My Second Chance in Life in Another World

Chapter 79: THE UNSEEN STRINGS THAT PULLS A MAN TO RUIN

"Mission complete." Byen’s casual remark echoed in my head.

The words repeated over and over, refusing to fade, as if they were carved directly into my thoughts.

Mission... complete?

For a moment, I didn’t understand what he meant. My mind was still tangled in anger, worry, and the looming sense of dread pressing down on my chest. Then, suddenly—

Wait.

Did Instructor Gord just say we’re meeting the principal?

The realization struck me like a bolt of lightning.

Is that it?

My breath caught as the pieces snapped together. Byen’s words weren’t random. They weren’t a joke, or some smug comment meant to confuse me. He meant it literally.

We did it.

We secured a meeting with the principal.

A bitter chuckle almost escaped my lips. If anyone had told me this was how things would unfold, I would’ve laughed in their face.

Although... this wasn’t exactly how I planned for things to go.

When I came to the training ground, I had a clear objective in mind. Simple. Clean. Controlled.

I was going to talk to Leonardo.

That was my original plan.

I’d corner him, remind him of that ridiculous misunderstanding back then—the one where he was so convinced Miss Fia and I were secretly dating that he forced me to run fifty laps around the field without hearing a single explanation. He owed me for that. Big time.

I was going to use that favor.

Leonardo might be a pain, but he had one thing going for him: an irritatingly rigid sense of righteousness. Once he acknowledged a debt, he never backed out of it. Even if he was angry. Even if it annoyed him to no end.

At least, that was the impression I’d gotten from dealing with him before.

I planned to lean on that trait, push him just enough, and make him arrange a meeting with his father—the principal.

That was supposed to be my way in.

But fate, as always, had other ideas.

Leonardo wasn’t here.

Instead, I walked straight into a nightmare.

Beric being beaten senseless.

Alad abusing authority like it was a toy handed to him out of boredom.

And me—losing my temper, stepping in, and turning everything upside down.

One bad decision stacked onto another, snowballing until there was no turning back.

Now, the three of us—Beric, Alad, and me—were being dragged straight to the principal’s office.

Not my original plan.

Not even close.

But... fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

I let out a slow breath.

I still achieved my goal.

The irony of it made my chest ache.

As I stood there, my thoughts spiraling between regret and grim satisfaction, the sound of footsteps cut through the noise of the murmuring crowd.

Heavy. Steady. Purposeful.

Everyone noticed it at the same time.

Instinctively, I turned toward the source of the sound.

Instructor Gord was walking back toward us.

His expression was unreadable, carved from stone, but something in the way he carried himself sent a chill through the air. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even Alad’s smug grin stiffened, just barely.

Then I saw it.

In Instructor Gord’s right hand—

An iron sword.

My heart skipped.

No.

No, no, no.

The dull metallic sheen caught the light as he stepped forward, unmistakable even from a distance. It wasn’t a wooden practice blade. It wasn’t a training prop.

It was real.

To my surprise—and the surprise of everyone present—he was holding an iron sword in his right hand.

A stunned silence fell over the training ground.

"So, it’s true?" a blue-haired boy muttered nearby, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Well, it was found in his room. No doubt about it," the bald guy beside him replied grimly.

The murmurs spread like wildfire, whispers overlapping, speculation running rampant.

"How could a first-year get something like that?"

"Isn’t that forbidden without direct permission?"

"He’s done for..."

Each word felt like another weight pressing down on my chest.

Beric stood frozen, his face pale, eyes locked on the sword as if it were some kind of executioner’s blade. His hands trembled at his sides.

This can’t be right.

I looked at him again, searching for doubt, panic, guilt—anything that suggested he was lying.

There was none.

Only confusion.

Only shock.

Instructor Gord raised his gaze slowly, silencing the growing noise with nothing more than his presence. The training ground fell deathly quiet.

"First year," he said coldly. "State your name."

Beric flinched.

"It’s... Beric," he answered, his voice trembling despite his effort to stay composed.

Instructor Gord lifted the sword slightly, angling it so everyone could see it clearly. The metal caught the sunlight, gleaming mercilessly.

"Beric," he said, his tone sharp as steel itself, "care to explain this?"

The iron sword hung between them like a verdict waiting to be delivered.

"Beric’s eyes widened. "Wait, is that... the sword Mr. Alad was talking about? That’s not mine!"

The moment the words left his mouth, the air around us seemed to grow heavier. The murmurs that had been bubbling beneath the surface surged again, rippling through the training ground like a restless tide. I could almost feel the judgment pressing in from all sides—dozens of eyes locked onto Beric, weighing him, condemning him before the verdict was even spoken.

Instructor Gord didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His authority alone was enough to still the crowd.

