"She is going to make it!"

John didn’t know how he reached the infirmary. The memory of the journey was a blur of cold terror, a fever dream of sprinting through corridors that felt miles long.

The moment he arrived, he screamed with the full force of his lungs, his voice echoing off the walls of the small auxiliary building connected to the sparring halls.

The medic staff, seeing Cissel in his arms, shredded, bloody, and pale, didn’t waste a second on questions. They moved fast, taking her from his trembling arms and disappearing into the depths of the facility. John remained rooted where they left him, standing motionless like a stone statue in front of the double white doors.

He stood there for over an hour, though he had no concept of time. Luke, Ben, and Elena had arrived, breathless and frantic, the moment the news reached the construction site. Nikolas followed, then the bald teacher and the scarred instructor.

Even the Headmaster appeared eventually, his face a mask of grave concern. Yet, John never acknowledged their presence. His entire existence was tethered to those shut doors, his knuckles white as he still gripped the hilt of the sword that had dealt the damage.

Behind him, a storm of voices rose. A loud, heated debate broke out between the teachers and his friends. Stories were already spreading like wildfire through the department, carried by the students who had arrived at the basement just after the lightning subsided.

The story being told was wild: John had been seen standing over a broken Cissel, his sword drawn and glowing with the residual energy of the attack that had ripped her to shreds.

To Luke and Elena, the story was absurd, literally impossible. Ben, still the newcomer, was silent, unsure of what to make of the carnage he hadn’t witnessed but clearly saw the aftermath of.

Even as the teachers relayed the testimonies of eyewitnesses who claimed John had snapped and attacked his own teammate, none of his friends believed a word of it.

Finally, the hiss of the pressurised doors broke the silence. One of the medic teachers who had taken Cissel from John emerged, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Is she awake?" John snapped back to reality instantly, his voice cracking. "Is she fine?"

"She... She is in critical condition," the teacher sighed, his expression weary. "Her body was shredded in multiple places, and the blood loss was nearly fatal. She requires intensive care and absolute rest, but... She will make it. She’s out of immediate danger."

"Phew!"

As if the gravity holding him together had suddenly vanished, John’s legs gave out. He fell to the ground on his knees, heaving a genuine, shuddering sigh of relief. The weight that had been crushing his chest for the last hour finally lifted, leaving him hollow and exhausted.

"Don’t worry about her," Luke said, though his voice was heavy with hesitation. He exchanged a long, silent gaze with Elena before stepping forward to touch John’s shoulder. "She’ll be fine, just like the doctor said. But John... We have a disaster we need to handle first."

"Luke?" John looked up, finally realising his friend was there. He slowly panned his eyes around the room, seeing Elena’s tear-streaked face, Ben’s awkward stance, and the stern, questioning looks of the teachers and the Headmaster.

He looked as if he were seeing them for the first time in years, a look of profound disorientation that drove a deep sigh of worry from everyone.

"You see... Many students are saying you attacked her," Luke began, his voice low. "They’re saying you used that sword to intentionally cut her down."

Luke didn’t know how to continue. He looked back at the others, silently pleading for help. He and Elena had watched the bond between John and Cissel grow amidst the fire of combat and the trials of the Source Code World. To suggest John would hurt her was to suggest he would cut off his own arm.

"We need to know... What happened?" The Headmaster stepped forward. He had rushed there the moment he heard the report of a deadly and weird attack that had happened in the basement of the fighting building, alongside the disturbing ill rumours about John.

Unfortunately, that specific area lacked monitoring devices, meaning the only reliable witnesses were John and the currently unconscious Cissel.

John moved his eyes away from the Headmaster, seemingly ignoring the old man’s words. He looked at Luke and Elena, and as if a mental fog were suddenly burned away by a rising sun, his mind began to accelerate.

He replayed the encounter, the cyborg, the black fog, the agonising pain in his eyes, and most importantly, the taunting, malicious voice of Mark.

The pieces of vague Mark’s threats clicked together. ’I’ll start with the most dear person to you... I’ll kill that person who is doing something big for you right now, far away from your reach.’

His body tensed up, his muscles coiling like springs.

"Ricky..." he suddenly muttered, his voice hoarse, as if he hadn’t used it in a lifetime. "Where is Ricky?"

"Ricky?" Luke and Elena exchanged confused glances. Elena was the one to answer. "We don’t know. You remember what he said before leaving the construction site. He went to meet with his private network to secure the liquid funds for the club’s base. He’s been gone for hours."

"Dammit!"

It was as if a switch had been flipped. John’s face contorted with a sudden, immense rage. The grief and relief were gone, replaced by a cold, raging fury. He stood up abruptly and began to walk toward the exit.

Nikolas stepped up immediately, his large frame blocking the path. "We won’t let you go in this state, John," the teacher said firmly, his eyes searching John’s for any sign of madness. "We need to know what happened in that basement."

"Move."

John’s voice didn’t carry a single ounce of room for negotiation. It was flat, cold, and vibrating with lethal intent. He didn’t just speak the word; he slowly raised his sword until the tip was levelled directly at Nikolas’s throat. "If you don’t, Ricky is going to be dead soon. Move!"