Sakolomé had taken the time to help Leyla get into the taxi. He watched her walk away in the light of the headlights before turning on his heels and going home. Once inside his apartment, he closed the door with a slow gesture, took off his jacket and let it fall onto a chair. Shirtless, he sat on the edge of the bed, his phone in hand.
The screen glowed faintly in the dim light. No new messages. The mysterious contact who had reached out to him the previous night still had not replied.
Sakolomé sighed, placed his phone beside him, and stared at the ceiling for a moment. No matter who you are… tomorrow will already be long enough without you.
He let himself fall backward onto the bed, his thoughts drifting toward the day ahead: his first day at the academy, as the official trainer for the Nemesis system magic.
The next day – one hour before classes start
Sakolomé adjusted the collar of his white shirt in front of the mirror. His reflection returned the image of a man ready to command respect:
A long black double-breasted coat fell to his knees. The belt with a buckle marked his waist, accentuating the strict line of the outfit. An impeccably tied black tie contrasted with the bright whiteness of the shirt. Classic lapels, carefully aligned buttons, and fitted cuffs completed the appearance of cold authority.
Walking across the academy's cobblestone courtyard, he felt the weight of this new role. In front of the large carved wooden door, he stopped, his hand resting on the handle. On the other side, a buzzing of voices, muffled laughter… his future students.
He took a deep breath, then pushed the door open.
An instantaneous silence fell over the room. Dozens of eyes fixed on him. Several whispers broke the quiet:
— Is he our teacher?
— Doesn't he look a little… too young?
— I feel like we're going to have a lot of fun.
Sakolomé crossed the room confidently, reached the desk, took a marker, and wrote in neat handwriting:
"Sakolomé Satsujin Otoko"
The name sparked a palpable tension. Some students exchanged nervous glances. Satsujin Otoko… a name that, in some circles, evoked a bloody past.
Turning toward them, he smiled calmly, almost reassuringly:
— Hello everyone. I hope you're doing well. I am Sakolomé Satsujin Otoko… and I will be your trainer for the manipulation of the Nemesis system. I hope we get along… until the end of the year.
A slight silence followed, charged with expectation.
— So… any questions?
No sooner had Sakolomé finished speaking than a finger rose in the room. A slender hand, nails painted a glossy black. He followed the line up to a young woman with dark blue hair, almost abyssal, who seemed to absorb the light.
— Yes, he said calmly. Introduce yourself first, then say what you have to say.
She rose with a fluid, confident movement. Her appearance was striking: a short green top, revealing a slim waist, and matching panties bordering on provocation. Her gaze, for its part, shone with a spark that Sakolomé immediately recognized: that of people who never doubt themselves.
— I'm Wendy, twenty-one years old, she announced in a confident voice. I don't know if you can say I'm average at manipulating the system… but for my part, I'd say I'm already at the expert level.
A murmur ran through the room. Sakolomé remained impassive, although a fleeting thought crossed his mind.
Expert level, huh…
Wendy crossed her arms and added, with a deliberately sharp tone:
— I'd like to know… are you really a Satsujin Otoko? And… aren't you a little too young to be a professor? Isn't the director making a joke on us?
The whispers intensified. Some students stifled a laugh, others stared at Sakolomé with curiosity.
He sighed lightly, a barely perceptible smile on his lips. At least, she has the merit of being direct… Her character reminds me a bit of Salomé: overly confident, way too much.
He raised his head and fixed his gaze into Wendy's. His voice was calm, but every word carried measured weight:
— Yes, I am indeed a Satsujin Otoko. And for your other question… age has never been a measure of skill. If the director chose me, it is because I have the level to teach you things you do not yet know. You are twenty-one, aren't you? And yet you proclaim yourself an expert. You should understand that I might be in the same case as you… or even above.
A mocking smile stretched Wendy's lips. She chuckled softly before saying:
— Ah… I seriously doubt you're up to my level, Mr. Satsujin Otoko. However… if you don't have the skills to surpass me, know that I will never respect you. Am I clear?
She sat back down without a thank you, without another glance. The silence weighed heavily. Some students exchanged incredulous looks.
Sakolomé closed his eyes for a moment, his impassive expression hiding a cold thought:
This girl… She has probably never known defeat.
No sooner had Wendy crossed her legs and resumed her seat than another hand rose, this time on the opposite side of the room. A boy with spiky red hair, casual in appearance, was chewing gum.
— Yeah, I'm Kenji, twenty years old. I have a question, professor. If you really are a Satsujin Otoko, that means you've… you know… done some serious stuff?
The room held its breath. Several students exchanged nervous glances. Sakolomé raised an eyebrow slightly.
— Serious stuff? What do you mean by that? he asked calmly.
Kenji shrugged, a provocative smile on his face:
— Well… your clan has a bad reputation, right? Murders, wars, assassinations… that kind of thing. I just want to know if we should fear you… or not.
