memory—one that wouldn't come to fruition.

"Here."

Catching both, Grim looked at him blankly, her expression unreadable.

"I didn't want our famous assassin, after losing to me, to make the excuse that she was unarmed. So, I permit the use of aura—and you, a weapon."

With her neck now bent at an unnatural angle, her blue eyes lost their light as she disappeared, shattering the ground beneath her. She reappeared in front of Art, pouncing on him with the dagger in her right hand thrusting forward at his head.

"Shit... she's fast."

Having long activated **[Snow Dance]** to improve his combat abilities, he infused aura into his brain, speeding up his thoughts and perception.

For a moment, the world came to a halt. The cheers and noises grew distant, and his eyes—now bloodshot—observed Grim, who, even in this slow, monochrome world, didn't lose speed.

"As expected of a six-star."

Thinking so, he sidestepped the stab, his eyes widening in horror as Grim, tracing his gaze, dashed past him, having missed.

At the sheer speed she was moving, her body was propelled forward at a speed far surpassing sound. At such speed, forget navigation—death would be the only outcome. But Grim wasn't any normal human being.

She was a superhuman, an evolved being who had stepped into the threshold of transcendence—a level just below divinity. In this state, even the speed of light wasn't an unattainable dream.

So, as her body was propelled forward, having long passed Art, she broke through the forces restraining her, performing an impossible twist midair to face him. Then, stabbing the wooden dagger—infused with her aura—into the ground, she completely killed her momentum.

The sudden pause would have caused her body, still midair, to drop. Since she needed stable footing before pouncing again. Art, fueled by blinding determination, bridged the gap between them. Positioning his right foot underneath the falling Grim, he then lifted his feets off the ground, accompanied by a tremendous force that shook the earth.

As the kick landed, the air compressed to its limit exploded into a powerful shockwave that spread throughout the surroundings. Grim's body arched inward as the kick propelled her upward like a ball.

The ace of such a magnificent kick–

Being Art.

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