The smell of ozone and burnt copper hung heavy in the Academy's combat simulation room.

Instructor Elias Vance stood at the front of the massive, stone-walled classroom. He slapped his wooden pointer against the chalkboard, drawing a complex diagram of energy conversion.

"Half-blood Rosalie," Elias barked. "Come to the front."

Rosalie stood up, smoothing her perfectly pleated skirt. She walked to the center of the room. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and held her hands out.

A soft, warm, and incredibly precise wave of healing light bloomed from her palms. It illuminated the dark classroom.

The students erupted into applause. Whispers of awe filled the room. For a half-blood to possess such pure magic was incredibly rare.

Rosalie lowered her hands. She blushed, looking down at her shoes.

"It's nothing, really," Rosalie said softly. "My small tricks are completely worthless compared to the pureblood genius, Genevieve."

The applause died instantly.

Every head in the classroom turned. Like a physical spotlight, their stares pinned Genevieve to her seat in the darkest, back corner of the room.

Rosalie walked down the aisle, stopping right in front of Genevieve's desk. She smiled, her eyes shining with fake admiration.

"Sister, please," Rosalie said loudly. "Show us your power. Guide us."

Genevieve had been sleeping face-down on her desk. She slowly lifted her head. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were dull, unfocused, and completely devoid of the terrifying pureblood pressure she used to carry.

She pushed her chair back. As she stood up, she deliberately let her right knee buckle. She grabbed the edge of the desk, swaying dangerously, looking like a strong gust of wind would snap her in half.

Genevieve looked at Rosalie. She pitched her voice to match Rosalie's soft, helpless tone perfectly.

"My mind is completely blank," Genevieve dragged out the words, sounding exhausted. "I don't know how to do anything anymore."

Rosalie's smile tightened. She thought Genevieve was just being arrogant and refusing to perform.

"Don't be modest," Rosalie pushed, her voice sickly sweet. "We all know about your glorious kills during the Court hunts."

Genevieve didn't argue. Instead, she slapped both hands over her face.

Her shoulders began to heave. She let out a series of pathetic, breathless hiccups, perfectly copying Rosalie's signature silent crying technique.

"I lost my talent!" Genevieve wailed, her voice cracking in the quiet room. "I'm a useless cripple! Stop forcing a sick person to perform!"

The classroom fell into a stunned, uncomfortable silence. The students stared at each other. They couldn't connect this weeping, pathetic mess to the cold-blooded killer they had heard rumors about.

Rosalie's smile completely shattered. Her mouth hung open. She felt the heavy, mocking irony of Genevieve's performance slapping her right in the face.

As Rosalie stood up, her mind raced. She needed to drain Genevieve's reputation quickly; Lord Marcus's elite guards were already tearing through the outer clans, interrogating everyone about Genevieve's supposed 'curse'. The pressure was mounting.

To seal the deal, Genevieve pressed her thumb against her index knuckle. She let a tiny, chaotic fraction of her shadow magic slip out of her fingertips.

Black mist exploded from her hand. It didn't form a spell. It acted like a swarm of panicked hornets, shooting wildly across the room.

The mist slammed into the instructor's desk. It knocked over a row of glass reagent vials.

The vials hit the stone floor and shattered. A foul, acidic smell instantly flooded the room.

Panic erupted. The students in the front row screamed and scrambled backward, knocking over their heavy wooden chairs to escape the chaotic mist.

Rosalie saw the chaos. She immediately dropped to the floor, landing gracefully on her knees. She looked up with wide, frightened eyes, waiting for one of the male students to rush over and protect her.

Genevieve didn't give her the spotlight.

Genevieve let out an ear-piercing shriek. She threw herself onto the floor and scrambled directly under her wooden desk. She wrapped her arms around her head, curling into a tight ball, screaming louder than anyone else.

Elias Vance's face turned purple with rage. He slashed his wooden pointer through the air.

A blinding wave of white purification light blasted across the room. It instantly vaporized the rogue shadow mist and forced the students into silence.

Elias marched down the aisle. He stopped at Genevieve's desk and glared down at the shivering girl hiding underneath it.

Elias's face turned pale. He lowered his voice, his tone a mix of shock and cautious hesitation. "Lady Genevieve... with your bloodline, this... is this some kind of disguise I cannot comprehend, or is your body truly failing to control the most basic foundation of magic?!"

Genevieve poked her tear-stained face out from under the desk. She looked Elias dead in the eye.

"Because I am a complete piece of trash now!" Genevieve yelled back, sounding incredibly proud of the fact.

Elias choked on his own breath. His face turned from purple to a sickly pale. In his hundred years of teaching, he had never seen an Antediluvian descendant with absolutely zero shame.

Rosalie stood up from the floor. She dusted off her skirt and stepped forward.

