It didn't take long before Al arrived at the designated room.

The atmosphere inside the principal's office felt unnaturally cold, as though the air itself had been stripped of warmth and emotion.

The moment Al stepped in, his eyes immediately focused on the four men seated with rigid composure—each one radiating an overwhelming aura of dominance and power.

They were dressed in expensive suits, exuding the scent of authority and influence, like shareholders of an empire awaiting the verdict of their next acquisition.

The Principal sat apart, occupying a separate sofa—his posture tense, his gaze darting cautiously between the visitors and Al.

Directly across from him sat Lefon Tamarvich, Idham's father—a man clad in an immaculate tailored suit, sharp-eyed and unnervingly calm. His presence alone carried the air of someone accustomed to having others bow before him.

Between Lefon and the Principal was a long sofa occupied by two men.

On the right sat a man in semi-casual attire, though his face bore a resemblance to Jogo's—his physique, however, was larger, stronger, more rugged. There was no mistake; this had to be Jogo's father.

And on the left sat one of the most irritating man Al could ever recognize even from miles away—Darius Norvalien, Rudi's father.

His flamboyant style was unmatched. His entire body shimmered with luxury—designer brands, precious metals, and an abundance of unnecessary glitter that screamed look at me.

Both men glared at Al with unrestrained hostility, their eyes burning with anger and murderous intent.

Al stared back blankly, unmoved.

Ohoo... Darius Norvalien. Look at that style. Even when his family is standing on the edge of collapse, he still feels the need to flaunt his wealth. Haha. He thought

So... is he here to take revenge for what happened back at the restaurant? Or maybe Daraka already told him that I was the one who hurt his son? Hmph. Interesting. This might be entertaining after all, an amused glint flashing in his eyes.

But instead of acting recklessly, Al decided to observe and understand the situation first.

Alright then... let's see what kind of cards you're planning to play here, he mused with a faint smile.

He stepped further into the room, giving a brief, polite nod.

"Good morning, Principal," he greeted, directing his respect only toward the school head. "You called for me?"

The Principal looked as though he wanted to respond, but someone else spoke first.

"Look at him—he doesn't even know proper manners," Lefon remarked coldly. His tone wasn't sharp, but the condescension was obvious.

Jogo's father nodded in agreement.

"Even after seeing us, he doesn't acknowledge our presence? Does he think we're commoners? How unrefined. No sense of etiquette at all. Kids like him don't belong in elite environments such as this school," he added, his words heavy with mockery.

Darius merely scoffed, his lips curling in disdain, but he said nothing.

Al listened quietly, unbothered.

Hmph... they've already started with cheap taunts. Seems like every little move I make will be scrutinized, he thought.

Finally, he replied calmly,

"My apologies, but I was summoned here by the Principal. I wasn't aware I had any business with any of you. I also didn't realize you were 'elites'—though, judging by your behavior, you seem quite desperate to be treated as such. How odd."

"What did you say, brat?!" Jogo's father growled, his thick fingers crushing the sofa's cushion in anger.

Darius's eyes twitched, his jaw tightening. Lefon, too, lost a bit of his composure.

"We're not elites, you say? Have you lost your mind? Don't you recognize us? We've met several times before. Is something wrong with your brain?" Lefon snapped.

Al only nodded casually.

"Yup. I know you both—Lefon Tamarvich and Darius Norvalien, right?" he said, almost lazily.

"Then how dare you speak as if we weren't elites?! You're insane," Lefon replied coldly, though he tried to maintain his calm exterior.

Al tilted his head slightly, his tone still indifferent.

"That's not what I mean."

"Then what?" Lefon snapped.

"What I meant is... your families are rather fragile, aren't they? You had to bow your heads before Alasia Group just to clean up the rotten mess your families created in the past. I don't see anything elite about that kind of servitude." Al explained.

The statement shattered Lefon's composure completely. He half-rose from his seat, trembling with restrained fury, before forcing himself to sit back down.

"You—!" he hissed through clenched teeth.

Al ignored him, shifting his gaze toward Darius instead, his eyes filled with quiet mockery.

"And you... your family is dangling on the edge of ruin. One wrong move and you'll crumble completely—brought down by your own arrogance."

"What—?! How do you know that?!" Darius barked, eyes widening.

Al continued smoothly,

"I'm just wondering... if your finances are collapsing, why are you still dressed like a peacock? Wouldn't it be smarter to sell those shiny accessories to cover your debts?"

His words cut deeper than any blade. Darius flinched, half-rising in fury, but the Principal intervened with a raised hand.

The two exchanged glances—something wordless passed between them, and Darius finally sat back down, breathing heavily through his nose.

Al, meanwhile, wasn't done yet. His gaze drifted toward Jogo's father.

"And you, sir... I honestly have no idea who you are. This is our first meeting. But, if I may say so... your appearance seems a little..." he said, pausing deliberately.

