"Pizza, you say?"
The Headmaster's grizzled brows raised, curiosity gleaming in his aged eyes as he took another careful bite of the odd yet delectable dish. The melted cheese stretched between his lips and the crust, oozing with sauce and toppings unknown to this realm.
He chewed slowly, savoring the flavors before speaking again.
"Can you explain its origin?"
Dante stiffened for a moment. The truth hovered at the edge of his tongue—he knew full well that pizza wasn't from this world. It was a relic of Earth, his former life, reincarnated through his memories. But this wasn't the time to expose himself.
"Sorry, creator of pizza," he thought in faux-tears, comically mourning the theft. "I've got to wing this one."
He rubbed the back of his head and gave a sheepish grin.
"Honestly? I don't really know," Dante said. "It just seemed like a simple and tasty dish to make. Practical, really."
A murmur rippled across the crowd of students seated in the academy's courtyard, their interest piqued by the unfamiliar cuisine.
"Does it just... come like that?" one curious student asked, cocking his head and pointing to the slice in his hand.
Dante blinked. "As in?"
"Like—is it always chicken, cheese, and pineapples?" the student clarified, taking another enthusiastic bite.
"Oh!" Dante chuckled, now understanding the question. "Nah, you can throw on anything. Beef, fish, wild boar… you name it. The toppings are as flexible as your imagination."
Murmurs grew into louder whispers of interest, as students began brainstorming absurd and luxurious combinations.
Suddenly, a smug voice sliced through the pleasant chatter.
"Anything, you say? Then surely this dish is fit for nobles such as us."
A cocky blonde youth strolled forward, flanked by a clique of similarly highborn students. Their uniforms were pristine, layered with gold trim and silken scarves. Among them, Dante spotted Taka—wrapped in light bandages, still recovering from yesterday's beatdown by the upper-class dragon students.
Dante's eye twitched.
"What do you mean 'fitting for nobles'?" he asked, his tone strained, hiding the bubbling annoyance. As if this dish was somehow exclusive to the elite.
"Oh, please," the blonde boy scoffed. "A meal with such richness and complexity must surely belong in the hands of refined bloodlines. It'd be wasted on commoners."
He offered a half-hearted bow, mockery evident in every movement. "Where are my manners? Lucien. Lucien Voss. Pleased to meet the bastard who cooks."
Dante's brow arched. "Voss? As in the Voss family? The ones with the gold mines?"
Lucien gave a grand flourish. "The one and only."
Dante sighed. "Of course…"
Lucien wasn't done. "Though, I must say, it's quite the surprise to meet Dante Ruthwilfer. The boy who fought the demon—"
"Cut the sugar talk," Dante snapped, his eyes sharp. "Let me make something clear. This dish is simple. It's not some delicacy reserved for gilded forks and velvet napkins. Anyone can make it. Anyone can eat it."
Gasps came from nearby students, startled by Dante's open challenge to the nobility's pride.
"I don't care if you're rich or dirt poor. So get that thick, self-absorbed skull of yours checked."
Lucien's smirk faltered for a moment, and a few students muttered nervously. But Dante turned away, ignoring him entirely, and locked eyes with the academy caterer—who was, quite literally, sneaking away.
"And you," Dante growled.
The man froze mid-step, foot hovering awkwardly. "Uhh… just going to the… library?"
Dante raised an eyebrow. "Library, huh?" The caterer's eyes darted away.
He turned to the Headmaster. "As per our bet, sir—he lost. Time for him to go back to culinary retraining."
The Headmaster's lips curled into an amused smile. "A bet is a bet. You wouldn't run off with your tail between your legs, would you?"
With a sharp tap of his walking stick, magic surged—and a fluffy fox-like tail burst forth from the caterer's rear.
"NOOOOO!!!" the man wailed as laughter erupted all around. Even the teachers couldn't hide their snickering behind cupped hands. The caterer dashed away in shame, tail bouncing.
Far away in the Dragon Realm, within the marbled halls of their citadel, King Giang leaned against a tall obsidian bookshelf, stroking his beard with furrowed brows.
