I Don't Mind Being Hated
Martial arts. Literally, the study of combat. Jerion Academy's philosophy on martial arts was simple: "Kill the enemy before they kill you."
Professor Veganon Mercia, hungover as usual today, let out a massive yawn in her sloppy attire. "That is the basic mindset for dealing with the Apostles you will face in the Demon Palace."
The subterranean Demon Palace. The Apostles born there from the Arch-Evil. Stopping these bastards before they could escape the Demon Palace was the sole duty of the academy's students.
"After the upcoming mock battle, you will be grouped according to your skill levels. Then, you will enter the Demon Palace for the first time as second-years."
There had been casualties during their first year—lives lost. Even so, someone had to step forward into the Demon Palace once again. If they failed to defeat the Apostles, the surface world would be in grave danger. A world where the weight of the entire realm was thrust upon the shoulders of children. That was why the professors strove to help them grow strong enough to face the Apostles. It was a lesson they could impart only because they, too, had once walked those same halls and entered the Demon Palace in their youth.
"Keep just one thing in mind." Veganon looked over the students as she spoke. "If you can't kill it, run."
She turned back to the illustration of an Apostle displayed on the blackboard. Apostles were strong. In particular, those that had undergone multiple metamorphoses became uncontrollably powerful. "If you survive, there is always a next time."
Many of those who had died alongside Lucas belonged to the martial arts department. Veganon might live with a bottle permanently glued to her hand, looking like a hopeless alcoholic day in and day out, but she was still a professor dedicated to raising students. She did not want to see any more of the disciples she had nurtured die. In fact, on the day Lucas died, she—who was always nursing a hangover—didn't touch a single drop of alcohol and spent days visiting the graves of Lucas and his companions.
Sensing her sincerity, the students' expressions softened with emotion. "That's all. Class dismissed for today." She turned off the magic blackboard, let out another long yawn, and turned around. Shoving her hands into the pockets of her baggy, sagging pants—which hung so low you could practically see the waistband of her underwear—she trudged out of the room. It was a miracle she didn't get written up for dress code violations.
She probably does get scolded and just ignores it anyway. As class ended, I stood up from my seat. The mock battle was coming up soon. I had to secure a top score no matter what.
I have to make it into the top-tier group that will be formed after the mock battle. I had managed to snag a training partnership with Aisha, but that alone felt insufficient. This was a world continuing past the bad ending triggered by the protagonist Lucas's death. To navigate the scenario without Lucas, I had to become a vital cog in the machine myself. To achieve that, I would use any shortcut or underhanded trick necessary.
Just then, I felt a gaze burning into me. When I turned my head, I saw Isabel Luna glaring at me with sheer ferocity. Instead of the dark circles and gloomy aura she had carried for so long, her face now burned with venom and rage. Perfect. It's working.
Furthermore, the girls who sided with Isabel all looked at me with deep displeasure. It was only my second day at the academy, but I was already getting used to these hostile stares. They say humans are creatures of adaptation. The sharper their glares became, the higher Isabel's chances of survival rose. Thinking of it that way actually put my mind at ease. Let them keep looking at me like that.
Time to do what needs to be done. It was lunchtime now. I needed to prepare for the upcoming mock battle. Just as I was about to leave my seat—
"Hey." Hearing someone call out to me, I turned my head. Before I knew it, several girls had surrounded my desk. Every single one of them was glaring at me with sharp, hostile expressions.
I realized a crucial fact a moment too late. The students here belonged to the martial arts department of the prestigious Jerion Academy. Whether male or female, those who trained their bodies were naturally prideful and possessed nasty tempers. And one of their own had just been slandered. What happens in a situation like this?
"Come with us for a second." A group beatdown. Am I screwed? Honestly, there was no other way to put it. I might have some athletic background, but these girls had trained with their lives on the line. If I got jumped by a mob of them right now, I'd be beaten to a pulp.
