Shadow Being System

After leaving the admissions office, William made his way back to the dorms, the box of materials under his arm. The afternoon sun filtered through the academy's towering buildings, casting long shadows across the paths. As he walked, the sounds of students chattering and footsteps echoed around him, but William was lost in his thoughts.

His mind was still replaying the events in the admissions office—the strange looks from the clerk, the woman's flirtatious behavior, and the unsettling call she made right after he left.

Reaching his dorm, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. His roommates were still nowhere to be found, which gave him a moment of peace. He placed the box on his bed and walked over to a small table where a bottle of water sat. Twisting the cap, he took a long drink, the cool liquid refreshing his dry throat.

With a soft sigh, he set the bottle down and returned to the box, eager to see what had been given to him.

Opening the box, William's eyes immediately caught sight of the neatly folded uniforms. There were three of them, a striking combination of blue and black military attire that looked sharp and well-fitted. His fingers brushed over the fabric, and instinctively, he activated his Third Eye. His pupils shimmered faintly as the uniform's true nature was revealed to him.

This wasn't ordinary fabric—woven into the material were complex structures designed for durability and regeneration. The uniform could heal itself if damaged, making it ideal for the brutal life of a military cadet.

"Not bad," William muttered under his breath, impressed by the craftsmanship.

Next, he picked up his ID card. The glossy surface reflected his image back at him, and he couldn't help but smirk. "Handsome as always," he whispered, amused by his own vanity. The System, always present in his mind, chuckled softly, its voice like a shadow in the back of his consciousness.

William continued exploring the contents of the box. There was a paper labeled "Rules and Regulations" at the top, and he sat down on the edge of the bed, unfolding it.

The list of rules was typical of a military academy, but as he read, his eyebrows furrowed at certain points:

- No students are allowed to leave Military Academy 4 and enter Military Base 4.

- No students are allowed outside their dorms after 11 PM.

- No opposite sex should be in the dorm after 9 PM.

William paused, frowning at that last one. "Still enough time," he muttered under his breath, calculating the possibility of bending that rule.

He continued reading:

- No in-fighting between students. (William smirked at this one; it was clear this rule was more of a formality—a guideline rather than an actual restriction.)

- Always obey higher ranks: seniors, teachers, and military personnel.

- Never be late to class.

At the bottom of the list, there was an explanation about the phone included in the box. Apparently, it was no ordinary phone—it was a spell-tech device that didn't require charging, was waterproof, and had the ability to transform into any object the user desired.

However, what caught William's attention the most was the tracker embedded within the phone, allowing the academy to monitor every student's movements.

William narrowed his eyes and activated the Third Eye again, focusing on the phone. A complex network of symbols and spellwork lit up in his mind, many of which he didn't fully understand. However, one thing became clear—this device was more than just a convenience. It was a tool for surveillance. The school would know where he was at all times.

"Interesting…" he mused. The academy was more secretive and controlling than he had initially thought.

He pressed the power button, or at least what he assumed was the power button, and the screen flickered to life. A message appeared on the display: "Welcome to the academy, William."

Then, another notification popped up, asking: "What object would you like me to transform into?"

William stood in front of the mirror, contemplating his options. After a moment, a sly grin crept across his face as he made his decision. Within seconds, the phone shimmered and morphed into a sleek, black earring. He fastened it onto his ear, admiring the way it enhanced his look.

"Looking like a psl ," he said to his reflection, the grin still plastered on his face. The earring made him appear even more striking, amplifying his already cool aura.

Checking the time, he saw it was just past noon—lunchtime. He didn't plan on missing any meal, especially in a place where free food was abundant. "Let's go eat," he said to himself and left the room, locking the door behind him.

The cafeteria was buzzing with activity as students filled the space, their chatter and laughter bouncing off the walls. William entered and headed straight for the serving line, this time opting for a more modest portion of food compared to his earlier feast. With his tray in hand, he made his way to the same corner where he had sat that morning, preferring the solitude it offered.

As he ate, the same group of students from earlier caught his attention. Billy Stark and his entourage were once again at the center of it all. This time, however, Billy wasn't content with simply sitting—he climbed onto a table, demanding the attention of everyone in the room.

"Attention, everyone!" Billy's voice boomed through the cafeteria, full of arrogance and authority. Conversations died down as eyes turned toward him, some filled with curiosity, others with disdain.

Billy's smug grin widened as he continued, "We're all new here, and most of you are strangers to each other. But one day, you will all be my comrades, fighting behind me. So, I'd like to know who I'm fighting with." He paused, the silence in the room thick with anticipation. "I'll go first, as you all know, I'm Billy Stark, the son of the B8th, Mr. Stark."

Whispers spread through the crowd at the mention of his father's title—one of the powerful B10, the world's elite. Billy, basking in the attention, raised a hand, and in a flash, lightning crackled from his fingers, a bolt striking dangerously close to a nearby student. The student yelped in fear, visibly shaking as his pants became damp.

The sight of him wetting himself drew laughter from the crowd, "And I have Lightning Ability" Billy said while smirking, clearly pleased with himself.

One by one, Billy's group began introducing themselves—sons and daughters of wealthy families, high-ranking officials, and powerful individuals. Their pride was palpable, each one boasting about their abilities or their family connections. The atmosphere grew thick with tension and elitism, separating those who were born into power from those who were not.

When it was William's turn, he stood up slowly, feeling the weight of the eyes on him. He kept his expression cold and emotionless. "I'm William," he said simply, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. "Nice to meet you all."

Inside, however, his thoughts were far from humble. "Yeah beware boys, I'm the handsome one who'll take all the school belles." He smirked inwardly, but to the others, he appeared distant, almost unapproachable.

The introductions continued until it was a boy's turn. The boy, with messy red hair, was too busy shoveling food into his mouth to notice it was his time to speak. He sat at a table by himself, utterly absorbed in his mountain of food, oblivious to the tension in the room.

Billy, who had been enjoying the introductions so far, grew irritated by the boy's lack of respect. One of Billy's group members called out to the red-haired student, but he didn't respond, still lost in his meal. The blatant disregard for Billy's presence was enough to ignite his temper.

With a sneer, Billy raised his hand and fired another bolt of lightning, this time aimed at the boy's food. The bolt struck the pile of food, sending bits of it flying in all directions. The boy stopped mid-bite, his fork still halfway to his mouth.

The room fell deathly silent, all eyes on the red-haired boy. He lowered his fork slowly, his head tilting slightly as he muttered, "Who did that?" His voice was low but carried a menacing edge, one that sent a ripple of unease through the crowd.