"By Behemoth's horns, this makes no sense," he grumbled. "Even if we amplify our magic fivefold, we still fall short of the old dragons' power."
Queen Xilang stood at the arcane chalkboard, scribbling complex runes and formulas in flowing silver ink. Her eyes glimmered with intellectual fire.
"You're missing the point, my love," she said firmly. "It's not about amplification. It's about elemental balance in a single vessel."
Giang raised a brow. "Water and fire in one body?"
"Exactly," she nodded. "Just like that strange mechanism Dante wields… the gin? Or was it gan? I forget."
She roughly sketched the vague shape of his gun.
"He had two once. Though one was destroyed during that blast at the Ruthwilfer castle."
Giang grimaced, recalling the destruction. "Blew a hole the size of a wyvern's nest. That boy's weapon could raze an army."
"And yet, he fought Lustia, the Sinner of Lust, without a single thread of mana in his body," Xilang murmured with both awe and concern. "The courage that took…"
Giang's voice dropped. "Are you worried about him?"
"Perhaps." She paused. "There's talk—gossip among the humans. That Dante is the illegitimate child of a dark mage. Will Ruthwilfer's mistake."
Giang let out a tired sigh. "That man… always had a soft spot for mischief."
"But Dante," Xilang whispered, "has fire. True fire in him."
Giang chuckled. "He's got the guts, alright. He might do great things—might."
A mischievous glint sparked in Xilang's eyes. "Maybe he's a good fit for our Zhurong, darling."
Giang nearly choked. "What?! No! Not my precious daughter! If that bastard lays a hand on her, I'll show him a real beat down!"
Xilang burst into laughter.
"Too late," she teased. "She already took his hand and placed it on her horns."
"EH?! EH?! EEEEEHHHH!?!?"
His booming voice echoed across the citadel.
Back in Dante's dorm, he let out a loud sneeze.
"Why do I feel like a storm's coming…?"
Indeed it was.
In the demon realm, storm clouds churned as tension brewed. Inside a dark marble chamber, Sinner of Wrath, Taouon, slammed his fist against the granite wall.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, LET HER GROW FIRST?!" he roared.
Domikhael, the Sinner of Pride, reclined leisurely, chewing roasted meat and sipping fine wine.
"She's unripe, Taouon," Domikhael said lazily. "Let her grow. The elf girl's mana foundation hasn't formed. Give it time."
With an effortless stretch, Domikhael strode to the nearby training field. Lifting his massive black longsword, he sliced clean through a grove of trees.
A single swing. The forest disintegrated into ash, flowers and fauna alike obliterated. A lifeless wasteland remained turned in just a blink of an eye.
"And this boy, Dante," Domikhael added, his eyes glowing faintly, "Lustia told you to mention him. To me."
His gaze turned on Taouon. The weight behind his eyes made the air itself freeze.
"Are you mocking me, Taouon? The Sinner of Pride? To be careful against a weak little human child?"
Taouon gritted his teeth but said nothing.
Then, a new presence arrived.
"Silence, insects!"
Queen Malvera entered, slow yet regal, her twisted walking staff striking against the stone with authority. Lustia followed, supporting her frail body.
"Mikhael, you're too full of yourself," Malvera rasped. "Taouon, you doubt too much. And you, Lustia—"
She tapped her staff once.
The ground trembled. All three dropped to their knees under immense pressure. Magic so ancient and dense, it bent reality around her.
"I gave you one order. No interference after our release from the seal. And you, Lustia, disobeyed. Be thankful I'm old and wise. I want to see my son seated on the throne. Strong. Supreme." She said, her eyes glow in a flow of chaos and reckoning.
With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a crystal from Taouon's pocket into her palm.
"This elf." She said. "She is unripe. Let her grow."
She tossed it back Taouon. Her voice turned grave.
"No battles. No exceptions. Save your strength. We wait. Understood?"
They responded in unison:
"Yes, Queen Malvera!"
---
Chapter 15 – End.