Scriitch— But I, too, was a martial arts student admitted to Jerion Academy. They wouldn't assume I was completely helpless. So, I decided to bluff. "What do you want?"
Back when I was training, showing even a flicker of fear on your face during a match meant a fist would inevitably crash into it. Because of that, my gym director—a former champion—had punched me in the gut hundreds of times under the guise of "poker face training." The nightmares of those days still haunted me. Thanks to that brutal education, however, my poker face was a work of art.
Perhaps because I looked entirely unfazed, the girls knitted their brows in venomous irritation. Disdain pooled in their eyes. "Go apologize to Isabel right now," the girl standing at the center of the group snapped at me.
Hearing her voice, I rubbed the back of my neck to hide the cold sweat breaking out. "Apologize for what?"
"All those horrible things you said to Isabel! Apologize for every single word!" "Look at him playing dumb. It's actually disgusting." "Makes me want to throw up." The girls backing her up chimed in, shouting in unison.
The atmosphere in the classroom turned hostile in an instant. While some watched with mild amusement, others joined in the condemnation, clearly displeased with my presence. Among them, I had absolutely no allies. I had publicly lashed out at Isabel, who was essentially the heart of the class. This reaction was only natural.
"Why should I apologize for stating the obvious?"
"Wow, is he seriously out of his mind? I knew he was a jerk, but this is on a whole different level." "What a piece of trash." "Is he even human?" The insults rained down. But if we were talking about a battle of wills—
"I could understand if it were Isabel herself, but I fail to see why any of you have the right to demand an apology from me." I refused to back down. If they had only come to demand an apology, I had a responsibility to keep Isabel alive. I couldn't afford to lose this war of nerves.
"Oh, please! Isabel is our friend! When a friend is in trouble, of course we're going to help her!" "Listen to his arrogant tone." "Probably won't have a single friend in his entire life."
Who the hell just said that? I never expected to take such a devastating critical hit out of nowhere. What a vicious insult. I quickly adjusted my expression. My poker face had almost slipped there.
"Don't make me laugh. What kind of friends can't even look after someone who looks like they're about to die any second?" Before I knew it, my own voice had grown sharp. The leader's comment about helping a friend in trouble had struck a nerve. In the end, none of these people had managed to save Isabel; she had committed suicide.
"What?" The girls looked taken aback, clearly not expecting me to fire back like this. I took a step closer to the leader of the group.
"Am I wrong? Even to someone like me, who only met Isabel Luna for the first time recently, she looked like she's been slowly dying for a long time now." Isabel had shown numerous warning signs of suicide. One look at the dark shadows under her eyes and her severely emaciated frame was enough for anyone to realize her state was far from normal. It was proof that death was slowly tightening its noose around her neck. Lacking any will to live, she was gradually letting go of her own life. "Yet I didn't see any sign of her so-called friends actually caring."
"Don't change the subject! Isabel was going through a hard time, so we were just giving her some space—"
"That's not giving her space. That's abandonment." The leader flinched.
"In that state, it was only a matter of time before Isabel followed that Lucas guy to the grave." Even I, who had just met Isabel, knew this. Yet her friends hadn't noticed a thing. I used this point to tear into them. If I had spoken vaguely, they would have argued back. But I spoke with absolute certainty, and that certainty struck them dumb. Isabel's death was a predetermined future. That was why my words carried such undeniable weight.
"W-we did look after her!"
"Sure, maybe at first. But when she showed no signs of getting better, you got tired of it, left her to rot, and let her end up like that."
Every single one of them stood here defending Isabel now, but in reality, Isabel had suffered in isolation until she finally took her own life. Just as they glared at me, my own eyes filled with cold contempt.
Months had passed since Lucas's death. Yet Isabel remained trapped in her grief, unable to move on. Those who had tried to help her initially grew weary of her unchanging state. In the end, they only maintained a superficial pretense of caring, with no genuine warmth left. Honestly, it wasn't entirely fair to blame them. Though they weren't in this room, Isabel's truly close friends were still looking after her—like the ones who had followed her out just moments ago. But even with their support, Isabel hadn't improved. At this stage, it wasn't a matter of pointing fingers. Still, while her actual best friends had a right to speak, I couldn't stand listening to these shallow hypocrites who had only hovered on the periphery.
