Noah stepped out of the car after Lurch opened the door for him.
The air outside was different.
Colder than at the Addams Family house.
As if the very environment around Nevermore Academy carried an invisible weight, something that couldn't be explained by ordinary atmosphere alone. For a brief moment, Noah remained still, simply feeling the cold. He observed, then let out a quiet sigh.
"Thank you, Lurch." he said, adjusting his coat.
The gesture was simple, yet precise. Every movement he made carried an almost absolute control, as if even the most mundane actions were calculated.
"Ugh." Lurch grunted in response, as he always did, opening the trunk and handing Noah his suitcase.
The rough, short sound was already familiar. Lurch didn't need words—and couldn't speak. His presence was functional, direct, without excess. Unlike many people, he didn't try to fill the silence, and he was efficient—and perhaps that was why Noah preferred him.
"Thank you again. See you at the end of the school year." Noah said for the last time before walking off with the suitcase over his shoulder.
Obviously, to Noah, Lurch was more helpful than Dominic, so midway through the trip, Noah made sure to contact the Addams and ask for Lurch to pick him up. Dominic asked too many questions and acted as if he could fix the world with hope and a convincing speech—he was a fool.
Hope.
Noah almost found it amusing to think about it.
To him, hope was merely an unstable variable, something that blinded more than it guided. Dominic talked too much, thought too much, believed too much. He was the kind of person who would try to give meaning to chaos… instead of accepting it.
And that alone already made him useless.
(N/A: The image of his suitcase will be available here, along with his current outfit.)
As soon as he stepped onto the campus of Nevermore Academy, Noah quickly drew attention. Among all the male students, he was the most handsome, and of course, there were the rumors.
But it wasn't just his looks.
It was presence.
There was something about him that distorted the focus of those around him, as if he naturally pulled attention toward himself without effort. Gazes turned almost instantly. Conversations lowered in tone. Small whispers began to emerge, spreading across the campus like an invisible current.
Even among the students—those who were the richest and most influential—Noah stood above them all. He was the grandson of Daniel Edgar, a man worth billions and a Da Vinci—an Outcast with telekinetic abilities.
The name carried weight.
Influence and power.
And that was something that could not be ignored.
Daniel Edgar was not merely wealthy—he was the elite of elites. A Da Vinci of immense ability and influence. His grandson? A genius, a prodigy, someone who had transcended common limits even among Outcasts. And Noah… was his direct legacy.
And everyone knew it.
On top of that, Noah was known for having ruined a gala night at the age of five by spilling oil and causing everyone to fall—even the host. Then he left as if it were his own home, abandoning everyone to deal with the aftermath on their own. They said it took five hours to get everyone out, and another three days to remove the strong smell of oil from the place.
Stories like that never died.
They only… grew.
They twisted.
They became larger over time.
But in Noah's case, the most unsettling part wasn't what he did.
It was how he did it.
Acting without guilt or hesitation, as if the one who hosted the gala was nothing more than a small man to whom Noah gave minimal attention—like a caretaker giving attention to animals.
"A spoiled rich brat," they said behind his back.
But face him directly?
They wouldn't say a word.
Because there was something about him—something that could not be explained by status, wealth, or appearance alone.
Something that silenced every mouth that might dare to insult him.
Something that made even thoughts feel… too dangerous to be spoken aloud.
After all, he was The Fool.
"Hello, Mr. Edgar." Noah heard a voice that carried with it a need to be admired, laced with an air of superiority, a touch of petulance, and—unlike Morticia—her voice was like a scratch on a record, subtly grating, as if it tried to sound perfect… but failed.
For some reason, that bothered him more than it should have.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw a tall woman with white hair, red lipstick, white clothing with hints of pastel tones, and a smile… deeply unpleasant.
It was not the kind of smile that conveyed warmth.
It was calculated.
Practiced.
Empty.
'Pastel tones… someone kill me…' Noah resisted—barely—the urge to take a deep breath and sigh. Morticia had taught him never to wear pastel tones; black, blood red, or wine suited any man or woman far better. 'No, forget it. If I die, Wednesday will come dig me out of the grave.'
The mere mental image was enough to almost make him look away.
He didn't doubt it.
Not for a second.
Wednesday would probably dig his grave personally… just to make sure he didn't get too comfortable in it.
"Hello. And you are…?"
"Larissa Weems, principal of Nevermore." She smiled again.
The smile lingered.
Forced.
And now, observed more closely, even more uncomfortable.
Noah looked at her, confused. How could a woman like that smile so much? It was a mix of loneliness and a desperate need for acceptance, something that leaked through every small detail—from her tone of voice to the way she held eye contact just a bit too long.
