Chapter 62. One Spell at a Time
Succubi Chapter 62. One Spell at a Time
The main class started like yesterday. Mixed session. Four houses—Arcana, Valor, Saint, and Titan—grouped into one massive lecture hall because, the Academy Board believed in “interdisciplinary exposure.” In reality, it just meant crowding a hundred students with wildly different builds, personalities, and attention spans into one polished amphitheater and hoping nobody got incinerated.
We took our usual spots. Evelyn, stone-faced as ever, sat beside me. Leon practically melted into his chair like it owed him a nap. Across the room, I caught sight of Ares.
Yep.
Still alive.
Still tall, broad, and built like someone who’s been doing push-ups since birth.
After yesterday’s duel, where he got served a slice of humble pie so hard, he looked… quieter. Tamer. He didn’t glare. He didn’t trash-talk Leon. He didn’t even acknowledge my existence.
Openly.
But oh, behind my back?
His glare had the heat of a thousand smoldering suns.
Seriously. I could feel it. Every time I moved, it was like I triggered a passive skill called [Aggro: Existential Threat].
That said, his stans were still foaming at the mouth. Two girls from Valor—probably part of his personal fangirl militia—kept whispering and looking over their shoulders at me like I’d committed a capital crime. I didn’t return the look. I didn’t care. I had better things to focus on.
Like the Mysterious Man.
Yeah. Him.
That assassin dude from yesterday’s fight—the one who clashed blades with Evelyn like he came straight out of a moody action anime. He still hadn’t spoken a word. Still wore all black. Still looked like he bought his wardrobe from a store called “99 Shades of Brooding.”
I didn’t know his name. I didn’t want to know.
He had that vibe. The “I eat pain for breakfast and silence for dinner” vibe. The kind of guy who probably had a tragic past, a hidden bloodline, and one-liners for days.
I sighed internally.
‘Valor House...’
Half of them had main character syndrome.
I was a Pride demon—and even I wasn’t that bad. I flexed when I had to. I stayed chill when I didn’t. I had logic. Self-awareness. Boundaries.
I didn’t wear sunglasses indoors or stand in corners like a dramatic wallpaper.
The lecture passed in a blur of announcements and theory reviews. Something about battle formations, field test rotations, and mana exhaustion management. I tuned in, jotted notes with focus, yet… I stared at the clock like it owed me freedom.
Eventually, we split.
The hallway buzzed as students flowed through the corridors, most heading toward their respective wings. My path took me past the shared central atrium—the space between the houses—neutral ground.
Or so they claimed.
That’s where the looks started.
Not subtle ones.
Girls noticed me first.
A few glanced, then did a double take. One elbowed her friend, who peeked at me over her textbook with wide eyes. Another group whispered behind their hands, one of them even adjusting her skirt as I passed.
Yep, Pride demons don’t just walk into a room.
We disrupt it.
Something in the way we carry ourselves—it draws people in. Posture. Eye contact. That ever-present sense of controlled confidence. I wasn’t even trying, and yet, the attention followed me like perfume in the air.
Most of it felt… nice.
Flattering, even.
But not all of it.
Because while some students looked interested, others—specifically the guys—looked like I’d just walked in and announced I was stealing their girlfriends and their scholarships in one go.
And they were probably right.
The dislike came subtle at first. Tight shoulders. Thin-lipped stares. A few muttered comments I didn’t catch but definitely felt. Most of it came from the Valor crowd. A couple Titans too. The kind of guys who already had ego problems and now saw me as some walking threat to their alpha-tier illusions.
I didn’t react. Pride 101: Never acknowledge people below your level unless you're about to crush them.
Eventually, I neared the threshold to Arcana territory.
Instantly, the air shifted.
Less muscle. More focus.
Less noise. More pressure.
Arcana didn’t attract the loud types. It attracted the ones who preferred silence sharp enough to cut. The ones who thought five steps ahead and only smiled when something exploded on purpose.
I stepped across the threshold.
Then slowed.
Because even here—here, in the supposedly logical, refined wing—I still felt eyes on me.
More subtle. Softer. Less territorial.
But definitely present.
Several Arcana girls looked up from their notes as I passed, some blinking like they didn’t expect me to be real. One adjusted her glasses. Another tucked a lock of hair behind her ear with the kind of expression that said she wasn’t used to being the one staring first.
Okay, I could live with that.
But then came the interruption.
Footsteps behind me.
Too heavy. Too deliberate.
I didn’t even need to turn to feel it—hostility rolling in like a wave of cheap cologne and fragile masculinity. And stares that said, “I’m going to whisper curses into your food and smile while you eat it.”
I turned anyway.
Two guys. Valor uniforms. Broad builds. Same height. Same swagger.
The kind of pair that thought they were the main characters of their own movies.
“You got a lot of nerve showing up here,” one of them said.
I raised a brow. “I walked to class. The nerve.”
“Everyone saw what you did yesterday,” the second one said, stepping in just a little too close.
The first guy sneered. “Still don’t know why a bias healer like you’s wasting space in Arcana.”
“Because I’m Arcana, genius.” I tilted my head. “Not Saint. Not Valor. Not your problem.”
“Could’ve fooled us. Playing support for your girl but—”
Before he could finish, a door opened behind us.
“Excuse me,” came a dry voice.
We all turned.
A House Guard. Tall, dark-haired woman in her early twenties, Arcana crest on her sleeve, a tablet in one hand and an expression like she was two seconds from deducting points from everyone’s grades out of spite.
She didn’t blink.
“Why do we have two Valor boys inside Arcana territory?”
They both stiffened.
“We were just—”
“Leaving?” she finished for them.
They nodded stiffly and stepped back.
“Good,” she said. “I’d hate to file an incident report over a turf violation this early in the term.”
They shot me one last glare, but I didn’t even grace it with a reaction. Just a slow blink and the faintest smirk.
They turned and walked off.
The guard arched an eyebrow at me.
“I swear, Valor house breeds villains like it’s a sport,” I muttered.
Her lips twitched. “You’ll fit in fine.”
She turned and vanished back into her office without another word.
“Yeah, I will,” I muttered.
I stepped into the Arcana lounge.
Finally.
Just like yesterday, the place was quiet. Warm. Hushed like a library, but more alive. Light fixtures pulsed gently overhead in rhythm with the house’s ambient wards. A few students sat scattered around—some reading, others typing into floating screens or scribbling complicated diagrams across semi-transparent parchment.
I claimed a seat by the window.
Let out a breath.
And relaxed.
Arcana felt like home.
Not by blood.
Not by legacy.
But by merit.
We were the ones who chased understanding. Who balanced power with precision. We didn’t just throw fireballs—we calculated how and why to throw them, and made sure they bent reality exactly how we wanted.
People could doubt me all they wanted.
They could throw their looks and questions and comments.
I’d still be here.
Learning. Improving. Building.
And proving them wrong.
One spell at a time.
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