Hell's Group Assignment (3)
Same time. The lakeside at the edge of the forest.
Rian von Hildegaard pulled his sword from the rock. The crack where the blade had dug in widened steadily until the stone finally shattered. Watching the scene, a satisfied smile crept across his face.
“...You're dead meat, Illeionhart.”
Sion Illeionhart—that guy was definitely going to be a major obstacle moving forward. Rian's instincts were screaming it at him. He had to crush that weed before it could grow.
Even though last time, he'd been interrupted by that damn dorm supervisor who barged in, preventing him from properly dealing with the punk.
Sion had looked him right in the eye and said:
-As I told you, that's not happening.
Even thinking back on it now sent chills down his spine.
“I offered to let him off easy, and he rejects me?”
Illeionhart, some no-name family he'd never even heard of. Meanwhile, Rian was the firstborn son of House Hildegaard, wealthy enough that even Grander had reached out first.
That punk had no right to dictate terms to him in the first place.
He could still hear the first-years mocking him in his ears. To reclaim his tarnished honor, he had to utterly crush that guy in this dungeon. Make sure he could never lift his head again, ensure he wouldn't be a thorn in his side throughout his time at Arsen.
If it were a real dungeon, he could've just buried him inside, as his family had taught him. Unfortunately, this was a “recorded” mock dungeon, so he couldn't go that far.
But implanting some solid trauma? That much he could manage. Especially against a ragtag team of nothing but first-years.
Rian glanced up at the night sky. A sharp crescent moon hung between the clouds like a fishhook.
Midnight at the hair salon. It was well past closing time, but one last customer had shown up right before lockdown. The late hour made it awkward, but since they'd booked in advance ages ago, there was no helping it.
With a mindset of providing top service, the stylist welcomed today's final client.
“H-hello...?”
“Welcome! Please have a seat here.”
The hesitant customer shuffled over and sat in the empty chair. The messy hair looked intimidating at first glance, but the stylist grabbed a comb and scissors anyway.
But what was this? Brushing back the tangled bangs revealed skin as smooth as jade underneath. A slender jawline, an impeccable egg-shaped face without a single flaw.
This was exactly why you shouldn't judge by first impressions. A little trimming, and this client would look like a whole new person. Like polishing a raw gemstone, the stylist began snipping away.
Ten minutes or so in, the silent customer finally spoke up.
“Um... could you cut the bangs a bit more? Just this much.”
“Like this?”
“Y-yeah... I think so? Probably.”
The mirror showed a strikingly different, unfamiliar face. Just from refining the style, it was like they'd reclaimed lost years.
“So, heading out somewhere late at night? I don't think I've seen you around Arsen before.”
“Ah, ahaha, well, training's... tomorrow.”
“Oh, you're a cadet! Sorry, I thought you were staff...”
“Th-that happens, right?”
A brief silence fell. Best to pivot quickly in moments like this.
“Looks like you dyed it before—want a root touch-up?”
“No, no! I'm good! I'll pay now!”
The customer fumbled with their watch to transfer payment. Only then did the stylist clear their throat and backpedal.
“N-no extra charge. Just go ahead.”
“Huh...? Th-thank you!”
The customer stood awkwardly, then stared at the mirror—and jolted in shock.
“This is... me?”
The transformation was so drastic, it was like a different person entirely. Seeing the polished gem they'd shaped themselves was satisfaction enough for the stylist.
Thus, Edel Di Bison's preparations for her first outing in half a year ended successfully that day.
...And in the student council room.
“Lady Rebecca, it's all done. You should have some free time for at least a day now.”
Amelia Secretary had finally cleared the backlog on D-Day itself.
It wasn't just her. The handful of elite student council members left had all endured a week of deadline hell.
The words they'd been waiting for were simple:
“Good work. You're dismissed.”
The tense air in the student council room finally began to circulate.
Rebecca, seated at the head, finished approving the mountain of documents on her desk and stood at last. The executives, who'd been watching her cues, began packing up one by one.
Only after they were all gone did Rebecca step in front of the mirror. She straightened her crooked ribbon.
Now, only Rebecca and Amelia Secretary remained.
If not now, there might not be another chance. Amelia, who'd been timing it carefully, approached cautiously.
“By the way, what about that kid?”
“Are you referring to Sion Illeionhart, or Kyle Ivanstair?”
“Both.”
She'd thought it was a serious matter, but Rebecca kept her back turned, staring into the mirror.
“As for Kyle Ivanstair, we need to properly demonstrate the student council's authority, as I said. If we don't rein him in now, he'll be harder to control later.”
“The student council's... authority?”
