The Academy's Terminally Ill Side Character-Chapter 304: Show For The Protagonist [4]

The Rose Dragon.

A chimera born from the twisted brilliance of the alchemist known as the Rose Alchemist—one of his many failed attempts to reach perfection.

Forged from the bones of a dragon and the essence of a rose, it was a strange, haunting beauty. Its scales shimmered faintly like petals under moonlight, and from its spine sprouted thorned vines that dripped with crimson sap.

It wasn't as strong as a true dragon, of course—but it was still a high-ranked monster, leagues above the Beetle from the Man-Faced Tree dungeon Leo and I had cleared before.

And yet… it fell easily.

Or rather, Zaho Yuren, the one borrowing my body, made it look effortless.

—Hmm. Easier than I expected, his voice murmured in my head, calm and detached. Power without intellect is like a sword without a hand to wield it. The creature was bound by the plant's instincts, not the dragon's will. It could never fully harness the energy it was given.

He was right, of course. The fight hadn't been a contest—it had been an execution.

Still, watching it crumble felt unreal.

Even as its massive body dissolved into ash and rose petals, I couldn't shake the weight of what it was.

A high-ranked monster.

Strictly speaking, that meant a disaster-class creature—something that could wipe out towns if left unchecked. Normally, encountering one would be a death sentence.

Sure, there were higher classifications—high-disaster and ultimate-disaster—monsters so rare that they were practically myths. But this one, even as an imperfect imitation, still radiated the kind of power that made the air itself shudder.

And Zaho Yuren—using my body like it was his own—had cut it down without hesitation.

I should've been impressed.

But instead, as I stood there, staring at the petals drifting through the air, all I could think was—

Just how much of this body's strength… is actually mine?

—Tsk. Anyway, what are you going to do now? Why did you beat up the clone you created?

'Ah, they'll be here soon.'

—Your friends?

'Yeah. They'll probably lose it if they see me looking like I've been beaten.'

—…And then what?

'I'll let them think I'm dead. They'll rush in, all emotional and dramatic. Then I'll cough, get up, and say the perfect line to wrap it all up.'

—…I don't understand. Why do you have to put on such a show?

'Well…'

As I spoke casually with Zaho Yuren, I could already feel it—the faint ripples of mana, the sound of hurried footsteps crunching through the snow.

They were close.

'It's like a signal announcing the arrival of the academy's cheerful troublemaker squad,' I thought wryly.

[Have you arrived?]

The familiar voice echoed faintly through the communication link.

Ryen and his group had made it.

I stayed still, half-lying in the snow beside the wreckage of my own clone.

From where I was, I could sense their confusion first—then panic. They had spotted "me," lying motionless, covered in blood. The fake Rin, my clone, had done its job too well.

Their emotions spiked in an instant—shock, anger, grief. The whole range.

Even from here, I could feel Ryen's mana flare uncontrollably.

'Ah, perfect. Just as planned.'

The clone's illusion was holding up beautifully. Its chest had stopped moving, the body already cooling under the frost. Every detail screamed death scene.

And, right on cue, my friends were taking the bait.

I almost felt bad watching them charge forward, but this was necessary.

A scene needed weight to sell the story.

And besides—

'If I don't make it look convincing, they'll never stop lecturing me later.'

I sighed quietly, brushing a bit of dust off my shoulder, and prepared for my grand reappearance.

----

Their individual skills were impressive—each move sharp, trained, and powerful. But despite the intensity of their attacks, there was something hollow about them. No rhythm. No unity.

They moved like pieces from different puzzles forced onto the same board.

Since they'd never trained together, it was obvious their teamwork would be rough, but this was worse than I expected. Their emotions had completely taken over—rage, fear, guilt—all mixing into one messy cocktail that made them sloppy.

Instead of supporting one another, they got in each other's way.

One plus one doesn't always make two.

A coordinated attack between skilled allies could become ten—sometimes even a hundred. But when that coordination fell apart, when they let emotion dictate their rhythm, it could drop below zero.

And right now, they were firmly in the negative.

[A mess.]

The thought—or rather, Zaho Yuren's voice—slipped through my head as easily as breath.

The moment I sidestepped Lena's punch, light as a whisper, Leona's sword came crashing down—straight toward her own professor.

They both froze, eyes widening in panic, and that single instant of hesitation was all it took.

The battlefield shifted.

From beneath our feet, the shadows stretched, thin as silk, wrapping around their legs like living ropes.

Black Shadow.

They stumbled, hit the ground hard, snow scattering into the cold air.

[Disappointing. Is this really the level of Velcrest Academy?]

Zaho's voice echoed in my mind, laced with quiet contempt.

And though it was technically him speaking, the words came from my mouth—our voices overlapping like one distorted tone.