"Instructor, please," Rosalie said gently. "Sister Genevieve is just nervous."

"I'm not just nervous!" Genevieve shouted from under the desk, cutting Rosalie off. "I'm uncoordinated! My brain is shrinking! I'm useless!"

Elias squeezed his eyes shut. He rubbed his throbbing temples. He had reached his absolute limit.

He pulled a red pen from his pocket and slashed a violent mark across his clipboard.

"Zero," Elias announced loudly. "Genevieve receives a zero for today's combat simulation."

Instead of crying, Genevieve let out a loud sigh of relief. She crawled out from under the desk, dusted off her knees, and sat back down in her chair, looking perfectly content with her failure.

The heavy velvet curtains in the theory classroom were drawn tight, blocking out the midday sun.

Elias Vance stood at the massive chalkboard. Dust fell from his chalk as he aggressively drew the intricate lines of a dark magic tactical array.

He stopped mid-stroke. He turned his head. His sharp eyes locked onto the back row.

Genevieve had an open textbook propped up over her face. Soft, rhythmic breathing came from behind the pages. She was fast asleep.

Elias slammed his knuckles against the chalkboard. The sharp crack echoed like a gunshot in the tiered classroom.

"Genevieve!" Elias barked. "Stand up and answer the question."

Genevieve jumped. The heavy book slid off her face and hit the desk. She rubbed her sleepy eyes, pushed her chair back, and stood up. She swayed slightly, leaning heavily on the desk for support.

"Assume you are trapped at the edge of the Abyss," Elias said, his voice dripping with condescension. "A high-tier shadow beast ambushes you. As a Child of the Night, how do you utilize the dark arrays to counterattack?"

The entire class turned around in their seats. They stared at the back row, waiting to see if the fallen genius still had her tactical brilliance.

Genevieve stared at the chalk diagram. Her Antediluvian instincts immediately supplied the answer: a single-strike obliteration spell, followed by three different escape routes.

She mentally crushed those thoughts. She cleared her throat and arranged her face into a mask of absolute, deadpan seriousness.

"The best tactic," Genevieve said loudly, her voice echoing in the quiet room, "is to immediately find a deep hole, bury yourself, and wait for the monster to eat its fill and leave. Rely on others to save you? By the time they arrive, you'll already be monster dung."

For two seconds, the classroom was dead silent.

Then, the room exploded. Dozens of students burst into roaring, uncontrollable laughter. The sound bounced off the stone walls.

Elias's face turned gray. His fist clenched so hard the chalk snapped into fine white powder.

He slammed both hands onto the podium.

"That is a disgrace to the Nightwalkers!" Elias roared over the laughter. "That is the behavior of a coward!"

Genevieve pouted. She crossed her arms, looking genuinely offended.

"Staying alive is the most important rule," Genevieve argued back. "Pride gets you killed."

She paused, then perfectly mimicked Rosalie's soft, breathy voice. "Besides, the weak should be protected, right?"

In the front row, Rosalie stiffened. Hearing her own manipulative catchphrase thrown out as a joke made her blood boil. She bit her lip so hard she tasted copper.

Elias took three deep breaths, trying to stop his heart from exploding. He glared at Genevieve through narrowed eyes.

"And what if no one comes to save you?" Elias asked through gritted teeth.

Genevieve shrugged. She threw her hands up in the air.

"Then I'll just close my eyes and get eaten," she said matter-of-factly. "It's not like I can outrun it anyway."

The last shred of respect anyone had for her shattered. The pureblood aristocrats in the middle rows sneered, shaking their heads in absolute disgust.

But on the far left side of the room, Dorian didn't laugh.

The blood alchemy genius sat perfectly still. He pushed his silver-rimmed goggles up the bridge of his nose. His sharp eyes cut through the crowd, locking onto Genevieve's face.

He saw the lazy slump of her shoulders. But beneath that, he caught a fleeting glimpse of sharp, calculating clarity in her eyes. His instincts screamed that this girl was faking it.

Elias waved his hand dismissively at Genevieve, treating her like a piece of garbage.

"Sit down," Elias spat. "Stop embarrassing yourself."

Genevieve dropped back into her chair without a single ounce of shame. She picked up her textbook, placed it back over her face, and adjusted her posture to get comfortable.

Elias called on Rosalie. Rosalie stood up, her voice sweet and clear, and delivered the textbook-perfect tactical answer.

Elias nodded in deep satisfaction. He spent the next five minutes praising Rosalie, using her brilliance to highlight Genevieve's pathetic failure.

Under her book, Genevieve rolled her eyes. She didn't care about the comparison. She just wanted to sleep.

When the bell finally rang, the students packed their bags quickly. As they walked up the aisle, they actively swerved to avoid Genevieve's desk, treating her like a contagious disease.

