How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game Chapter 581: Clean Up

"Handso?"

"H-Huh?"

"What the hell am I supposed to do with that information, you stupid idiot?" Hajey shot him a flat look, unimpressed.

Staggering a bit under the glare, Cristo chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. "Hahaha... it was just a joke, actually. Among all the gossips and rumors floating around, that part was the most prominently said, so... it just slipped out of my tongue~."

"Is that so?" Hajey leaned back into the sofa, arms crossing. "Well, hurry up and go on, then. Tell everything else about the guy."

"Well, to start off—"

Cristo began recounting everything he’d heard and pieced together during his little "tour."

His tone stayed steady, words flowing smoothly, but deep down his nerves twisted.

For the first ti since serving Hajey, he found himself mixing lies within truths.

Just small ones, tucked in between facts, carefully placed so they wouldn’t be noticed.

Hajey listened silently, his sharp eyes fixed on Cristo like he was dissecting each word.

"So, you t Kagami Kento after getting lost...?" Hajey finally said, raising an eyebrow. "Although he’s not as prominently known as the other geniuses of the academy, I’ve heard he’s not soone to take lightly. The teor Fist Kagami Kento... it’s surprising you’re still in one piece if you really had a mock battle with him."

Cristo laughed awkwardly. "Haha... all I could do was dodge, though."

The mory flashed in his head—the brute force behind Kagami’s strikes, the suffocating intent. Dodging wasn’t just all he could do... it was all that kept him alive.

But none of that showed on his face. Instead, he smiled as if brushing it off.

Hajey, however, kept watching him closely, his fingers tapping lightly against the chessboard.

Seeing Cristo’s cheeky laugh, Hajey let out a small sigh.

Their initial inspection had turned up nothing — not surprising, but still a sha.

They’d hoped to catch whatever movent had slipped past the family’s walls, so trace to follow.

Instead, they had only whispers and gaps.

"Should we inform Madam?" Cristo asked, tilting his head.

"No." Hajey shook his head. "There’s no need. Mother told to move as freely as I need. Don’t report this to her — she’s already got plans. We don’t need interference from her side."

Cristo blinked. "I thought we were the plan."

"In a sense," Hajey said, glancing down at the scattered chess pieces on the table. "We’re more like variables she needs."

He felt the weight of that word — variable — and the thin coldness behind it.

Hajey didn’t know all the moves his mother had set in motion, nor the shape of the endga she wanted.

She thought in a different scale. Bigger. Colder.

He had always been one of her tools; useful, but never the hand that held the blade.

The mission itself had been simple on the surface: eliminate the sha of the family. Plain and blunt. But reality never stayed plain.

The person they were ant to remove — Seo — wasn’t just so embarrassnt to be erased.

Even if it hurt Hajey to admit it, Seo was the family’s pride in another form.

A once-in-a-generation genius, unmatched in swordplay and martial skill, a talent that rivaled the top magic geniuses at the academy.

And the clan head’s affection for Seo was clear; he’d spoiled the child in ways that made the removal more complicated than any plan sheet could predict.

Hajey rubbed his temple, tasting the bitter logic of it.

You can’t simply cut out what the family feeds on. Not without consequences.

Not without new holes opening where old pride used to stand.

He looked up at Cristo, then at the chessboard full of frozen pieces, and felt the ga tighten around them both.

They were moving, but not in control.

They were pawns in a match no one had shown the rules to.

His hatred for Seo hadn’t changed. Not one bit.

But was it worth the risk of coming here in person?

Even Hajey couldn’t predict the outco.

No matter how strong they were, everyone had limits.

Seo was shaless, bold enough to claim their blood, and she was still the greatest genius of their ti.

That made her dangerous in a way numbers on a page couldn’t asure.

Worse, there were rumors the clan head might be lurking inside the academy too—an extra hand that could tip any plan.

A mory cut through him like a blade.

"Father, look— I think I mastered the first form."

"Compared to your sister, it’s lacking."

"F-Father, let play—"

"Forgive , son, but I have an appointnt with your second mother today. Go play with Bom instead."

"Father, Seo—she hurt !"

"That is because you are weak."

The words echoed back, sticky and familiar. Hajey rubbed the place behind his ear and stared at the ceiling, feeling that old ache.

Growing up had been a chessboard of insults and favors.

Seo had been spoiled, praised, placed on a throne of affection.

Hajey had been taught to be useful. To be a tool. To swallow.

If his mother wanted variables to move her plans—and Seo was the sha she wanted erased—then Hajey would beco her sharpest variable.

If he had to be the blade, he’d be the strongest blade she could ever use.

