Iris stepped into her dorm room, and the atmosphere felt charged—a palpable heat that seemed to pulse from the very air. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the red book resting on her desk, encircled by orange flaming butterflies. Their erratic dance, with wings crackling like tiny bonfires, signaled another letter from her future self. But tonight, something was off. The butterflies burned with an intensity beyond the norm; each flutter burst with harsh, almost enraged light, their heat nearly stifling even from across the room.

  Cautiously, Iris approached the desk, her fingers twitching with a mixture of anticipation and dread. As she neared the book, she noticed that the butterflies’ flight was less graceful—darting sharply, as though agitated by an unseen force. With a steadying breath, she flipped open the red book. The page didn’t simply glow—it flared, an eruption of light spilling from the ink as if sharing the butterflies’ fury. She scanned the hastily scrawled words that seemed to seethe off the paper, each sentence smoldering with frustration and disbelief.

  “You absolute idiot. Never in my life was I ever sent to detention. I can't believe this. How could you let this happen? If I could reach back through time, I’d strangle some sense into you! I’ve heard horror stories about that place—mostly from Charles—but to actually end up there? It’s almost embarrassing. When I had that same confrontation, I didn’t get into a fight like some reckless hothead!”

  The tone shifted in the next few lines, the handwriting softening as if her future self had taken a moment to calm down.

  “I’m sorry. I got a bit carried away. It’s not entirely your fault. If I hadn’t told you about Anya’s true identity, you probably wouldn’t have been so on edge around her. Though I have to admit, I’m worried now that you’ve ended up with that psycho as your new combat teacher. Anastasia’s combat skills are legendary—you’ll learn a lot, but just watch your back. She doesn’t understand the meaning of holding back.”

  A brief flash of flames danced along the edge of the page, leaving behind a subtle scorch mark along the bottom of the letter. The message continued:

  “Now, about the Joint Training Event. Go into it with an open mind—try to have some fun. There were no major incidents when I went through it, aside from our class getting crushed. More importantly, try to make a good impression on Maxwell. Trust me, that might be more important than you realize.”

  The final lines, written in elegant, looping script, emphasized the urgency:

  “Good luck, my past self. Remember, every decision you make shapes us both.”

  “—Your future self, Iris Blackwell.”

  Far in the future, the air was thick with tension. Future Iris sat confined within a gilded birdcage, her eyes burning with defiance and exhaustion. She had just finished writing a letter to her past self, and the moment she set down her pen, she could feel his hungry, amused, maddeningly calm gaze upon her.

  Lounging against the cold bars was Superbia, his fanged grin a mockery of delight. A vicious gleam flickered in his eyes as he regarded her.

  “Do you really believe, Iris, that there will be no incidents at the Joint Training event?” he drawled, his voice dripping with twisted amusement.

  Her fiery gaze snapped up. “What do you mean by that, you damned devil?” she growled, suspicion lacing every word.

  Superbia’s smile widened into a sinister smirk. “Tell me, what do you remember about the Queen’s Garden?”

  Iris narrowed her eyes, her tone cutting. “Why ask about them now? They were a band of villains who went on a bloody rampage when the cataclysm began. After the Tokyo Incident, every one of them became Awakened—leaving a trail of corpses in their wake.” Her voice dripped with venom as dark memories surged like a tidal wave.

  Leaning closer, Superbia’s whisper was smooth and poisonous. “Good. Now list them off for me—each member. Your memory is quite impeccable, isn’t it?”

  Iris rolled her eyes, but unease quickly replaced her irritation. “Fine,” she began, her voice low. “First, there was Noah, the Poisoner—spreading pestilence and death like wildfire, wiping out entire cities. Then Rook, the Face-Changer—a master spy who slipped into organizations and vanished, responsible for the death of many pillar organization leaders. Split-Face Sarah was a relentless regenerating menace, cloning herself no matter how many times I struck her down. And her brother, he was even worse, Ashe—a vampire commanding endless hordes of ghouls.”

  Her voice faltered as old wounds stung. “But the worst… was their leader, Cynthia. Dead-Face Cynthia—a walking nightmare whose curse was like death incarnate. Her massacres left countless bodies behind.”

  Superbia’s grin twisted further as he produced a slip of paper seemingly out of thin air. “Now, read the class roster for Maxwell’s class.” He handed it to her with a flourish.

  Iris took the paper, her eyes darting over the names. As she read, a chill ran through her; each name struck her like a cold slap. Anger flared, igniting the paper in a burst of scorching light. With a sudden surge of fury, she leaped to her feet, summoning a blazing sword into her grip, and lunged at Superbia. “What did you do, you bastard?” she shouted, slashing wildly.

