The Hellish Beast Ecology Group Project Ends in Dazzling Success
The conclusion to that infernal Beast Ecology group project was, ridiculously enough, a resounding success. My blood, sweat, and tears poured into a PPT that wrestled scattered research materials into submission through all-nighters, combined with my decade of K-office worker cunning in presentations, even got a nod from the notoriously picky old professor. An A+ stamped boldly on the grade sheet. Dragging along those chronic free-riders who treated it like a meal ticket, I'd clawed our way to top marks—a massive sense of accomplishment that pinned a medal to my parched teacher's heart.
And so dawned a truly rare peaceful weekend morning. I'd sunk deep into the living room's leather sofa, savoring the elegant aroma of black tea, when—
"Cadel! Give me a reward!"
Thud! Something massive hurled itself onto my abdomen and thighs without mercy.
"Guhk…!"
The red liquid in my teacup sloshed wildly, nearly spilling onto my lap. I reflexively hoisted the cup high, gasping from the gut punch as I looked down. There lay Reina, using my sturdy thighs as a pillow, gazing up at me with the face of a giant dog wagging its tail like a motor, begging for praise.
"What reward out of nowhere…?"
"We got an A+ on the group project yesterday!"
"Y-yeah, we did get an A+."
My brows furrowed involuntarily. I did the research, the summaries, the presentation. You nearly smashed the desk—what part of that makes you deserve a reward?
I shot her an incredulous look, but Reina was utterly shameless, chest puffed out like she'd heroically saved the empire by sitting quietly through that boring meeting without pulverizing Chloe's skull.
A perfect 0% contributor demanding her due. Back in my past life as a K-college student, I'd have grabbed her collar and erased her from the group roster on the spot.
"I ground my bones to dust on that project—why should you get a reward? If anyone's getting one, it's me."
"Tch…! But still! I really held back super hard. That Valua blonde kept yapping annoyingly…"
"The moment you cracked the desk with your killing intent, 'holding back' went out the window."
My dry fact-bomb landed without mercy, and her purple eyes instantly welled with grievance and hurt. She wrapped her arms tight around my waist, rubbing her soft cheek and head against my vigorous 17-year-old abs like a spoiled kid, whining away.
"I don't care, I don't care! I want my reward! Take me on a date! Let's go outside the academy, pleeease?"
Childish tantrum, pure and simple. But those purple eyes shooting up from below, locked around my waist, sparkled with unusual clarity today. Morning sunlight streamed through the window, shattering into dazzling sheen on her silver hair. The title of empire's strongest ruthless beast felt laughable; right now, nestled in my arms craving warmth, she was just an ordinary girl desperate for approval from her favorite person.
Facing that pure, obsessive gaze head-on, even my veteran teacher's iron discipline started melting like ice cream. I cleared my throat awkwardly, hiding my heating ears, and rapidly rationalized in my head.
Yeah. Holing up in stuffy dorms all weekend isn't great for an 18-year-old's emotional growth.
She needs fresh air and stress relief to focus next week.
As a 10-year vet educator, chaperoning some cultural weekend fun is practically my duty.
Plus, surviving that brutal project without casualties deserved something. Education needs carrots, not just whips.
"Haa… Fine. Whatever. You didn't kill anyone and behaved, at least."
"Really?! Yay!! Cadel's the best!"
The moment I surrendered with a sigh, she sprang up like a coil, wrapping her arms around my neck. I barely withstood the neck-snapping impact, already scheming how to control this uncontrollable "beast's weekend outing" safely and peacefully.
In front of the academy gates. Under warm spring sun, Reina's figure drew every passing cadet's gaze. Swapping her usual baggy shirt for a light purple silk dress baring slender shoulders and neckline, topped with a wide-brim hat—perfect "date look." Her dragon leather-gloved hand locked my arm tight as she hummed happily, master of the world.
Until she spotted that guy standing awkwardly opposite.
"…."
Her hum cut off like a knife slice. The spring breeze at the gates froze into northern winter chill. Her icy stare fixed on a bright brown-haired girl in classy beige cardigan and neat skirt, sweating bullets.
