The bell marking the end of the final magic history lecture of the afternoon echoed melodiously throughout the academy.
Unlike most students who immediately swarmed toward the cafeteria or returned to their dormitories, Greg sat alone in the now-empty classroom for a while, allowing his thoughts to settle.
Then, he stood up, left the classroom, and walked through the corridors dyed orange-red by the setting sun, finally stopping before an oak door inlaid with the academy's emblem.
This was the Student Council office.
Once upon a time, he had thought he would likely never have any connection to a place like this in his life.
Yet, through a twist of fate, he had not only entered it but had also spent a period of time—neither particularly long nor especially short—carrying the somewhat incongruous title of Disciplinary Committee member.
Now, when it was truly time to leave, he suddenly felt a slight sense of nostalgia.
"I'm not some sentimental fool, so why am I getting all emotional?"
Greg chuckled self-mockingly in his heart.
He knew this was merely the human tendency to cling to the familiarity of the past when faced with change.
But he knew even better that instead of indulging in this false nostalgia for his comfort zone, he should take another step forward.
He took a deep breath, and that faint sentimentality was quickly replaced by a firmer resolve.
No longer hesitating, he pushed open the heavy door.
Creak—
The sound of the hinges turning was exceptionally clear in the relatively quiet evening corridor.
The scene inside the office came into view.
Deep red carpets, bookshelves lined against the walls, a long conference table, and figures scattered about, either busy with work or engaged in conversation.
Because Greg had sat in the classroom for a bit before coming over, almost all the core members of the Student Council were already present.
In the most prominent position sat Vivian, the President, just as she did every evening.
Her ice-blue hair was meticulously tied back, revealing her smooth forehead and the perfect lines of her profile.
She kept her head slightly lowered, focused on the stack of documents before her. Her quill pen glided smoothly across the parchment, making a soft scratching sound.
The afternoon sun streamed through the tall stained-glass window behind her, casting dappled light and shadow over her. It made her look like an exquisite, cold ice sculpture, radiating an aura of aloofness that kept others at a distance.
On the other side of the conference table, the trio of boys who had once mocked Greg mercilessly were still in their usual seats.
However, today, the moment Greg pushed the door open, the three of them stiffened almost reflexively. Their eyes darted away, and their faces no longer held even a hint of their former contempt or disdain; instead, they were filled with a sense of dread.
Ever since they had personally witnessed Greg standing by the remains of the Undead Knight in the Central Catacombs, his body radiating an invisible pressure, their perception of him had been completely overturned, followed by a massive sense of lingering fear.
They were terrified that Greg had come to settle old scores and hold them accountable for their past disrespectful words and actions.
As for the girls who used to cluster around Yelena, saying "Dear sister, we support you!" in voices cloyingly sweet—who in reality hadn't harbored much goodwill toward Greg—their reactions were now entirely different.
Upon seeing Greg appear, their eyes lit up almost instantly.
They immediately dropped what they were doing and swarmed over like a kaleidoscope of butterflies, blocking Greg near the entrance.
"Greg! Good afternoon! Was class tiring?"
"Greg, you're finally here! We've been waiting for you for so long!"
"We heard about what happened before. It was so dangerous! You weren't hurt, were you? We were so worried!"
"Exactly! You can't do such dangerous things anymore! If you need help with anything, you must tell us!"
The chirping voices instantly surrounded Greg. Various fawning gestures and subtle probes rushed toward him like a tide.
The scents of perfume and powder mixed together, forming a heady, warm current.
"......"
Watching this overly enthusiastic scene, the corner of Greg's mouth twitched imperceptibly. A strong sense of déjà vu rose in his heart.
However, unlike that morning in the classroom when Vivian eventually appeared to resolve the situation, the Vivian currently seated in the President's chair acted as if she hadn't noticed the minor commotion at the door at all.
She didn't even lift her head. Her ice-blue eyes remained fixed on the documents in front of her, and the movement of her quill pen was steady without the slightest pause, as if the boy being treated like a star and the girls surrounding him were merely irrelevant background noise.
Instead, it was the petite Yelena, looking like an exquisite doll, who immediately stood up from her seat upon seeing the situation.
She walked over with light, quick steps, her face showing a mix of appropriate concern and a hint of helplessness. She extended her slender arms and, with a strength that belied her small stature, separated the girls surrounding Greg one by one.
"Alright, alright, everyone. Don't crowd around Junior Greg like this."
Yelena's voice was crisp and sweet.
"He just went through such a battle; he definitely needs rest. If you crowd him like this, it'll make him uncomfortable!"
Her words sounded perfectly reasonable. Though the girls were somewhat reluctant, they grumbled and dispersed a bit, though their eyes remained fixed intently on Greg.
Only then did Yelena turn around, tilting her small face up to look at Greg. A flash of playful reproach appeared in her light brown eyes, quickly replaced by deeper concern.
She put her hands on her hips, putting on the cute persona of a very angry senior, and scolded him in a low voice.
"When we parted last time, I specifically told you to get some proper rest. But look at you! You turned around and did something so dangerous! Do you have any idea how worried I was when I heard?!"
After the scolding, she immediately leaned in closer, her voice even softer and filled with genuine worry.
"How is it? Are you really not hurt? Why don't you ignore Student Council matters for the next few days and rest properly? I can handle your work for you in the meantime."
Faced with Yelena's sincere concern, Greg felt a slight warmth in his heart.
He shook his head, his tone softening.
"Thank you for your concern, Senior. I'm truly fine. It was just some superficial wounds and mana depletion. I'm much better now."
He paused before continuing.
"Actually, the main reason I came here today is to... resign from my position as a Disciplinary Committee member. From today onward, I intend to formally leave the Student Council."
As the words fell, a brief silence filled the office.
Snap.
A very faint sound came from the President's seat.
The tip of the quill pen in Vivian's hand seemed to have pressed down heavily on the parchment unconsciously, leaving behind an unsightly ink blot.
Rate on N.U.
