As A Mafia Boss I Refuse To Be An Extra Chapter 55

[ … words ]

Seraphina watched all these reactions with growing curiosity, her eyebrows raising slightly.

She already knew perfectly well which weapon arts Damian had chosen to learn, he was her student in Aura Control, after all, and she’d reviewed his file thoroughly.

So why were all these experienced professors suddenly reacting like they’d seen a ghost?

’What am I missing here?’

As if sensing her confusion and unspoken question, Salazar explained with an unmistakably proud expression spreading across his face like sunshine.

“That kid – my brilliant disciple – has chosen to learn Abyssal Slaughter as one of his weapon arts.”

He paused for dramatic effect, letting that sink in.

“But here’s the thing. There’s only one person in our entire Academy – hell, probably in this entire region – who’s actually qualified and capable of teaching that particular art to anyone.”

“Who is it?” Seraphina asked, genuinely puzzled now.

Her knowledge of Academy politics and staff capabilities was still limited since she’d only recently arrived.

“The Headmaster.”

Vivian answered quietly, almost reverently.

The name hung in the air like a physical presence.

’Ah. I see. So that’s why everyone’s freaking out.’

Understanding dawned on Seraphina’s face.

It was common knowledge throughout the entire Federation – practically part of the cultural foundation – that whoever taught you your weapon art was automatically considered your master in the traditional sense.

That relationship carried weight. Obligations. Protection.

That was precisely why everyone present had been casually thinking of Damian as just Salazar’s disciple until this moment, since Salazar taught him Omega Point.

But now, with the revelation that Damian was also being personally instructed by the mysterious, powerful Headmaster in Abyssal Slaughter, the entire situation changed dramatically.

Damian wasn’t just some talented commoner student anymore.

He was the Headmaster’s disciple.

So… what right did any of these professors, regardless of their rank, experience, or noble connections, have to punish their ultimate superior’s personal disciple?

The answer was simple: absolutely none.

Zero.

Touching Damian now would be like slapping the Headmaster directly in the face.

Career suicide didn’t even begin to describe what would happen.

Some Master-Disciple relationships in their culture were considered even stronger and more binding than actual blood ties between family members.

More sacred. More permanent.

That was exactly why Salazar was currently feeling so incredibly proud that he might actually burst.

His mind was racing with pleasant thoughts.

’Damian is my disciple through Omega Point, yes. But he’s also the Headmaster’s disciple through Abyssal Slaughter.

So technically, by the traditional rules of martial lineage… I could be considered the martial brother of the Headmaster himself, right? We share a disciple, which creates a connection…’

“Hehehe…”

As these increasingly narcissistic and ridiculous thoughts continued running wild through his head, Salazar actually chuckled out loud, a foolish, self-satisfied sound that made him look slightly unhinged.

Everyone else gathered in the staff room could read his mind easily, following his transparent thought process written clearly across his face.

Several of them shook their heads helplessly at this known weirdo, barely suppressing smiles.

Salazar Blackwood was brilliant, powerful, and an exceptional teacher.

He was also completely insane and had the social awareness of a particularly dense rock.

“Well then.”

Richard cleared his throat, breaking the moment.

“I think we can all agree that this matter is… significantly above our pay grade to handle.

The Headmaster will deal with his own disciple as he sees fit. Our role is simply to maintain order and ensure no further violence occurs.”

Murmurs of agreement spread through the room.

Everyone was more than happy to wash their hands of this political nightmare.

“What about the injured students?” Vivian asked, her concern genuine. “I heard there were over forty commoners who needed medical attention, plus Damian himself and that third-year girl, Mara.”

“They’re all being treated in the Medical Wing as we speak.”

Richard answered, his professional demeanor returning.

“Most of the injuries are relatively minor – bruises, cuts, a few broken bones. Nothing life-threatening, thankfully.

Mara Kestrel is the most seriously injured, but even she’ll make a full recovery with proper healing Aura treatment over the next few days.”

He paused, then added quietly.

“Though I suspect the psychological impact of today’s events will last much longer than the physical injuries.”

That statement hung heavy in the air.

Everyone knew he was right.

What happened today wasn’t just a fight.

It was a turning point.

A line had been crossed that couldn’t be uncrossed.

“The forums are going absolutely crazy, by the way.”

Nathan spoke up, still scrolling through his phone.

“Students are taking sides. It’s splitting almost perfectly along Noble-Commoner lines, with a few exceptions.

Some Nobles are actually defending Damian’s actions, surprisingly. And quite a few senior commoners are calling him a hero.”

“A hero,” Admond repeated thoughtfully. “Or a revolutionary. Depending on your perspective.”

“Either way,” Vivian said softly, “nothing is going to be the same after today. Whether that’s good or bad… I suppose we’ll find out.”

Seraphina listened to all of this from her reclined position, her violet eyes distant.

She thought about Damian – bloodied, broken, but still standing. Still inspiring others to stand with him.

She had also seen some photos circulating the forums as well.

’That kid… he’s going to change everything, isn’t he?’

A small smile tugged at her lips.

’Good. This place needed changing.’

Emmanuel Langsten sat in the corner, thoroughly chastised and deeply regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment.

He made a silent vow to himself: from now on, he would keep his mouth firmly shut about student affairs.

Especially anything involving Damian Valcor.

That kid was clearly protected by forces far beyond Emmanuel’s ability to influence or challenge.

The smart move – the only move – was to stay far, far away from that particular storm.

Salazar was still grinning to himself like an idiot, lost in fantasies about his new elevated status as the Headmaster’s “martial brother.”

The other professors ignored him.

They’d learned long ago that Salazar lived in his own reality sometimes, and it was best to just let him enjoy it.

Outside the staff room, the Academy continued buzzing with energy and speculation.

Students gathered in groups, arguing passionately about what they’d witnessed or heard about.

And somewhere in the Medical Wing, surrounded by his injured followers, Damian Valcor rested and planned his next move.