The morning sunlight was still gentle, shining down on the open gravel ground in front of the old dormitory.
Ange stood there, making an effort to straighten her back, trying to maintain at least a somewhat respectable first impression in front of the new students.
The Demon Hunter Attire she hadn’t worn in six years clung tightly to her body, especially around the chest, where she felt a noticeable sense of constriction that made it hard for her to breathe.
No way… A terrible thought surfaced in her mind, causing beads of cold sweat to form on her forehead.
These six years… could it be… they really did… grow again?!
She instinctively wanted to look down and check, but felt the gesture would be too unseemly, so she forcibly restrained herself.
A strong urge surged up in her to rush back to her room and change out of this damn outfit immediately, but the reality was, her accustomed Work Uniform was currently enjoying a Bubble Bath in the Logistics Department, and her wardrobe truly didn’t have a second set of clothes that could even barely keep up appearances.
Looks like I’ll have to shamelessly ask Sister Tazi for help later… she lamented inwardly.
At that moment, a rather ordinary-looking black sedan silently came to a stop right in front of her.
Ange took a deep breath, trying to suppress the discomfort in her chest.
Facing this last, personality-unknown student, at first she considered putting on the airs of a former First Demon Hunter, but then thought better of it.
After all, her dignity had already been completely wiped out in front of Huayin, she had even experienced being a Maid and a Princess Carry; pretending any further would only give that red-haired brat more chances to mock her mercilessly, making her the laughingstock.
Forget it, just go with the flow. She thought, resigned. At worst… another fight.
She was already mentally prepared, even secretly planning out her battle strategy.
As long as the other party didn’t go overboard like Huayin and make her want to kick them in the crotch, she’d still try to use a “gentler” method of education.
The car door opened, and a figure stepped out.
The sedan then silently drove away, having completed yet another ordinary delivery.
Seeing who it was, Ange paused in surprise.
Standing there was a black-haired girl.
Her hair was as dark as night, neatly draped over her shoulders.
She wasn’t even wearing a Demon Hunter Attire suited for action, but instead a standard, pristine female student uniform—a black seifuku top, a deep-colored pleated skirt, and black socks covering her slender legs.
She stood there with impeccable posture, hands properly holding what looked like a black briefcase, her demeanor upright but tinged with an indescribable sense of restraint, like a transfer student lost in an unfamiliar environment.
Most striking were her eyes—deep, black pupils that hardly reflected any light.
So… normal? Ange actually felt a little out of place.
Compared to the over-energetic Ingrid Beltans and the fiery, easily agitated Huayin, this new student seemed as quiet as an ink painting.
However, this semblance of normalcy was instantly shattered the moment the girl spoke.
The black-haired girl lifted those ancient-well-like black eyes, gazing directly at Ange.
Her voice was clear and calm, with no hint of provocation, yet it carried a seriousness that brooked no argument.
“Miss Ange, it’s our first meeting. Please fight me.”
Ange: “…?”
She nearly thought she’d misheard. She was familiar with this process, but wasn’t the opening line a little off?
The girl continued explaining, her tone still as steady as if she were stating an objective fact.
“I do not underestimate you, but for the sake of safety—as the teacher I will need to entrust my back to in the future—I must confirm that you indeed possess power far surpassing mine. Otherwise, I will not be at ease.”
Ange blinked, taking half a second to digest the words. Well, the reasoning was strange, but the request was clear—she wanted to fight.
Fine, a fight it is. She sighed inwardly, already well-accustomed to this sequence of events.
With a flick of her wrist, her familiar Gunblade slid into her palm.
She habitually wanted to observe the other’s opening move to determine her fighting style.
However, just as she raised her eyelids—
The girl in the seifuku, who seemed to have been standing there all along as an afterimage, had already—without a sound—appeared right in front of Ange.
The distance between them was so close, they could almost feel each other’s breath.
So fast!
Ange’s violet pupils shrank sharply. This speed far exceeded her expectations.
The black-haired girl still maintained that reserved posture, but at some point, the “briefcase” in her hand had unfolded and transformed into a long katana, sheathed in a plain sheath.
Her left hand gripped the sheath steadily, right hand’s five fingers poised lightly on the hilt.
Her body sank slightly, weight tilting forward—a textbook Draw Slash stance.
The whole process was utterly silent, almost too fast to follow.
Only then did her tranquil voice finally sound, as if lagging behind the action, quietly reporting her name.
“Sakika, Miss Ange.”
As her words fell, a concentrated killing intent, tangible as a blade drawn from its sheath, locked firmly onto Ange.
Ange sighed silently in her heart.
Her only hope now was that her Magic Mark wouldn’t activate—not at a time like this, at least.