He straightened, a cold decision folding into him like armor.

"Cristo."

"Yes?" Cristo looked up, attentive.

"Change of targets."

"Hm?" Cristo’s face was blank for a heartbeat.

"Stop hunting Riley for now. Focus on the family’s sha instead. Seo—find everything on her. How she moves, who protects her, what the clan head has to say about her. That’s our priority now."

Cristo’s eyes widened.

Surprise, then calculation. Hajey watched him closely.

He needed soone who could move unseen, gather scraps, and turn them into a plan.

Cristo had the hands for it. If Hajey would be the weapon, Cristo would be the eyes in the dark.

"Understood," Cristo said slowly, voice steadying. "I’ll get on it."

...

"Ah, Professor, thanks for helping us out!"

A young student puffed out her cheeks as she brushed dust off her oversized suitcase.

"Haha, we really can’t do anything without you," another girl said brightly, stepping forward as if to hug the professor.

But before she could, her ponytail was yanked back sharply by the third mber of their little trio.

"O–Ow!" she yelped, stumbling back.

"Don’t be proud about it, you idiot! I’m so sorry for my friend’s behavior, Professor," the more polite one said, bowing apologetically.

Professor Arabel Losel only chuckled, lifting a slender hand to adjust her glasses. Her voice carried a calm, level tone that smoothed over the ruckus.

"It’s fine. This is the academy after all. It’s only natural that so of you would get lost."

"Haha, even though we were told the area and the room number, it was still hard to find our way," the girl with the ponytail chid in again, this ti grinning despite her scalp still stinging. "But you really seem to know the place so well, Professor."

"Well, believe it or not, I graduated here, you know."

"What?! Really?!" all three gasped in unison.

"When? What year did you graduate, Professor?"

"Then this place is your alumni, right?"

"Ah, that explains everything! Please, Professor, tell us any secret shortcuts or thods we could use for the upcoming battles—"

Their voices overlapped in eager excitent, almost tripping over one another.

But before they could dig deeper, the most reasonable one of the trio quickly stepped forward, tugging both her friends back by their collars.

"Alright, that’s enough. We’ve already bothered Professor more than we should. Thank you again, Professor Arabel—you can leave it to from here."

"Mn." Arabel gave a small nod and a faint smile before turning on her heel.

Her boots clicked softly against the polished floors as she walked off.

Behind her, she could hear the dissatisfied groans of the two excitable girls protesting against their friend’s restraint.

It made her lips curl slightly, though whether from amusent or relief, not even she knew.

Although it was only the first day at the academy, Arabel felt as if she had already gone through a week’s worth of exhaustion.

Starfield Academy had always kept her busy since the day she first stepped into the role of teacher—lesson preparations, paperwork, endless etings.

But now, being temporarily stationed at the world’s most prestigious institute, Lun Academy, for the grand event, the workload felt crushing.

Every mont was filled with running back and forth, ensuring her students didn’t get lost or cause trouble, while simultaneously balancing the new responsibilities assigned to her as a visiting professor.

"Haah... handling students, paperwork, etings, and managing everything all at once... maybe I should just quit being a teacher already," she muttered under her breath, rolling her sore shoulders in small circles.

But the words tasted bitter the mont they left her lips. She stopped mid-stride, shaking her head with a small, stubborn glare as if scolding herself.

"No... that’s not why I beca a teacher. I’m soone who’s supposed to guide everyone toward the right path. I can’t let myself get down over sothing this small."

Clenching her fist, she gave herself a small, determined punch of encouragent toward the sky—only to realize a second too late that several students were still wandering the dormitory halls nearby.

Their curious eyes caught the gesture, and she froze.

Heat crept up her neck and spread across her cheeks like fire.

Arabel quickly pulled her arm down and covered half her face with her sleeve, pretending to look busy as she briskly hurried past the amused students.

A ripple of muffled chuckles followed her retreating figure, so students whispering about how "cute" their professor looked when flustered.

Arabel pressed a palm against her chest, trying to calm her hamring heartbeat as she escaped the scene.

She might not have possessed the overwhelming strength or encyclopedic knowledge of the other renowned professors in Lun, but within her own academy—Starfield—she had gained a reputation of her own.

Maybe it wasn’t her power, nor her intellect, but her approachable warmth, her awkwardly earnest spirit, and her determination that made her popular among the students.

Getting back to her personally assigned room, Arabel closed the door behind her with a small sigh of relief.

"That was embarrassing... I did it again..." she muttered, rubbing her cheek with the back of her hand.

She didn’t an to be that way—blurting things out, letting her emotions spill over—but sotis it just happened.

Words, actions, little slips of honesty she could never fully contain.