"Then why was it found in your room?" instructor Gord pressed, his gaze sharp and unwavering, as though he were trying to peel Beric apart layer by layer.

Beric’s lips trembled. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white as if he were holding onto the last thread of his composure. "M-maybe one of my roommates put it there! There are four of us sharing that room. It could be Meinlys—he’s a big sword enthusiast—or maybe Carak or Nedo. Please, believe me!" His voice cracked near the end, desperation bleeding through every word. Tears spilled freely now, streaking down his bruised cheeks, mixing with the dirt and sweat clinging to his skin.

I swallowed hard. He wasn’t acting. There was no way someone could fake that kind of fear. Beric looked like a cornered animal, trapped with nowhere left to run.

Instructor Gord tilted his head slightly, as if considering Beric’s explanation. For a fleeting second, hope flickered in my chest.

Then instructor Gord spoke again.

"If it belongs to one of your roommates, why was it found inside your bag?"

The question landed like a hammer.

Beric froze. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. His eyes darted around wildly, searching for an answer—any answer—that could save him.

"I-I don’t know!" he cried at last. "Maybe they planted it to avoid getting caught. Isn’t that possible?" His voice rose in pitch, fraying at the edges. "Please, Instructor, I swear I didn’t do anything wrong!"

Instructor Gord’s piercing gaze didn’t waver. There was no anger in his expression now—only cold scrutiny. "I see. You’re still denying it. Then explain this."

With a sharp, deliberate motion, he unsheathed the sword.

The metallic hiss echoed across the training ground, silencing the whispers instantly. Sunlight glinted off the exposed blade, bright and unforgiving. Near the hilt, faint but unmistakable, was an engraving.

A single letter.

B.

I caught a glimpse of the mark from where I stood. Damn it. This was bad.

My stomach dropped as if I’d missed a step on a staircase. Alad hadn’t just framed Beric—he’d sealed the trap. An initial. Something so small, yet so damning. Anyone looking at it would draw the same conclusion.

Beric’s knees buckled. "W-wait! Please, believe me! That’s not mine!" He staggered forward and collapsed onto the ground, palms scraping against the stone as he tried to crawl closer. His voice broke completely, dissolving into raw sobs. "I’ve never owned an iron sword! I wouldn’t break the rules—I wouldn’t!"

"Based on the names you mentioned," instructor Gord said calmly, though his words were merciless, "you’re the only one with a name that starts with a ’B.’ Are you still going to deny it?"

Each syllable felt like another nail driven into Beric’s coffin.

"Yes! Yes, I am!" Beric cried. "Please! I swear it’s not mine!" He dropped fully to his knees now, bowing his head and pressing his forehead against the ground in a humiliating display of desperation. "I’ll do anything—clean the dorms, take extra punishment—just please don’t blame me for something I didn’t do!"

The sight made my chest ache. I couldn’t bear to watch anymore and turned away, clenching my fists. Damn it. Alad actually went this far—planting the sword in Beric’s room and engraving his initial on it to frame him. Just how low can this guy go?

My nails dug into my palms as anger surged through me, hot and uncontrollable. Every memory of Alad’s smug grin, every rumor of his cruelty, every time he’d slipped through consequences—it all came crashing down at once.

I glanced at Alad, who stood a short distance away, arms folded casually, smirking like the snake he was. There wasn’t even an attempt to hide his satisfaction. That smug expression made my blood boil. My body moved before my mind could catch up. I took a step forward, muscles tensing, ready to lunge at him and wipe that grin off his face.

Then a hand grabbed my arm.

"Will, don’t."

The grip wasn’t strong, but it was firm enough to stop me. I turned sharply, breath hitching, and found myself staring into Nyrinn’s tear-filled eyes.

I turned to see Nyrinn, her green hair disheveled and tears streaking her face.

Her shoulders trembled as she shook her head at me, silently begging. "Please... don’t make things worse. If you act now, you’ll end up just like Beric."

Her words hit harder than any blow. The fire raging inside me faltered, replaced by a sickening sense of helplessness. She was right. Charging in now wouldn’t save Beric—it would only give Alad another victim.

My fists loosened slightly, though the anger didn’t fade. It just had nowhere to go.

"We shouldn’t have fought back," she whispered, her voice trembling. "If we’d just let Alad do whatever he wanted, maybe Beric wouldn’t be in this situation..."

That hurt the most. Hearing her blame herself. Hearing the quiet surrender in her voice. This was exactly what Alad wanted—to break us down until we believed resistance itself was a mistake.

She released my arm and stared helplessly at Beric, who was still sobbing at instructor Gord’s feet.

Instructor Gord let out a long, weary sigh, the kind that carried more weight than anger ever could. It echoed faintly across the training ground, heavy and final.

"You really don’t plan to confess, do you?" he said at last, looking down at Beric. There was no disappointment in his voice—only resignation. "Then there’s no point in continuing this."

