Chapter 363 — My Work Is Done

Damian stepped onto the stage.

The Mafia members moved back, giving him space. Luna stayed close for a moment, looking up at him, then stepped aside.

He walked to the microphone stand and pushed it away. The metal scraped against the stage floor, the sound echoing through the silent hall.

Then he looked down at everyone.

Nobody spoke or moved.

The weight of what they’d just witnessed pressed down on every shoulder, every chest, making breathing difficult.

"..."

Two minutes passed.

Damian’s crimson eyes scanned the crowd slowly, taking in every section. New first-years sitting rigid in their seats, second-years who’d progressed through hell and back, third-years who’d survived battlefield missions and fourth-years who’d watched everything change.

"Fiona."

She jumped at hearing her name, then straightened.

"Take that guy to the medical clinic. We don’t want him dying here."

Fiona nodded quickly, moving to where Jorah’s dismembered body lay in pooling blood. She gathered the limbs and carried everything toward the exit.

The hall stayed quiet.

Click

Damian waited until the doors closed behind her.

Then he looked at the new students again.

"Good morning." His voice carried without enhancement, flat and conversational, like he hadn’t just torn someone apart minutes ago. "I’m your Vice President."

He paused, letting that sink in.

"I see Nobles have already formed their cores this year... Specially invited students too." His gaze found the second-year section where Micheal, Leonard, and Iris sat. "That’s good... Better than my year. Back then, Nobles didn’t even bother until after they got here."

Eyes turned toward Micheal, his golden hair caught light. He sat very still, hands folded in his lap.

"I remember my orientation." Something that might have been amusement crossed Damian’s face. "I was late. Too busy training to care about the time."

A few nervous laughs rippled through the crowd, quickly dying.

"Micheal Thorne gave a speech. He was first-ranked in the entrance exams." Damian’s tone stayed conversational. "Told everyone that students like me would be the first to die or get expelled."

The second-years shifted in their seats. Third and fourth-years who’d been there exchanged glances, remembering.

Micheal’s face went red as he covered it with one hand.

’Did he really have to bring that up?’

"I thought public image was everything back then." Damian actually smiled. "I was a nobody, an unknown kid from the north. So I just released my pressure and made him faint in front of everyone."

Scattered laughter broke the tension slightly.

"Childish as hell when I think about it now."

The atmosphere loosened as people’s shoulders relaxed. The horror of watching someone get dismembered faded slightly as this unexpectedly human moment played out.

Then Damian’s smile disappeared.

"But everything that followed after..." His voice went cold. "Taught me what these academies really are."

The temperature dropped.

"They’re not for training." He let that sit for a moment. "They’re recruitment centers for Noble and Imperial families. The whole system, every single rule, every restriction, every policy, designed with one purpose. Making sure commoners could never rise."

His jaw tightened.

"Contracts were everywhere with commoners selling themselves, their families and their futures just to access basic resources, skills and arts... Everything was structured to maintain one simple fact... Nobles on top, commoners below."

"..."

Nobody laughed now.

First-years leaned toward the students next to them, whispering.

"Wait, is that true?"

"Were there really contracts?"

An older commoner student turned around in his seat, his voice carrying. "You have no clue. Almost every commoner had a contract before he changed things. My entire family’s land was collateral just so I could learn one decent skill."

Another voice came, bitter. "I sold ten years of service after graduation for access to an A rank weapon art.

Murmurs spread through the first-years. Shock registered on young faces as they processed what their predecessors had sacrificed.

Damian let them talk for a moment.

Then his voice cut through like a blade through silk.

"So I tore it down." He said it like a fact, not a boast. "Every rule that kept you down, every restriction that held you back and every policy that said your heritage wasn’t good enough."

He paused, his crimson eyes sweeping across every section.

"I made new rules... Changed everything and gave everyone, every single person in this Academy, equal access to resources, to skills, to arts and to the platform they need to become stronger."

His voice grew harder.

"The essence of an academy is to teach the youth! Train them to face Monsters from other worlds! Protect humanity! Fight for our survival!" His voice dropped lower, carrying weight. "For decades, that got lost. Professors treated teaching like it was beneath them. Students worked their entire lives to get here, only to be told professors ’didn’t have time’ to teach them what they needed to survive."

Several professors, who had arrived earlier and were standing in the back, shifted uncomfortably.

"But even after changing the system, after giving everyone equal access..." Damian’s voice dropped even lower. "There was still a problem."

He let the silence stretch.

"Mentality."

The word hung in the air like a judgment.

"You can give someone every resource, hand them the best skills in existence, the most powerful arts and unlimited training opportunities." He shook his head slowly. "But if they look at a Noble and think ’I can’t beat them,’ then all of that means nothing. They’ve already lost before the fight even starts."

His gaze found the first-year commoners specifically.

"I needed to change how commoners saw themselves. You needed to understand that you could be equal to Nobles or even better than Nobles. That Noble superiority was never about blood or birthright, it was about privilege, resources, and a system designed to make you believe the lie."

He gestured toward the stage behind him where the Mafia members stood.

"The tournament gave me a stage to prove it to the entire Federation. These students standing behind me, they’re just like you... No Noble families backing them, No Imperial connections and No inherited advantages. They entered this Academy the exact same way you did."

His voice grew stronger, each word hitting like a hammer.

"But they’re stronger than most Nobles their age. Every single person watching that tournament saw it with their own eyes. Five first-years defeating experienced fourth-year Noble students in five seconds. Five seconds to destroy decades of propaganda that said commoners were inferior!"

Ronan grinned from his position on stage, Edrin adjusted his glasses with quiet confidence, Ariana stood perfectly still, hand resting on her katana. Lysa smiled gently and Zavier stared at the floor, but his shoulders were straight, his presence solid.

"Everyone in this hall can achieve anything." Damian’s words struck like physical blows. "The only thing that can stop you is your own mind believing the lies you’ve been fed since birth. This Academy will give you resources, it will give you teachers who actually teach and it will give you the platform to become as strong as you’re willing to work for."

He paused, and when he spoke again his voice carried a promise.

"As long as I stand in this Academy..." His voice grew harder, colder and absolute. "Every student will have equal access to resources, equal opportunity to learn any skill and equal chance to master any art. Noble or commoner, it doesn’t matter. You will all start from the same line."

His crimson eyes scanned the crowd with intensity that made students lean back in their seats.

"My work changing the system is done." He said it with finality. "I tore down what was broken and built something better in its place. Everything else, how high you rise, how strong you become, that’s on you now."