"Hmph… I'm used to being criticized because my appearance doesn't meet elite standards. But judging by your appearance, I'd say it falls even shorter than mine. You look more like a thug. So how exactly am I supposed to see you as an elite?" he continued.

And, of course, Jogo's father turned out to be far more impulsive than Lefon or Darius. He immediately stood up, fury bursting forth like an erupting volcano, his aura flaring menacingly.

The Principal, Lefon, and Darius froze momentarily, watching the tension rise.

Al didn't flinch. Instead, he activated his Dimensional Eye, calmly analyzing the man's energy.

Mid-stage Master-level Martial Artist. Quite strong. Probably the most powerful martial artist I've seen around this area—roughly equivalent to Daraka in the Magician Class, he assessed.

The tension was seconds away from exploding when the Principal quickly intervened, stepping forward with a trembling hand.

"Mr. Kugo—please, not here. Let me handle this," he said with a hint of panic.

Kugo, Jogo's father, turned toward the Principal, locking eyes with him for a long moment. Eventually, his reason returned, and he exhaled sharply, suppressing his killing intent.

"Huh. You're lucky, brat," he muttered before sinking back into his seat. His voice was calm—but cold enough to chill the bones.

"I'm not even sure how lucky I'm supposed to feel," Al replied dryly.

He then turned his gaze toward the principal.

"So, sir. May I ask what exactly is your reason for calling me here?"

The principal didn't answer immediately. His eyes swept across the three people sitting behind him—each of them gave a subtle nod, as if confirming something unspoken.

Only then did the principal step forward, closing the distance between him and Al.

With a formal tone—a voice polished by years of administrative meetings and corporate-style diplomacy—he finally began to speak, effortlessly taking control of the atmosphere in the room.

"Al... I'll make this as simple as possible so your logic can follow it properly," he said, his tone calm yet condescending.

Al nodded slightly, though his brows twitched in mild irritation. He couldn't help feeling as though he had just been called stupid—indirectly, but clearly enough.

"You are a scholarship student sponsored by the Alasia Foundation. We recognize and respect that position," the principal continued, maintaining his professional demeanor.

"But frankly speaking... as a non-elite student, we feel that your presence here doesn't quite fit." He went straight to the point.

Al froze for a moment, not showing much expression on his face. He leaned forward a little, expression unreadable.

So it's still about this elite nonsense, huh. Whether at home or school, elitists are just weird people. He thought silently.

"What do you mean, sir? I don't belong here... because I'm not an elite? I don't quite understand," he asked, his tone still calm.

The principal nodded, ignoring the edge in Al's voice.

"Actually, it's not a problem for a non-elite to attend an elite institution. But that's not the main point I want to explain."

"Then what is it?"

"This is about the image of this school," the principal said, walking lightly back toward his desk.

"What do you mean by that, sir?" Al asked, genuinely confused.

"For the past three years, this school has worked relentlessly to become the number one school in Eastern Indorosia. If we stay consistent, we'll soon reach the top three nationally—perhaps even globally." The principal picked up a sheet of paper from his desk, waving it lightly.

"With the national exam just two days away, the competition to maintain that standing has become extremely sensitive. And unfortunately... you are not one of the elites."

"Hm? I don't quite understand which part of that is supposed to be wrong," Al responded, confused.

The principal continued as if Al hadn't spoken at all.

"The wrong part is this... if you graduate here, this school will be known as an elite institution that produced an ordinary student."

"Wait... wouldn't that actually improve the school's reputation?" Al asked, blinking in disbelief.

"Yes. That would be improve—if we only cared about our public image." The principal took a deep breath. "But unfortunately, it's terrible—catastrophic, even—for the elite status we've been carefully building all these years."

Al narrowed his eyes slightly. His head was starting to hurt from the absurd reasoning.

"You probably don't understand how the elite system works," the principal continued, almost lecturing.

"Graduating a commoner will only lower the school's standing in the eyes of other elite institutions—and even the national evaluation board. We want to preserve our reputation as a school for the elite, not a place of social mixture. And your presence here... taints that image."

Al was stunned—not angry, just speechless at the sheer absurdity. Instead of rage, an odd amusement welled up in his chest. It was ridiculous enough that he almost wanted to laugh.

"Wow... that's just—what the hell is that?" he muttered under his breath.

But the principal ignored the remark entirely.

He stepped closer again, his shadow stretching over Al.

"You don't need to dwell on it. Just understand that this world isn't yours to fit into. The world is unfair, kid. You made your first mistake by entering this place at all," he said, sliding the paper toward Al.

"And this... is at least a small form of compensation for you."

Al looked down at the paper, his eyes widening for a moment.

Wow. They actually went this far... he thought.

Whatever was written there—whatever it meant—would soon mark the beginning of a true collapse. The first crack in a system that didn't yet realize who it was trying to crush.

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