Beric lifted his head weakly, his face red and swollen, eyes desperate as if clinging to the hope that one more word might change everything. But instructor Gord had already made his decision.

He straightened, his posture rigid, authority rolling off him like a palpable force. When he raised his voice, it rang clear and sharp, cutting through the suffocating silence.

"In the name of Morris Moon, principal of Drei Academy, I, Gord, Head Instructor of Swordsmanship, hereby arrest this first-year student, Beric, to face a meeting and punishment from the principal himself."

For a split second, the world froze.

Then gasps rippled through the crowd.

Whispers erupted—some shocked, some pitying, some cruelly satisfied. I felt the sound wash over me, but it all blurred together, drowned out by the pounding in my ears. Arrested. The word echoed in my head, heavy and unforgiving. This wasn’t just discipline anymore. This was serious.

Beric’s breath hitched. His eyes widened, and for a moment, it looked like he might scream again—but no sound came out. It was as if the reality of it all had crushed whatever strength he had left.

"Since the principal is away at a meeting today," instructor Gord continued without pause, "you’ll be detained in the correction facility until tomorrow."

Correction facility.

My jaw tightened. That place wasn’t just a holding room. Everyone knew what went on there—cold stone walls, isolation, and instructors who believed fear was the best teacher.

Instructor Gord turned sharply to two figures standing nearby. "Ars, Byen. Escort Beric to the correction facility."

"Yes, sir," the two replied in unison.

Their voices were calm. Too calm.

Ars stepped forward first, his expression unreadable, while Byen followed closely behind. When they reached Beric, Ars grabbed his arm firmly—not cruelly, but with an unyielding grip that made it clear there was no room for resistance.

"Please—wait!" Beric cried as he was hauled to his feet. "I didn’t do it! I swear—I didn’t!"

His feet dragged against the ground as they pulled him away, his voice cracking as panic overtook him completely. "Will! Nyrinn! Please! Tell them—tell them I’m innocent!"

My chest tightened painfully. I took a step forward before I even realized it, my lips parting, words clawing their way up my throat.

But nothing came out.

What could I even say now?

As Beric was dragged away, his cries echoed across the training ground, raw and desperate, bouncing off the stone walls before fading into the distance. The crowd fell into a stunned silence, no one daring to speak as the sound disappeared entirely.

The absence he left behind felt unbearable.

Instructor Gord didn’t miss a beat. The moment Beric was out of sight, he turned back toward us, his gaze sharp and unyielding, sweeping over the remaining students before settling squarely on two people.

"Now," he said firmly, "Alad and Will. It’s your turn."

The words sent a chill down my spine.

Alad and I exchanged glances. His eyes met mine first—calm, confident, and infuriatingly smug. The corner of his lips curled upward as if he were savoring the moment, as if everything had gone exactly according to his plan.

He smirked at me as if he had just won a battle.

Instructor Gord spoke again, his voice clipped and official. "Alad, for using excessive violence against a first-year student, I hereby sentence you to a meeting with the principal."

A murmur stirred briefly among the students, but it quickly died down.

"Understood," Alad replied coolly, inclining his head slightly. There was no trace of fear in his tone—only practiced composure. If anything, he looked relieved. A meeting with the principal was nothing compared to the punishment Beric had just received.

"And Will," Gord continued, his eyes locking onto mine.

I stiffened instinctively, meeting his gaze despite the knot forming in my stomach.

"For disobeying and defying the authority of the individual overseeing the class in my absence, you are also sentenced to a meeting with the principal."

The sentence landed heavily.

"...Understood," I muttered.

The word tasted bitter. I hadn’t done anything wrong—at least, not morally. But rules didn’t care about intentions. Only outcomes.

"Unlike Beric," Gord said, his tone firm but measured, "you two are allowed to return to your dorms. However, this is your final warning—there will be no second chances after this."

His gaze hardened, especially when it lingered on me. "Don’t forget your meeting with the principal tomorrow morning."

I nodded silently, my mind still replaying Beric’s screams.

With that, Instructor Gord turned away from us and faced the rest of the class. "Today’s class is dismissed early. Everyone, leave."

There was no enthusiasm, no relief. The students began to disperse slowly, footsteps shuffling across the ground, conversations hushed and uneasy. No one laughed. No one joked. Whatever excitement the training session was supposed to bring had long since evaporated.

Instructor Gord strode away without another word, his cloak swaying behind him, leaving us standing there amidst the aftermath.

As the crowd thinned, the weight of everything that had just happened crashed down on me all at once. Beric’s face. Nyrinn’s tears. Alad’s smirk. The iron sword.

My thoughts swirled in chaos, twisting together into a single, bitter realization.

This wasn’t over—not by a long shot.