My excellent unpaid minion #1, Elarra von Sterling.
"…Why the hell is she here?"
Reina's purple eyes slit vertically like a predator's. She'd dolled up for a cozy perfect date with Cadel, only for this intruder to loom large—her mood plummeted.
"Hiiik! S-sorry! I-I was just summoned by Evans-nim…! I had no intent to offend Your Highness…!"
Elarra trembled like a leaf under Reina's gaze that shredded air, spilling excuses. I swallowed a deep internal sigh at this insane standoff.
Calling Elarra here was purely my tearful "survival instinct." Who knows what disaster hits if I take an 18-year-old time bomb alone into downtown crowds! I needed a distraction for the beast, and a meat shield… er, mediator/guide in emergencies. And among my contacts, only Elarra popped out on weekend mornings without complaint, with fat capital to boot.
I leaned in, whispering secretly into Reina's ear on my arm.
"Reina. Behave. I called her."
"Why? I wanna be alone with you! Don't need her!"
"Neither of us knows the capital's layout. We'd get lost in crowds and tire out. And crucially…"
I nodded at shivering Elarra, spilling my most worldly adult motive.
"She's heir to the empire's biggest merchant house—loaded. Means free rides today, VIP shop guides, all on her wallet and pull."
Reina pouted, clutching my hem. "Hmph, I get tons of allowance from Dad too! I can buy whatever you want or eat!"
"Sure, sure. We know our princess has deep pockets. But free guide and sponsor escort saves energy, right? Huh?"
I deployed my past-life skills sweet-talking moody teens, patting her back softly. She finally snorted reluctantly, easing up.
"Tch… Fine. If you want it that bad, Cadel."
"Good girl."
I'd flipped the beast's rampage switch off, nodding to statue-stiff Elarra.
"Thanks for weekend duty, Lady Sterling."
"Y-yes, sir!"
"Today's off-campus field trip extension, so guide us faithfully and safely."
At my teacherly(?) polite order, she gulped.
"L-leave it to me, Evans-nim! I'll deploy Sterling house capital and intel for your… intimate inspection… no, tour—perfect and comfy!"
Elarra mustered strength in quaking legs, marching ahead with heir's grim resolve to flaunt her wealth.
Fitting the empire's heart, weekend downtown dazzled and swarmed. Noble carriages etched in finery, endless glittering windows, dressed-up ladies and escorting men laughing. To me, academy-bound, it was just a "max-difficulty hazardous field trip zone."
"Evans-nim, this alley next. We've reserved VIP seats at the capital's most private, dessert-top cafe."
My stellar guide/unpaid slave flashed flawless capitalist smile, brow still beaded with sweat—perfect protocol.
"Well done, Lady Sterling. Excellent route."
My light nod brought relief to her face. But Reina, clamped on my right arm, scowled. Ignoring desserts or jewels, she stared holes in my cheek and collar, pressing close to mark territory. Her silk-dress warmth tingled my nerves.
"Cadel, skip that cafe—I wanna go somewhere dark over there."
"No, Your Highness. In busy areas, follow the chaperon's route for safety. Stray, and no more outings."
"Tch…."
She pouted at my firm control but matched my stride. We slipped into a quieter back-alley shop lane per Elarra's lead.
That's when it happened.
"Hey, noble sirs. Browse a bit before going?"
Blocking us: a fat merchant draped in tacky gold, flanked by two burly rough-faced mercenaries arms crossed. Classic shady peddler hawking junk "rare magic tools" from alley depths.
He'd pegged us—plainclothes low baron heir, two slim girls—as prime suckers.
"Fresh from northern peaks, top-grade stamina… er, mana booster. Special: 50 silver a bottle. Buy one each—don't lose face with pretty ladies, eh?"
Grinning yellow teeth, he shoved a murky glass vial under my nose. Mercs cracked knuckles menacingly.
Haa… Friction with lowlifes mid-weekend field trip.
Head throbbing, I sighed quietly. Past life, I'd call cops; here, wild fantasy world. Keeping 10-year teacher calm, I shielded arm-linked Reina behind me.