  Superbia dodged with infuriating ease, his movements fluid as water. “I merely made adjustments to the timeline, Iris,” he taunted in a venomous purr. “Maxwell’s class was filled with nobodies—just background characters not worth a glance. I thought it time to spice things up.”

  Iris’s eyes blazed as she launched a volley of flaming arrows. “You’ve turned future villains into Maxwell’s classmates! Those names—those are members of the Queen’s Garden! What have you done?” Her cry was laced with desperation.

  Superbia laughed, a sound echoing pure malevolence. “You wished to save everyone, Iris. To be a hero, to change the future and prevent tragedies. But why limit yourself to just saving your classmates? Why not save the villains, too?” His eyes gleamed wickedly. “Let’s see if you can save the future monsters before they truly become monsters.”

  “You’ve twisted the future into your own sick game,” Iris growled, her voice trembling with fury. “But I swear, I will stop you. I will save them all.”

  Superbia’s laughter echoed through the gilded cage—a haunting symphony of mockery that lingered like cursed fog. “Then let the game begin, Iris. Let’s see if your resolve burns brighter than fate itself,” he sneered, his eyes alight with draconic intensity.

  “You prideful bastard,” she spat, every syllable laced with hatred and defiance.

  Stepping closer, Superbia reached out to ruffle her hair, his touch as patronizing as it was chilling. “Look forward to the festivities. I bet your past self will find it quite… exhilarating,” he whispered, his fingers lingering in her hair with a cruel gentleness that sent a shiver down her spine.

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  His laughter swelled into a sinister melody. His crimson hair cascaded like wildfire as he spun on his heel, draconic horns catching the moonlight that seeped through the bars. Dried-blood-colored scales rippled along his arm, and his long, coiled tail swayed like a serpent. He danced along the confines of his cage with deliberate grace, mocking her helplessness.

  “Care to join me for a dance?” he taunted, extending a clawed hand with a flourish. “Who knows? Tomorrow might be the day your past self meets her end.”

  “Go to hell,” Iris hissed, venom thick in her tone.

  Superbia chuckled darkly. “Suit yourself,” he replied with a casual shrug, his tail flicking idly. “But tell me—how will you react when your past self dies? When you have to watch everything unravel, helpless to change it?” His smile twisted into a smirk as his fangs caught the light. “And a word of warning: Cynthia will awaken much sooner than before. I’ve ensured she’ll be quite the early riser.”

  The words hit Iris like a physical blow. “You’re lying!” she snapped, desperation mingling with defiance in her trembling voice.

  “Am I?” Superbia turned away, his eyes glowing with sadistic delight as he waved off her protest like a casual breeze. “Sleep well, Iris. You’ll need your strength,” he added, his voice echoing like the fading hum of a distant storm. With an arrogant strut, he left the chamber, his presence lingering in the oppressive silence.

  Iris collapsed to her knees, her fists clenched until her nails drew blood. Her heart thundered, and her ragged breath bore the memory of his mocking touch. But in that raw, seething moment, she vowed not to let him win. No matter the twists and turns of fate, she would shatter his cruel game and tear apart the destiny he sought to impose upon her.

  The morning began with the buzz of anticipation as students filled the classroom. Iris slipped into her seat, a mix of excitement and nervous energy in the air. The constant hum of chatter carried the promise of the joint training event with the Beta Facility—an event everyone eagerly awaited.

  Mrs. Stone entered, her soft yet commanding footsteps drawing every eye. She scanned the lively room and raised a hand for silence. “Alright, everyone, settle down,” she said in a firm, lighthearted tone. “Very soon, our guests from the Beta Facility will be joining us. I hope you’re all prepared.”

  Her gaze lingered on Iris, Anya, and Charles. “Before we continue, Jonathan asked me to deliver a special message to you three—please stop destroying rooms in the facility.” She paused, arching an eyebrow at Anya. “And Anya… I need to know, where did you get not one, but two chainsaws?”

  Anya’s eyes darted away as she let out a nonchalant whistle. “I, uh, found them,” she replied, mischief dancing in her voice.

  Mrs. Stone sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Of course you did. Just remember—if you must fight, do it under teacher supervision. We’re trying to maintain some semblance of order here.”

  “Sorry, Mrs. Stone. I won’t do it again,” Iris offered sincerely.

  “I definitely will,” Charles added with a shrug and a mischievous spark.

  “Yeah, same,” Anya chimed in, unapologetic.

  Mrs. Stone shook her head with a resigned sigh. “I suppose one out of three is better than none. You all are a handful, you know that?”

