The sun had barely risen when Asari stepped out of his room. The dormitory corridors were quiet, save for the soft rustling of pages and the occasional clatter of a wheel.
That clatter led his gaze toward Aicha.
Books were scattered across the floor, and Aicha—her hands trembling slightly—was struggling to gather them. Her old, creaky wheelchair groaned with each small movement.
Asari's cold eyes locked onto the scene. He should've walked away. He usually would.
But something made him stop.
With slow, deliberate steps, he approached her.
"Thanks—ah, A-Asari... I didn't expect you to be here," Aicha stammered, her lips curling in a small, surprised smile.
"Bored," he replied flatly.
His tone was void of emotion, but the gesture—however unexpected—was enough to stun Aicha.
"T-thank you... for helping me—even if it wasn't your intention," she whispered while picking up the books he had silently gathered.
Her eyes caught a glimpse of his hands. Scarred, rough, marked with the aftermath of countless fights. She hesitated. Her lips parted to ask—but fear held her back.
Asari looked at her silently. Then without warning, began pushing her wheelchair.
"W-where—wait, n-no need... I can go there by myself," she murmured.
He didn't respond.
He merely said, "Just take my offer."
His voice was cold—like steel in winter—but firm.
Aicha nodded. "I-it's... over there. I-if you really want to help."
Silence settled between them, save for the soft turning of wheels against stone.
Trrrrk... trrrrk...
The rhythm echoed softly down the corridor.
"T-thank you... again," she said, her fingers nervously fiddling with each other. Her voice barely carried. For Aicha, help was a foreign kindness. This moment—simple as it was—meant more than she could explain.
But peace is never long-lasting in Dummer.
A rowdy laugh echoed through the hallway.
Caleus and his group.
"Well, look who we have here! The cripple and the corpse! Hahaha!" Caleus sneered.
Aicha tensed. Her hands clutched the wheels tightly, eyes wide with panic.
Asari did not stop. He pushed forward, ignoring them like ghosts.
"Hey, dumbass! Our boss is talkin' to you! Stop right there!" shouted Albert, one of Caleus' cronies.
"Relax, Albert," Caleus chuckled. "They can't go anywhere."
The group moved in, circling them.
Silence.
A sudden noise—sharp and unnatural—cut through the air.
Shikkkk...
Three bodies dropped to the floor.
No one had seen him move.
Their heads were gone. Blood pooled like ink around their twitching limbs.
Aicha gasped, her face painted in red.
Asari stood motionless, his hand drenched in blood. No blade. Just his bare hand. The scent of iron thickened the hallway.
Caleus stumbled backward. "W-what did you just do!? Y-you... you monster!"
Aicha trembled in her seat. Her heart pounded as she turned to him, eyes wide with horror.
He wore a smile.
Not of joy.
But one only a killer could wear. His eyes held no remorse—only pleasure in the silence that followed violence.
"W-why..." she whispered, her voice shaking.
"They were making me bored," Asari answered simply.
No emotion. No regret.
Caleus turned and ran, his voice trailing behind him. "Y-you're dead! Do you know who I am!?"
Moments later, more footsteps echoed—faster, heavier.
The supervisor had arrived.
A tall man in a crisp coat, his eyes sharp with entitlement. A servant of Caleus' influential family. A puppet placed at the academy to protect the privileged.
He stopped in front of the scene—bodies on the floor, blood splattered across the walls, and Asari standing silently like a grim reaper.
The man looked at Asari.
And took a single step back.
He had seen death before.
But not like this.
Asari's smile faded slowly, his eyes locking onto the supervisor.
"Clean it," he muttered.
The man clenched his teeth, torn between authority and the primal fear screaming in his instincts.
Aicha sat frozen. Her breathing shallow, heart pounding in her ears.
She had never been more afraid.
Yet somewhere deep within that fear... was something else.
A strange warmth.
Because Asari—this devil—had helped her.
Not with kindness. Not with words.
But with action.
The wheels turned again. Slowly. Steadily.
And Asari pushed her forward—leaving silence and corpses behind.