"If you look at it that way, shouldn't Isabel and the rest of you be thanking me instead?" I sneered, staring at the leader's bewildered face. "As long as she's burning with rage like that, she won't be thinking about killing herself."
The entire classroom fell dead silent. My words had clearly crossed a line. But if I was going to play the villain, I couldn't do it half-heartedly. I had to etch the fact that I was Isabel's enemy deep into the minds of everyone present.
In that split second, the leader raised her hand. My eyes instinctively tracked her movement. Slap! Before she could strike, my hand shot out and intercepted her wrist. It was a feat born purely of raw reflex. Her eyes widened, shocked that her slap had been blocked.
"You bastard!" Whoosh! Seething with rage, she swung her other hand, but I pulled my head back and dodged it. It was a swift, agile movement, almost like a flying squirrel. Oh. I've still got it. At this distance, the trajectory of a swing was highly predictable. I could easily evade it just by reading her body language.
"Urgh!" Furious at missing twice, she practically vibrated with rage. I knew this was just a minor scuffle. If she actually started using her full combat skills, I wouldn't be able to dodge so easily. She was, after all, a martial arts student at Jerion Academy. However, perhaps feeling the weight of all the eyes on her, or realizing she had crossed a line by resorting to physical violence first, she slowly lowered her hand.
"You psycho..." The leader looked at me as if she were staring at a repulsive monster, then turned around. "Forget it. Don't waste your breath on someone like him." "Let's go. No point stepping in trash." "He's not even worth dealing with." They walked away with disgusted expressions, clearly wanting nothing to do with me.
The rest of the class felt the same. Even those who had watched with amusement now looked at me with cold, indifferent eyes. Yet, among them all, there was one exception. The Third Princess, Iris Haishirion, was staring at me intently. Her gaze was far more terrifying than anyone else's. I decided to make a swift exit.
Well, at least I avoided a group beatdown. They might have backed off today out of sheer disgust at my words, but there was no guarantee it wouldn't happen again. I needed to prepare myself.
"Yo, Wangnon." Just then, a heavy weight draped over the back of my neck. It was a thick, tanned arm belonging to the resident playboy, Card Belikman. It seemed his Magecraft class had ended early today, and he had decided to swing by. The nickname he used for me had already changed. He was surprisingly magnanimous, readily acknowledging what needed to be acknowledged, even between guys.
"Must be nice being so popular with the girls already. Is it because you're the king?" Did this guy watch the whole thing and still say that? He was impressive in more ways than one. I shoved his arm off. Card smacked his lips in mock disappointment.
"Does that look like popularity to you?"
"Well, if you think of it as a certain kind of roleplay, it's not half bad." Playboys really were built different. To think someone could spin being ostracized into a kinky game.
"It won't do you any favors to hang out with me, you know." The martial arts students were already glaring at Card for associating with me. Card simply offered a bright, carefree grin. "It's fine. The second-year girls all hate me anyway!"
Given his messy history with women, that was hardly surprising. The real mystery was how he still managed to find a steady stream of willing victims. He truly was something else. "Besides, it's nice to have at least one guy you can just chill with, right?" Card smiled warmly at me.
It seemed Card thought I had taken his advice from yesterday to heart. I had unintentionally won the guy over. Though it was a massive misunderstanding, seeing him made me feel a bit lighter.
"So, what's for lunch?"
"I have things to do." I pulled out a sandwich I had grabbed this morning. I was a busy man. I didn't have time to sit across from another guy and eat lunch.
"Tsk, too bad. Next time, then." Card didn't push any further. It seemed he really had just wanted a lunch buddy. I parted ways with him and headed straight out. At that moment, however, I had no idea that Isabel had briefly returned to the classroom.