“Yes.”
Amelia, as secretary, didn't know why Rebecca had purged the previous council or why she'd kept only a select few. She'd simply followed orders.
Rebecca had always justified it with “the student council's authority,” then and now.
Amid the chaos and rumors swirling around Arsen over student council issues, Rebecca pressed on undeterred.
...Why have you changed?
Amelia was just puzzled. Why had Rebecca become so autocratic? Why had she ruthlessly cut away even her followers? And what was she hiding?
Everything felt shrouded in fog, opaque as if only around Rebecca hung a curtain of darkness.
Yet Amelia would remain by her side as secretary. As always, running the student council together.
Even if it meant following the path of a tyrannical dictator.
“Who... are you...?”
“Rebecca von Anastasia Grander.”
Amelia had resolved to stay by Rebecca's side to the end, ever since she'd owed her life in that fire years ago. No incident would shake that determination.
“So... what about Sion Illeionhart?”
Rebecca finally reacted, still facing away.
Amelia quietly placed a CCTV capture on the head desk.
“From what I see, Sion doesn't seem interested in the student council. Can we just leave him be?”
Entering the faculty building, earning praise from Professor Biern—Sion Illeionhart's actions were too conspicuous to ignore. Rebecca surely knew.
Amelia was simply curious. How could Rebecca, ruthless even to her own council members, be so lenient toward someone rampaging through Arsen like Sion?
She genuinely wanted to know.
But Rebecca's response drew an involuntary gasp from Amelia.
“It's fine. Just leave him alone.”
“Pardon...?”
Rebecca turned. Her porcelain-white hands wore unfamiliar gloves. Not just that— a small dagger hung at her waist like an accessory. And around her neck, a necklace she'd never worn before.
Rebecca, who rarely fussed over her appearance, had dressed up for the first time.
“President Rebecca...?”
“You're dismissed. I'll handle the rest myself.”
“Ah, yes...”
Rebecca ushered Amelia out before she could protest. Bewildered but obedient, Amelia left.
As she walked the darkened hallway, one thought lingered in Amelia's mind.
Ever since that private meeting with Sion Illeionhart, Rebecca had been noticeably changing.
For someone so merciless to others to treat anyone with such leniency. She'd even just kicked out Amelia, her own secretary.
At this point, ominous suspicions were inevitable.
Could Lady Rebecca possibly have feelings for that Sion Illeionhart...?
Amelia shook her head to dispel the sudden, inappropriate thought. It was disloyal to even imagine such a thing about her lifesaver.
And finally, morning broke over Arsen.
“This way, please.”
Mock dungeon conquest D-Day. Like the entrance exam, the first-years assembled at Georged Hall.
The difference? This time, they were divided by teams.
Some hadn't seen each other in a while and exchanged greetings. With classes yet to start, the hall buzzed with rare excitement.
But it was the calm before the storm—this cheerful clamor would sink the moment lessons began.
Kiiieeeek—
The auditorium doors opened, and over ten instructors entered, followed by twice as many assistants. Lined up in military precision behind them were the second-year cadets participating in the dungeon run—mostly first-year-heavy teams' actual leaders.
Kyle, staring blankly at the sight, suddenly realized something.
“Hey, Sion. What the? Why only three of us?”
“Five total. The other two will be here soon.”
“Oh, so...”
Only I, Iri, and Kazuha here knew, but our team was short three right now. The rest hadn't arrived.
Most teams were first-years. A few had snagged upperclassmen, but I remembered only one or two like that.
Serin Anette's team was one.
Kyle Ivanstair, who brawled daily with Serin, probably realized it too by now.
The second-years entered after all the assistants and backup leaders arrived. Meaning empty spots would be filled by upperclassmen.
“Exactly what you're thinking.”
“How'd you know?”
Before Kyle could press, microphone feedback screeched. From the ceiling speakers, as expected.
Teams will enter the dungeon sequentially shortly.
Please double-check your equipment for issues until then.
That is all.
Then, an unfamiliar woman approached us. I thought she was just passing by as an assistant, but her cadet uniform said otherwise.
“Wh-who are you?”
“Ah...!”
As Iri flinched, the woman looked at me and bowed first.
“H-hello? Third-year, Edel Di Bison...”
“Pardon?”
“Uh, I mean... me? From last time...”
...I got that part.
“...What did you do?”
“Me? Just... got a trim, some skincare... tidied up my clothes, that sort of thing.”
Fair enough. Most cadets did that much.
“Don't recognize me?”
“...No. Honestly.”
“...”
I'd meant it as a compliment, but Edel Di Bison blushed beet red in the end.