And Silas really made that mistake.
What happens when someone stops caring about anything, even himself? He becomes a maniac. He becomes suicidal, and that was what Silas became.
Silas was already being called a maniac, a madman, Pinky, all sorts of hurtful names as if he wasn't a human. As if he didn't have a life. As if he didn't matter. He had endured all that, but this time, Damien had pushed it too far. Silas knew Damien had intentionally done that to make him react and get him expelled, but reality was cruel.
Just remembering how the teachers around him had ignored everything made him seethe in rage. He knew he wasn't needed there. He knew he was the strange boy. But to the extent that no one would step in to stop a blatant bullying was too much. And he stopped caring.
He already had a system; he would live with it. If he wasn't needed in Valecrest, then he should as well be expelled, and he would make sure he was expelled. He didn't care anymore.
He was going to teach Damien a very hard lesson.
...
The corridors felt different as he moved through them, not because of the whispers. Those were still there.
"Pinky…"
"He smells like trash…"
"What happened to him?"
No.
It was different because none of it mattered anymore.
Silas walked straight through it all, expression calm, steps steady. His uniform was clean—but the faint stench lingered, clinging to him no matter how much he had scrubbed. Or maybe it was in their heads. Either way, it didn't matter.
Nothing did.
The classroom door stood ahead.
Mana Beasts Theory.
A shared class. Which meant Damien would be there. Silas didn't slow. He pushed the door open.
BANG.
The sound echoed, and every head turned. The chatter died instantly.
Silas stood at the entrance, framed by the light from the corridor behind him, his pink hair dull under the classroom glow, eyes unreadable.
Silence.
Then...
"Silas!" the teacher's voice cut through sharply.
Mr. Jerry.
One of them. One of the ones who had stood there, watched, and did nothing. His face twisted in annoyance.
"Get inside and find a seat—and for God's sake, stop standing there like you dragged a garbage bin in with you. You stink."
A few students snickered. Silas stepped forward slowly. His gaze lifted straight to the teacher.
And then he smiled. Mr. Jerry frowned slightly, caught off guard by something he couldn't place.
Silas didn't say a word. Instead, he moved.
His hand shot out, gripping the edge of the nearest desk in front of him. For a split second, it looked like he was just going to drag it aside.
Then, He lifted it. A full desk. Wood and metal. And before anyone could process what was happening... He threw it.
CRASH.
It tore through the air like a projectile. Straight at Damien. Just pure, violent intent. Damien's eyes widened— Too late.
The desk slammed into his face with a sickening impact, sending him crashing backward along with his chair, both splintering against the floor.
The classroom exploded into chaos.
Gasps. Shouts. Chairs scraping.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING—?!" Mr. Jerry roared.
Silas was already moving. Faster than anyone expected.
He crossed the distance in seconds, stepping over the broken desk without hesitation. Damien groaned, dazed, blood already spilling from his nose, his body struggling to register what had just happened.
Silas didn't give him time.
His fist came down.
THUD.
It drove straight into Damien's ribs.
A crack echoed. Not loud—but unmistakable. Damien choked, air ripping out of his lungs as his body curled instinctively. Silas grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up, just enough, then drove his knee into his stomach.
WHAM.
Another sound. Another collapse.
"STOP THIS RIGHT NOW—!" Mr. Jerry shouted, but his voice sounded distant, useless, drowned beneath the raw violence unfolding.
Damien tried to fight back. His hand twitched. Gravity flickered— But it was weak. Unfocused. Pain had already taken its toll. Silas caught his wrist and twisted it hard. A sharp, unnatural snap rang out.
Damien screamed. Or tried to. It came out broken. Silas didn't stop. Punch after punch landed—controlled, deliberate, devastating. Not wild. Not messy.
Precise.
Every strike placed, every movement efficient. Ribs. Shoulder. Face. Damien's resistance crumbled almost instantly. Whatever arrogance, whatever confidence he had—it shattered under the sheer, overwhelming force Silas brought down on him.
This wasn't a fight. It was a punishment. Students backed away, some pressing against the walls, others frozen in place, unable to look away.
No one laughed. No one whispered. Fear replaced everything.
Because this— This wasn't Pinky. This wasn't the boy they mocked. This was something else. Something that didn't care anymore.
Damien's body went limp. He had gone unconscious. Broken. One arm twisted at an angle it should never bend. Silas's fist hovered in the air for a second longer— Then slowly lowered.
The silence that followed was heavy and absolute. Even Mr. Jerry had stopped shouting. Silas stood there, breathing steady, looking down at what he'd done.
There was no satisfaction. No regret. Just stillness. Then he lifted his gaze and looked around the room, at all of them, and in that moment, everyone understood.
Silas hadn't just snapped. He had let go, and that made him far more dangerous than anything they had imagined.
...
Silas looked at all of them once, his pink eyes glowing coldly, and walked slowly out of the classroom. His steps weren't hurried at all, but no one tried to stop him. They had just witnessed him beat Damien, one of the strongest in their batch, as if he were some little kid. No one wanted to experience that.
And those eyes... they glowed.
The corridor felt… empty. Not physically. There were still students. But around him?
A space had formed.
No one stepped into his path. No one whispered now. No one even dared look at him directly for more than a second. The air itself seemed to pull back, instinctively avoiding something it didn't understand.
His steps were calm and measured, each one landing with quiet certainty. Behind him, chaos erupted inside the classroom—shouts, scrambling, someone yelling for help—but it all felt far away.
Irrelevant.
Silas reached the doorway fully and stepped out. Someone was waiting. Right outside. Leaning slightly against the wall, as if he had been there for a while, listening.
Mr. Hermod.
The second teacher. The one who had watched and did nothing. He straightened as Silas approached, pushing himself off the wall with a slow, almost lazy movement. His face carried no shock. No anger.
Just amusement.
A thin, unpleasant smile stretched across his lips as his eyes scanned Silas from head to toe, lingering for just a second too long.
"Well," he said, voice smooth, laced with something sharp underneath. "That was… entertaining."
Silas stopped in front of him.
Mr. Hermod tilted his head slightly, as if inspecting something distasteful.
"You know," he continued, "for someone who smells like a garbage dump, you certainly made quite the scene."
His nose wrinkled faintly, exaggerated. Disdain. Disgust. It was clear as day.
Silas didn't react. That same stillness remained.
Mr. Hermod's smile widened just a little.
"Lucky for you," he went on, clasping his hands behind his back, "you don't have to worry about class anymore."
"The principal wants to see you."
He let that hang for a moment, watching for a reaction.
There was none, so he added, casually, almost cheerfully.
"You might get expelled."
The words were delivered lightly, as if it were nothing, as if Silas was nothing. The hallway seemed to hold its breath. Students nearby pretended not to listen—but every ear strained toward them.
Silas stood there still for sometime, then slowly, he smiled. Just enough to show that he heard, that he understood, and that it didn't matter.
"Good," he said—one word.
Flat. Unbothered.
Mr. Hermod blinked. Something flickered in his expression—brief, subtle, gone just as quickly. Silas stepped past him, not waiting, not asking for directions. He knew where the principal's office was. Behind him, Mr. Hermod watched him go, the faint smile returning—but not quite the same as before.
Because for the first time, something about Silas didn't feel… controllable anymore.