"Oh? So you weren’t in class after all?"

When Muen returned to the Martial Duel Arena, he found it shrouded in dimness. All sources of light seemed blocked out.

Only at the center of the arena, a magical device was projecting a scene of two martial artists dueling.

Like a movie screening.

It was obvious: Instructor Kaide must have had them watch footage while he carried the ice-sculpted Koren off to get revenge on the Pink Bear.

For someone like Kaide—who valued class so much he’d scold students just for looking drowsy—to leave his students unsupervised and walk out first, it was clear just how furious he was this time.

But that worked just fine.

Muen walked to the center of the Martial Duel Arena and stepped on the magical device, switching the image off.

Instantly, the entire arena lit up.

None of the students had adjusted yet to the sudden change in lighting. They all turned blankly toward the center of the arena.

Or rather, toward Muen.

"Muen Campbell?"

After a brief silence, someone came to their senses.

Their expression darkened.

"Why are you back?"

"Hmm? Am I not allowed to return?"

Muen looked at them quizzically.

"I do have the right to attend this class, don’t I?"

"If you're here for class, fine, but why ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ did you turn off the footage?"

Someone shouted angrily.

"You disrupted our learning!"

"Heh. Didn’t know you all were such eager learners before."

Muen chuckled, then stepped forward. One step. Another. His footsteps echoed, deliberate.

With each step he took, more students' faces grew strained.

Muen took his time scanning their faces, matching each one to his memory.

Eventually, he stopped near the audience seating.

He grabbed a chair from the stands, placed it behind him, and sat.

Then he faced them all.

"Me? I used to be trash."

As Muen’s words dropped, everyone froze.

They didn’t expect him to insult himself right off the bat.

What was this act—some strategy to flaunt how wild he was by self-destructing?

Muen ignored them and went on.

"But now, I don’t want to be trash."

"Still, there are people who think I am."

"I don’t blame them. People hold onto impressions. Changing how others see you... takes time."

"So I’m trying. Sure, the results have been... minimal. But I really am trying."

"My original plan was not to come back. I mean, what’s a few insults? I’m used to it. I could’ve just endured it and moved on. Honestly, that would’ve helped maintain an image of being broad-minded."

"But you know... that crap gets under your skin."

"Like a certain domineering club president said: looking like a kicked dog—it’s disgusting. So I came back."

"And since I’m back, no way I’m letting this slide."

"Before, those people insulted me and I couldn’t do anything. Because in a way, they were talking about the old me. They weren’t wrong. But—"

Muen suddenly grinned, looking genuinely amused.

"Isn’t it funny? I couldn’t touch them... but I can touch you."

"After all—

Wasn’t it you who said: 'If you do something wrong, you should apologize'?"

"What are you getting at?"

Someone shouted sharply.

"You gonna take on all of us?!"

"That’s not quite right. I counted—there are only thirty-five of you."

Muen’s expression turned cold as he raised a hand and pointed toward them.

"I know most of you were just following the crowd, chasing a thrill, or trying to fit in.

But—

Just like when you saw me as the oppressor and demanded I apologize...

Now the roles have flipped.

You’re the oppressors, and I’m the one being oppressed...

So isn’t it your turn, one by one, to apologize?"

The moment his words ended—

The arena fell silent.

Everyone seemed stunned by the sheer audacity of this golden-haired young man.

Apologize?

All of them?

Didn’t he understand that no one punishes the crowd?

Even teachers wouldn’t reprimand an entire group like this!

"Muen Campbell, you’re too full of yourself!"

Unable to stomach the humiliation, one of the most vocal students slammed a desk and stood up.

"Even if there are only thirty-five of us, we each come from noble families! Even if you’re a duke’s son, you can't—"

"Teck Rod, right?"

Muen cut him off mid-sentence.

The one called Teck Rod hadn’t expected to hear his name suddenly. His face twisted with discomfort.

"I remember you. Son of an earl. Prestigious lineage. The Rod family has influence across Belrand."

"Since you know—"

"But you have three older brothers, don’t you?"

Muen added lightly.

"That makes you the fourth in line, right?"

Teck paled. "So what?"

Muen didn’t respond. He just smiled slightly.

Then—

"Brofen Ted, sixth son of Marquis Ted."

"Gucci Sloane, fifth son of Earl Sloane."

"And..."

He listed name after name. By the time he had nearly gone through all thirty-five, he clapped his hands and said:

"Alright, for those of you I called—

Tell me this...

Can you really represent your family?"

"......"

Not a word.

But everyone knew the answer.

Of course not.

Most noble families had a dozen children or more, just to ensure succession.

Only the Campbell family was the odd one out—single heir, single line.

Most of those here were far down the line of succession, many not even fifth in line.

Represent their family?

Impossible.

If they died, their families wouldn’t even flinch.

"Get it now?"

Muen stood, facing the thirty-five students. His expression was ice-cold. For once, he revealed the pride and cruelty of a duke’s heir.

"This is the difference between being a duke’s son... and being the duke’s only son.

Well—

Maybe soon I won’t be the only heir anymore.

But until then—"

He clenched his fist, as if crushing power and authority into his palm.

"I, Muen Campbell, am the Duke of Campbell. I am the name Campbell itself.

To insult me is to insult the house of Campbell!"

His voice hit like a warhammer, smashing into each of their hearts.

Their faces drained of color, turning paper-pale.

Because Muen was right—he could represent his family.

They couldn’t.

And their families sure as hell wouldn’t offend a future duke just to protect them.

"So now...

Any of you got something to say?"

Muen swept his gaze around. No one replied.

Satisfied, he nodded.

"Looks like you all agree with me. In that case..."

He pointed casually at the closest one—Teck.

"You start. Come here."

"......"

Under the pitiful gazes of the others, Teck, though unwilling, slowly shuffled toward Muen.

His body trembled like a leaf. His face looked like he’d lost his entire family.

Finally, standing before Muen, he seemed unable to bear the pressure anymore and shouted through tears:

"Muen Campbell, what do you want from me?! Money?! Land?!"

"Money? Land?"

Muen tilted his head in genuine confusion. "What?"

"You're not taking money or land?!"

Teck’s eyes bulged in terror.

"Then... you want my sister?! You monster, she’s only eight!"

"I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but didn’t I already say? I want you all to apologize."

Muen placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed down.

"Apologize, got it? Be sincere. Sound humble. And most importantly...

Bend that waist properly."

"And remember—next time you feel like preaching from your little moral high ground...

Be careful not to slip and twist your back."

——

——

"He really just wants an apology?"

In a corner of the arena, Ariel watched everything unfold and curled her lip in disdain.

"So boring. I thought he’d break their legs or something."

"Hmm?"

While muttering to herself, Ariel glanced sideways.

Someone had just slipped out the back door in a hurry.

She caught a glimpse of a narrow, monkey-like face.

"More Muen Campbell drama again?"

Ariel thought for a second, then looked away.

"Whatever. His business isn’t mine."

She smiled softly and stroked the sound-transmission stone in her hand.

"I need to think carefully about what I’ll say next time I call my darling..."