Genevieve took her time. She slowly shoved her book into her bag, stretched her arms over her head, and yawned.

Dorian stood by the door. He watched her isolated, unbothered figure walk down the aisle.

Why would a pureblood intentionally destroy her own reputation? Dorian's mind raced. He was hooked.

The midday bell echoed across the Academy's gothic courtyard.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the ancient, twisted oak trees, casting long shadows over the stone fountains. Students gathered in small groups, eating and gossiping.

Rosalie sat on a carved stone bench. Her fingernails dug into the fabric of her skirt.

Inside her mind, the Destiny Plunder System's virtual panel flashed with angry red warning lights.

[Target: Genevieve. Hostility Level: 0. Plunder Mechanism: FAILED.]

Rosalie ground her teeth together. The system's script required Genevieve to act like an arrogant, abusive noble. Rosalie was supposed to play the victim, trigger Genevieve's rage, and steal her luck points in front of a crowd.

But Genevieve was acting like a slippery pile of mud. She refused to fight back. The system was completely stuck.

A few feet away, a group of low-tier vampires sat on the grass, whispering loudly.

"I heard Lord Marcus threw her out of his bed," a girl with thick glasses gossiped. "The shock broke her brain."

"No way," a tall boy argued. "My cousin works at the Court. He said her pureblood core rotted. She's literally mentally regressing."

Rosalie listened to the rumors. A new plan formed in Rosalie's mind. If Genevieve wouldn't attack her naturally, Rosalie would force a public confrontation.

Rosalie stood up and walked over to the outdoor buffet tables. She picked up a small, crystal plate holding a rare, high-tier blood pudding. It smelled intoxicatingly sweet.

She arranged her features into a mask of pure, sisterly devotion. She walked toward the dark corner under the oldest oak tree, where Genevieve sat alone in the shade.

The system chimed in Rosalie's head: [If target slaps the food away, Host will gain 5 Prestige Points.]

Rosalie stopped in front of Genevieve. She held the plate out with both hands.

"Sister," Rosalie said, her voice loud enough for the gossiping students to hear. "I stood in line to get this for you. I hope it brings your strength back."

Genevieve was leaning against the tree trunk, absentmindedly pulling blades of grass from the dirt. She looked up. She stared at the pudding, then looked at Rosalie's overly eager face.

Genevieve didn't slap the plate. She didn't yell.

Instead, she snatched the plate right out of Rosalie's hands.

Without a word of thanks, Genevieve grabbed the small silver spoon and shoved a massive bite of the pudding into her mouth.

"Oh, wow," Genevieve mumbled, her mouth completely full. "This is actually good. Way better than the garbage the Court chefs make."

Rosalie's hands were still frozen in the air. Her prepared speech about being bullied died in her throat.

Genevieve scraped the plate clean in three seconds flat. She shoved the empty crystal plate back into Rosalie's hands.

"What? Is this it?" Genevieve complained loudly, making sure her voice carried across the courtyard. "Are you feeding a beggar? Go get me three more portions, and hurry up!"

Rosalie's face twitched. She gripped the empty plate so hard her knuckles turned white. She forced a stiff, painful smile.

"I'm sorry, sister," Rosalie forced the words out. "They ran out."

Genevieve's face instantly dropped. She scowled, looking at Rosalie with pure, unfiltered disgust.

"You are completely useless," Genevieve snorted, waving her hand as if shooing away a fly. "Can't even fetch a simple snack properly. Get out of my sight before you ruin my appetite further."

The students on the grass stopped talking. They stared at Rosalie, their eyes filled with weird, judging looks.

Rosalie felt her face burn with intense humiliation. She spun around and walked away fast, her posture stiff and awkward.

[WARNING!] The strange entity in her mind shrieked. [Target's behavior registers as pure greed and laziness, not aristocratic bullying! Host subservience detected. Charm Level decreased by 2 points!]

Rosalie rushed into the nearest stone bathroom. She slammed her fist into the marble sink, cracking the mirror above it.

Back under the tree, Genevieve stretched her legs out and smiled.

Her shameless tactic worked perfectly. As long as she acted like a greedy, lazy idiot without actual violent intent, the system couldn't touch her.

A shadow fell over her.

A low-tier, commoner boy stood nervously in front of her. His hands shook as he held out a cheap, plastic bottle of tomato-flavored blood drink.

Genevieve didn't hesitate. She grabbed the bottle, popped the cap, and took a drink.

"Thanks," she said casually.

The boy's face lit up with shock and joy. He bowed awkwardly and ran off.

Up on the second-floor balcony, Dorian pushed his goggles up his nose. He watched Genevieve drink the cheap tomato blood. The mystery around her just kept getting deeper.