She slipped off her light jacket-like coat and hung it neatly on the wall hook.

Even though her day had technically ended, her duties hadn’t.

A few personal preparations still needed to be handled before she could even think about sleeping.

"I better call—"

Her words stopped halfway.

Her eyes widened.

"Who...?"

Sitting at her desk chair as though it belonged to him, a young man leaned back casually.

His golden-blond hair caught the faint glow of the room’s crystal light, and his piercing blue eyes reflected her stunned face.

In his hand, a crystal ball glimred—her communication crystal—until he suddenly clenched his fist.

Crack...

The ball shattered with a sharp sound, scattering dull shards that dissolved into dust. The air grew heavy as his eyes slowly lifted to et hers.

"Who are you?" Arabel demanded, her voice low and cautious. Instinctively, she took a step back, already channeling mana into her fingertips.

How could she have not noticed him until now?

There was no presence, no sound, nothing to warn her—yet he was here, inside her room.

Her mind raced.

Why was he here?

Why destroy her crystal?

Her gaze darted to his uniform—black, tailored, unmistakable. The attire of a Lun Academy student.

"Did I... co to the wrong room?" she whispered under her breath, but no—that couldn’t be it. This was her room. Every detail was familiar.

Which left only one possibility.

Whoever this young man was, ca specifically for her.

"I wasn’t exactly convinced, so I ca to check... but I guess a worshipper will always be a worshipper."

The young man’s calm voice cut into her spiraling thoughts.

Her eyes snapped back to him—only for her vision to suddenly tilt.

What—what’s happening?

Puck!

Before she realized it, her body collapsed to the floor.

A sharp, searing pain tore through her legs. She tried to move, tried to stand, but her knees—her knees—were no longer attached.

They stood a short distance away from her body, blood spraying like crimson mist.

"Aa—Aahhh—!"

Her mouth opened in a scream, but no sound escaped. Her throat locked. Her body convulsed, drowning in pain too overwhelming for words.

Why...? Why is this happening...?

Her thoughts scattered, tangled in agony, tears welling in her eyes. Through the blur of blood and tears, she caught sight of a shadow falling over her.

The young man was there. Standing above her. Looking down at her like she was nothing.

"Shhh." His tone was flat, almost annoyed. "Since I can’t do clean-ups with my authority, it’d be bad if trash like you alerted your lord."

His hand moved with unsettling casualness, fingers gripping a handful of her hair. He yanked her head back, forcing her to et his gaze.

Those piercing blue eyes burned into her soul.

For a brief, impossible mont, she thought she saw sothing inside them—sothing vast, sothing inhuman.

Her body trembled uncontrollably.

Blood burst from her nose, her eyes, soaking her face as if the sheer weight of his gaze was crushing her from within.

"Truly... how despicable." His words dripped with venom. "Just how many innocent souls have you stolen already?"

Her lips parted, but no voice ca. No excuses, no denials. She couldn’t speak—whether from the pain, or because deep down she knew there was no answer.

She was nothing but prey beneath those eyes.

"I’m back, Master—just like you said. Those girls got infected, but don’t worry, I removed them without them noticing, hehe~"

A light, high voice chid in from the doorway. It sounded almost playful, too bright for the room.

"Oh? Is this the source, Master?" the voice mocked. "Tsk. These demonic worshippers are getting trickier. She even looks so innocent..."

"Just make sure no traces are left behind," the young man said, voice flat.

"All right!" the girl answered with a little bow.

Arabel’s eyes trembled as she looked up at the creature standing in front of her.

Small, fairy-like, almost childlike—except for the dangerous hum of mana prickling the air around it.

The magic circle it wove was tight, dense with pointed runes that cut the light into shards.

You didn’t need size to be deadly; the way power concentrated there proved it.

"Don’t worry, Miss Professor. It won’t be as painful as my master’s thods. I can spare you that much rcy, at least~" the little thing cooed, voice syrupy.

"N—No—" Arabel managed, but the sound died.

White heat licked across her limbs.

She clawed at the air, tried to scream, but the room swallowed her voice.

Her skin flared and faded, like light burned out on contact.

Two small horns pushed through her hairline as ash took the place of flesh, and then she was gone—no dramatics, no long death.

Just a sudden, terrible end that left a hollow silence.

"Master, is it really all right to kill her like that? A demonic worshipper, yes—but she was still a professor," the fairy said afterward, brow furrowing with a sudden, childish concern.

"I’ll let the principal deal with the complicated stuff,"

"...."

"Co on. We have a few more to take care of," he said.

Lavine—could only sigh, half-amused, half-annoyed at her master’s blunt ways.