A heavy silence fell in the room. Some students chuckled discreetly, others stared at Sakolomé to see his reaction. He smiled softly, without a sign of annoyance:
— Fear someone because they might be dangerous is like fearing fire without knowing if it's lit. The question, Kenji, is rather: are you ready to learn, or to judge? Because in this class, it isn't my past that matters… but what you will be capable of doing tomorrow.
Kenji blinked, surprised. Some admiring murmurs arose.
Suddenly, a female voice intervened, soft but firm:
— Professor, my name is Lina, nice to meet you. I just have… a technical question. They say the Nemesis system chooses its holders based on their latent potential. Is that true? Or… can it be manipulated by influential clans like… yours?
A shiver ran through the room. Wendy threw a sly smile, waiting for the answer. Sakolomé crossed his arms, his gaze becoming more serious:
— Good question, Lina. The Nemesis system does not obey human whims. Neither money nor influence can corrupt it. If someone tells you otherwise, they lie… or they do not understand how it works. The system chooses those who dare to go beyond their limits. Not those born with a name.
Lina nodded, visibly satisfied.
But immediately, another hand rose. This time, a tall boy with a predatory smile:
— I'm Ryker. Just a little curiosity… You said "teach." But… if one day a student beats you, what will you do? Will you keep playing teacher or will you leave the class?
A murmur of excitement rose. The question had the barely veiled scent of a challenge. Sakolomé stared at him for a long moment, then smiled calmly:
— If a student surpasses me… I will congratulate him. Because that will mean he understood my lesson even before I finish it. But before getting there, Ryker… you will have to survive what I have to teach you.
A lead silence fell, before some nervous laughter burst out. Ryker looked away, a smirk on his lips.
Sakolomé continued, his voice steady:
— Good. If anyone else has questions, now is the time. After that… we start.
As Sakolomé prepared to begin the lesson, considering all questions answered, a hand suddenly rose.
— Sir… I have a question.
The tone was grave, almost absent. Sakolomé turned and saw a young man dressed in black, with short hair. His gaze, a golden orange, seemed to burn with a strange light, but his features remained impassive.
— Go ahead, introduce yourself first, then ask your question, Sakolomé said calmly.
The young man stood without hesitation:
— My name is Dan. I'm 23 years old. My question is simple… If we learn to master the system to its maximum… will we be able to perform miracles?
A heavy silence filled the room. Sakolomé frowned lightly. The question seemed innocent, but there was something else behind it… something personal.
— What kind of miracle do you mean exactly? he asked.
Dan lowered his eyes, his face marked by deep melancholy.
— … I can't say it in front of everyone.
Then, lifting his head, he added:
— Could I speak to you alone after class?
No sooner had he finished than a mocking voice burst from the left side:
— No, but… who does he think he is?
All eyes converged on Wendy. She crossed her arms, an arrogant smile on her lips:
— Seriously, Dan, what can be so "serious" to say? And your question is ridiculous: yes, you can do miracles with the system. You're just trying to make yourself interesting.
Dan remained unmoved, as if her words slid off him. But Wendy, unsatisfied, turned to Sakolomé:
— And you, our so-called professor… how can you still ask what kind of miracle he means? Manipulation of the system already breaks the laws of physics. That should be clear, right?
The room held its breath. Sakolomé kept a long silence, thoughtful. Wendy… you think you know everything, but you have no idea how wrong you are. Even the mana of the greatest mythical beings has its barriers. Some miracles… cannot be bought with power. And the Nemesis system, compared to that… remains an imitation, a limited tool.
He snapped out of his thoughts and declared in a calm but sharp tone:
— Wendy… to be honest, you still have a lot to learn about the system.
She widened her eyes, outraged:
— How dare you say that?! You want to provoke me?
— Not at all, he replied calmly. But remember this: nothing is absolute. Even the Nemesis system has limits. And you have no idea how many they are.
Wendy burst out laughing, almost nervously:
— Hahaha! You just want to play mysterious, huh? Then go ahead, give me an example of what the system cannot do… and I'll do it right before your eyes, professor!
Dan intervened, his icy voice cutting through the air:
— Wendy. Shut up. You're becoming… annoying.
She straightened abruptly, her gaze fiery:
— Say that again and see what happens?!
Sakolomé held out his hand, his aura imposing immediate silence:
— Calm down, both of you.
Wendy stared at him challengingly:
— I don't take orders from you!
Dan, unperturbed, sat back down and resumed in a neutral tone:
— So, Mr. Sakolomé… as agreed, after class?
— Exactly, Dan.
Then he turned his gaze to Wendy, an enigmatic smile on his lips:
— And you, Wendy… you claimed to have great experience with the system. Later, I count on you not to disappoint me.
She sat down with a sharp clack of the chair, crossing her arms, her face closed off in a sulky pout.