  Amid the exchange, Xavier slumped over his desk, completely oblivious. With a snap of her fingers, Mrs. Stone conjured a ball of water that zipped across the room, splashing him square in the face. Xavier jolted upright, rubbing his eyes and grumbling, “Alright, alright, I’m awake.”

  A ripple of anticipation spread as the clock ticked down to the event. Iris clenched her fist beneath the desk, the words of her future self’s letter echoing in her ears—reminders of a fate she was desperate to change.

  Then the classroom door burst open with a resounding crash. Anastasia strutted in, dragging a bulging suitcase from which various guns jutted out, nearly falling with every step. Clad in sleek black sunglasses and sporting a cocky grin, she waved at the startled students before casually shoving Mrs. Stone aside, earning a sharp glare.

  “Hello, everyone! I’m your new combat teacher,” Anastasia declared, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you all are made of today.”

  Mrs. Stone’s expression tightened as she stepped forward, reclaiming her space. “Anastasia, leave my classroom,” she commanded coolly.

  Anastasia chuckled. “Make me. I’d love to see you try,” she taunted, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

  Without missing a beat, Mrs. Stone conjured a slender rapier of swirling water, its liquid form glinting dangerously. “In combat, a quick strike to the neck ends things swiftly,” she declared as she lunged. The watery blade sliced through the air toward Anastasia’s throat.

  Anastasia’s eyes flashed as she activated her ability, slipping into a state where the future unfolded like a vivid projection. She sidestepped the rapier with ease, snatched a pistol from her suitcase, and vaulted back. In a split second, she fired at Mrs. Stone—but the bullets thudded harmlessly into a watery barrier that sprang up between them.

  “Not bad,” Anastasia murmured, pulling a second pistol from her hip. She aimed it at her own temple, reading the near-future moves with uncanny precision. With a grin, she squeezed the trigger of her other gun; the bullets found their mark, striking Mrs. Stone's leg with pinpoint accuracy.

  Mrs. Stone winced as her leg buckled slightly. “You’re the worst,” she grumbled, her tone strained.

  Anastasia’s laughter echoed through the room. “Oh, come on, Mia. Lighten up—we’re just having a bit of fun,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief and challenge.

  Before Mrs. Stone could respond, the door swung open and Baal strode in, his presence instantly filling the room with a suffocating tension. His scent fell on Mrs. Stone, who was struggling to rise, and his expression darkened.

  Anastasia’s vision flared with a sudden, brutal flash: she saw Baal’s hand tearing her arm from its socket in a savage display of rage. The sight made her blood run cold, and without hesitation, she dropped to her knees, the smug confidence vanishing in an instant.

  “Please, I was just messing around. Don’t—” she pleaded, her voice trembling as she bowed her head.

  Baal, still fixed on Mrs. Stone, softened just slightly as he approached and reached out a hand. “Here, let me help you up,” he said in a tone that was gentle and almost tender, a stark contrast to the lethal aura that had filled the room moments before.

  Mrs. Stone accepted his help with a small, genuine smile. “Thank you, Baal,” she murmured, relief softening her voice.

  In the back of the classroom, Anya leaned toward Iris and whispered, “That lady is terrifying, but that guy… he’s even scarier.”

  Iris nodded, her breath catching as she replied in a hushed tone, “Agreed. She's a nightmare… but he's the kind you don't wake up from.”

  For a heartbeat, silence reigned, the students acutely aware that they’d just witnessed something far more dangerous than a mere sparring match. As the tension began to ease, Anastasia slowly rose, forcing a smile back onto her face though the spark in her eyes had dimmed.

  “Well, class,” she announced with a cocky air as she dusted herself off, “looks like things just got a little more interesting.”

  Mrs. Stone’s cool gaze swept over the room. “Baal will remain within the facility until we can arrange something more suitable,” she declared.

  Baal grinned broadly and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “I’m staying right here. There’s no way I’d ever leave my future wife,” he proclaimed, his voice brimming with affection.

  Mrs. Stone’s cheeks flushed as she nudged him in the ribs with a stern look. “Knock it off. I’m at work,” she chided, delivering a light smack on his head.

  “Fine, fine, I'm sorry,” Baal replied, rubbing the spot as his smile remained undeterred.

  Their banter was abruptly interrupted as Jonathan entered, his authoritative presence drawing every eye. “Alright, everyone,” he announced, his voice slicing through the lingering tension. “Follow me to the gym—the Beta Facility students have arrived.”

  Anastasia tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing here, Johnny? I figured you’d be too busy to chaperone.”

  Jonathan’s eyes twinkled with a rare hint of amusement. “I have a special interest in this class,” he replied cryptically, motioning for the students to follow him.