"Pass. Per Imperial Commerce Code Article 14, unregistered street strong-arming warrants immediate Security Force arrest. Step aside nicely."
My emotionless legal recitation drew the line; the easy mark's face flushed rage-red.
"Wh-what? You little shit…! Hey! Grab that arrogant prick!"
With his bellow, a merc lunged, filthy hand clawing my collar—
Vrrr—.
Alley's mild air warped with eerie friction. Reina's mood, hidden behind me, shattered at bugs touching her "master."
Invisible ruthless gravity field slammed vertically onto the merc's shoulder.
"G-grahk…?!"
Before fingertips grazed my collar, he cratered like crushed by a boulder, screaming agony. Crack! Cobblestones spiderwebbed deep.
Three more seconds, he'd be powder, alley erased. As I opened mouth to stop her—
"Nooo!!"
Left-side Elarra shrieked, bursting forward.
"Dare stretch filthy hands?! Can't you see this crest?!"
Her shrill cry rang; merchant and pinned merc's eyes flicked to her cardigan's ornate gold emblem.
"Hiiik! St-Sterling Merchant House?!"
"Yes! I'm Elarra von Sterling, direct heir dominating imperial trade! Disturb Evans-nim before me? From today, your house starves—no rice grain traded empire-wide!!"
Her desperate mad roar echoed. Blacklisted by trade lords meant total ruin. Pale merchant and freed merc fled screaming without look-back as gravity eased.
Shhh—.
Intruders gone, crushing field vanished like lie. Reina, forgetting near-manslaughter, re-clamped my arm, nuzzling cheek to shoulder with serene, vacant bliss.
"Haa, haa, haa…."
Early(?) crisis quelled, Elarra wheezed blood-drained white, legs buckling to wall.
I rubbed stiff neck watching her. Haa… Planned quiet talk, hand to Security for legal rehab. Modern rich heirs so rigid—starve their business outright…
Mistaking her trauma from near-beheading as "cutthroat chaebol flex," I tsked.
"Even angry, that was overkill for a student, Lady Sterling. Curb solving everything with money/power. But credit for quick pacification."
"Y-yes, sir! I-I'll remember, Evans-nim…!"
She nodded unjustly, tears brimming.
Post-chaos, exiting alley, rounding to main drag—
"Cadel, that! Wanna eat the sweet-smelling one over there!"
"Your Highness, street food hygiene risks—hold till Lady Sterling's spot…"
Glancing while fending arm-tug—my 10-year teacher radar snagged a too-familiar silhouette.
Quiet outdoor cafe corner, secluded wall. Petite frame clutching sketchbook to chest, shoulders hunched, trembling. Faint ash-brown hair cascading.
Always front-row corner seat Class 1-1, scribbling art breaks—timid art prodigy.
Oscar von Arzen.
Civilian clothes or crowds, spotting my student was teacher passive skill.
But her outfit wasn't it—her dire straits were.
Blocking her: two burly exotic adult men in flashy silk coats, oiled mustaches, sealing escape.
Hunting? But adults clear.
Politely closing in aggressively, they cornered her. Face deathly pale tear-brimmed, she clutched book lifeline, frail resistance drowned in their bellows.
Witnessing horror, reason snapped twang in my head.
No mere hassle—ugly adult bullying, harassing minor student.
Past-life guiding delinquents, collaring thugs—my buried "adult guardian" duty erupted volcanic.
"…Seen such trash."
Cold steel growl slipped lips. My calm flipped blade-sharp; whining arm-linked Reina and trailing Elarra froze startled.
"C-Cadel? What's wrong? Your face…."
"Lady Sterling. Guard Her Highness here exactly one minute. Don't act without my say."
My voice sank heavy, controlled fury unlike usual nonchalance.
"Student harassed by scum adults—I can't stand by as chaperone."
No waiting replies, I roughly undid choking shirt button, loosened tie. Breath freed, senses sharpened.
As their grubby paws reached for her sketchbook—
Clack, clack.
Heavy even boot heels, I strode their backs.
"You there. What street harassment with my student?"
Decade-honed, lowest intimidating disciplinarian growl sliced market din, thundering their ears.