"Thank you, but why go through the trouble of greeting me?" Noah asked, looking at the embodiment of whiteness. "Are you afraid I'll turn this school into a circus like I did with that gala eight years ago?"
The words came out lightly, almost polite. Yet they carried a subtle provocation, like a blade hidden beneath silk.
Larissa gave a slight nod.
"No. Never." She shook her head in denial. "I would never think such a thing. I simply assumed you might need some help finding your way."
She answered too quickly.
Like someone who had already rehearsed that response.
Or worse…
Like someone who truly believed it.
"And you set aside your time for me?" Noah asked with a faint smile. "How pleasant, but that won't be necessary. I can find my way better than it seems."
His smile, unlike hers, had no intention of pleasing.
It was subtle. And, in a way… cold.
Noah gave a slight wave and began walking toward the exact tower of Caliban Hall.
As if he already knew exactly where he was going… even though no one had told him.
(N/A: Due to the time of inactivity, I lost my notes about Noah's current Sequence level in each Path. I know that for the Fool Path, he is Sequence 3: Scholar of Yore. So I reviewed the characteristics described in the last chapter of Vol. 1, and I believe that for the Door Path he is Sequence 3: Secret Sorcerer, and for the Error Path: Sequence 6: Prometheus. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.)
And then…
Noah stepped into a distortion.
The air twisted like a warped lens, as quickly as passing through a doorway. And as the "door" closed, the ground seemed to drift away for a brief moment, while the surrounding space returned to its natural state.
Larissa stood there—stunned, for lack of a better word.
'Wasn't he a Seer?'
Inside Caliban Hall.
Space distorted within a room of Caliban Hall, and Noah stepped out of it.
For a brief moment, the environment seemed to fold in on itself, like a sheet being crumpled and then unfolded without leaving any visible marks. The walls trembled faintly, the air stretched in impossible directions, and then everything returned to normal—as if nothing had happened.
This was the Traveler's Door of the Door Path/Symbol, an ability of long-distance teleportation, traversing through the wondrous Spiritual World that existed within reality. But truthfully, he had not explored that place very well. It was… confusing to move through, despite the sense of dominance he felt over it.
The Spiritual World did not obey logic.
It did not obey direction, nor time.
It was a place where distance meant nothing, and yet every step seemed to carry an invisible weight. It was like walking through thoughts that were not your own—through memories that belonged to no one in particular, and yet still existed.
Noah felt that he could dominate that space.
But domination… did not mean understanding.
And that made all the difference.
Noah placed his suitcase in the corner and sighed.
The sound was low.
Almost inaudible.
Yet it carried a hint of exhaustion—not physical, but mental.
'What a strange place. I imagined that with the mixture of beings from different places and species, there would be more variation… but they're almost all the same, from spiritual quantity to quality.' Noah thought as he sat down on the bed, then lay back. I't's been a while since I entered the Gray Mist Castle.'
The bed creaked softly beneath his weight.
The ceiling above him seemed ordinary.
Noah closed his eyes and focused.
The world around him was replaced.
.
.
.
"Welcome, Lord of the Mysteries." A voice echoed within the Gray Mist of the Castle.
The mist stretched in all directions.
Dense and infinite.
It did not merely fill the space—it was the space.
Noah turned sharply, finding a young man with black eyes and curly black hair, a broad forehead and a thin face. He wore a crystal monocle hanging over his right eye, along with a pointed black hat.
His presence was… strange.
Familiar.
And yet completely out of place.
"Oh? A newcomer? The times truly have changed." The young man remarked with a smile—before he felt the tension in the environment shift.
His smile did not disappear.
But it lost something.
Lightness.
Deep within his black overcoat, a dark blue glow seemed to appear and vanish intermittently.
It wasn't just light.
It was depth.
The shirt, seemingly made of stars, collapsed inward, forming a massive vortex within the coat—a terrifying vortex.
The space there was not being distorted.
It was being consumed.
Every gust of wind, every drop of water, and every ray of light within the vortex consisted of Spirit Worms, Time Worms, and Star Worms.
They moved. Intertwined. Devoured one another.
An impossible ecosystem. An existence that should not coexist within a single point.
In one or two seconds, the vortex was devoured as well.
As if it had only been… a glimpse.
The interior became an abyss, seemingly infinite, as though it contained an entire universe and a Spiritual World connected to every planet.
And then, within the darkness, smooth tentacles with mysterious patterns emerged.
They did not move aggressively.
Nor slowly.
They simply… existed.
And that was worse.
They slid into the black gloves within the sleeves and lifted a cane inlaid with stars.
The silence that followed was not empty.
It was oppressive.
As if the very concept of sound had been suppressed within that space.
"Who are you?" Noah asked, his voice echoing from within that creature so… abnormal.