I wasn't just hearing him anymore; I was moving with him.

Our fusion blurred the boundary between thought and instinct. Zaho's cold precision merged with my human impulses, creating something sharp, fluid, dangerous.

Every strike felt effortless. Every motion perfectly measured.

It was intoxicating.

'…Not bad,' I admitted silently, watching the two scramble to their feet, their eyes flickering with panic.

The wind carried the sharp scent of metal and magic. My heart beat in sync with Zaho's rhythm.

For the first time, I could see why he loved the fight so much.

[Not bad,] Zaho's voice hummed through me, smooth as steel dragged across silk. [But your hesitation is leaking through. You're still holding back.]

'I'm not trying to kill them,' I muttered under my breath, shifting my stance as Rachel's blade swept past my shoulder. The attack was clean—precise—but predictable.

Zaho scoffed. [Then make them believe you could.]

The next motion wasn't mine. My body twisted on its own, feet sliding over the frozen stone like it was water. Zaho moved us with terrifying grace. The world slowed; the sound of wind, boots, and spells blurred together into a hum.

In a heartbeat, I was behind Rachel. She froze, realizing too late.

The tip of Lan—the Soul-Bound Staff—rested against the back of her neck, humming with dark mana. Just a light push, and—

I pulled it back. "That's enough."

[Enough? They still think you're the enemy. End it.]

'No. I'm not crossing that line.'

Zaho went quiet for a moment, the kind of silence that felt heavier than any scolding. Then, finally, he spoke again—low, almost disappointed.

[You're still clinging to the idea that mercy keeps you human. It doesn't. It just makes you slow.]

I ignored him, breathing out through my teeth as I glanced at the group. Lena was dragging Leona back, Rachel's blade trembled in her hands, and even Ryen—always the one who charged headfirst—was hesitating.

They were scared.

Not of the monster.

Of me.

The masked man who had just slaughtered the Rose Dragon and was now standing over Rin's corpse.

But I need to do this.

Due to involvement in the novel plot, Ryen the protagonist doesn't have enough drive anymore.

So, it's time to give him a drive.

Ryen's vision swam, his mind struggling to make sense of what he was seeing.

Rin's body—no, his friend's body—was sprawled lifeless in the snow. And the masked figure who stood above him… was moving like something out of a nightmare.

Every motion was too clean. Too perfect. There was no wasted effort, no anger, no hesitation—just precision. The kind that only came from someone used to killing.

Leona's sword shattered into frost before it even reached the target. Rachel's blade had been parried so fast her arm went numb from the shockwave. Even Professor Lena, whose mana manipulation was second to none, had been caught off-balance.

And through it all, the masked man barely looked interested.

He wasn't fighting to win.

He was demonstrating.

A predator surrounded by prey—showing them how hopeless it was.

Ryen clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms. His pulse pounded in his ears, and his breathing came out ragged.

It felt wrong. Unfair. Unreal.

No one should move like that.

The man's shadow swirled under his feet, spreading across the floor like ink. Each step he took left faint cracks in the frost, as though the ground itself was afraid to hold his weight.

He was toying with them.

And it was working.

Rachel stumbled backward, chest heaving. Leona's flames flickered out. Kiera's barrier cracked like thin glass. Even Nora's healing light, the one constant beacon among them, trembled under the oppressive air.

Then, that voice again—calm, flat, and cold enough to burn.

[You all look so pitiful.]

The words weren't loud, but they sliced through the silence like a blade.

[All that power. All that training. And still—you break this easily?]

His gaze swept across them, but Ryen could feel it land on him in particular. A weight like lead pressing against his chest.

[You.]

The masked man pointed, and Ryen flinched before he could stop himself.

[You were the first to speak. The first to question. The loudest one when you thought you were brave.]

Ryen gritted his teeth, anger sparking through the fear. "What's your point?"

[My point?] The masked head tilted slightly. [You talk like a hero but stand like a coward. You don't move, even when your friend lies dead at your feet.]

The words hit harder than any physical blow.

Ryen wanted to scream that it wasn't true—that he couldn't move, that this oppressive aura was like chains locking his body in place—but deep down, he knew it wasn't just the aura.

It was doubt.

Doubt that he could do anything against something like this.

[Do you want revenge?]

The question came almost lazily, but it dug deep.

Ryen froze. "…What?"

[Revenge. Isn't that what humans crave when they lose something?]

The masked man's tone was mocking now, the faint curl of amusement undercutting the ice.

[You can scream, you can cry, you can swing your sword all you like. But as long as you do it from weakness—]

He raised his hand.

The shadows on the floor twisted and rose like tendrils, coiling toward Ryen's throat.

[—you'll never reach me.]

At that moment, Something inside Ryen snapped.