Chapter 74: Don't Worry, They Won't Touch You Again

Ethan's POV

"Olivia, you passed your flying class."

Even though the professor didn't look too happy, Olivia was used to it by now. Hearing this, she actually perked up.

After flying class ended, she went back to the dorm to get her bag. I headed to the cafeteria by myself.

My black robe had two tears in the back, and the wind blowing through felt chilly. I walked with my fingers pinching the tears shut, probably looking pretty stupid.

It wasn't mealtime yet at the cafeteria, so there weren't many people. I found a corner to sit in and habitually opened the forum.

Ever since I discovered some randomly malicious posts on there a few days ago, I had been checking the forum way more often than before.

She didn't know I scrolled through it every day. She didn't know I knew those people on the forum were still talking about her. She thought deleting the posts made it go away, thought the headmaster's announcement made it go away. She didn't know some things couldn't be deleted clean.

Third post on the homepage. I clicked it open.

The title didn't mention her name, but the image showed her. It was a photo from flying class—taken when I shifted. Shot from the other side of the training field, far away, really blurry quality, but you could still recognize that dragon was me. Standing next to the dragon was that small figure—her.

I didn't read the post content carefully. Skimmed a few lines: "dragon shifts in public," "she rides it," "won't the academy do something about this." I was sick of reading this kind of stuff.

Scrolled down a few comments, and there was an ID I had seen before.

Killian.

The wolf who broke into Eastridge Tower last time and got beaten down by me.

He had written a comment, not too long, but I read every word.

[Did you guys see her expression when she was riding the dragon? That smug, showing-off look, like she's so amazing. Someone who can't even shift, got into the trials by clinging to a dragon, and now flies in the sky by clinging to a dragon. What skills does she actually have? Healing? Potions class? What kind of skills are those? Real shifters with actual skills rely on themselves, not on other people.]

I read that comment three times.

I stood up and walked out.

As the cafeteria door closed behind me, I heard someone call my name. Didn't catch who it was, didn't turn around.

Killian was at the training field.

After getting off from flying class, he hadn't left. He was with a few people at the equipment area by the edge of the training field, practicing throws.

When I reached the training field entrance, his back was to me. He was holding a training medicine ball, aiming at a target in the distance.

Someone nearby saw me first. A guy with short hair—his mouth opened, his hand lifted like he wanted to point at me but didn't dare, and he elbowed the person next to him.

The person beside him turned to look at me, his expression changed, and he took a step back.

Killian didn't notice.

I walked over.

Right as he threw—the moment the medicine ball left his hand—I reached him from behind.

"Killian," I called him.

He turned around. Still holding his arm in the follow-through position from the throw, arm raised in mid-air. The moment he saw it was me, his expression changed—from focused to alert, from alert to that kind of forced composure.

"What?" he said.

"I saw what you wrote on the forum."

His eyelid twitched.

Ever since he posted pictures of his injuries and also spread lies that Olivia was being bullied and abused by me, Clementine had stepped forward to clarify things for everyone.

But that didn't calm the wolves' anger at all. The wolves, and those people who disliked me and took it out on Olivia—they still wouldn't pass up any chance to spread lies about the two of us on the forum.

"What did I write?" He smirked, looking completely unconcerned. "Everything I said was true."

"You sure about that?"

"What else? She can't shift. She got into the trials because of you—"

"She passed all three rounds on her own." I cut him off.

"Come on, without you she wouldn't even dare sign up—"

He didn't finish that sentence. I didn't have the patience to keep listening either.

My right hand grabbed his left wrist. He reacted quickly, jerking his wrist back hard, trying to break free. But a wolf's strength isn't in the same league as a dragon's. He couldn't pull away.

I gripped his wrist and twisted it outward.

I heard the sound of bone. Not a crisp snap, but something duller—like breaking a wet branch. Mixed with the muffled sounds of ligaments stretching, joints dislocating, bones shifting out of place.

The sound wasn't loud. But in the training field that had gone quiet, everyone heard it.

The color bled out of Killian's face—first to white, then to something ash-gray and dead-looking.

His mouth hung open, but no sound came out. When pain reaches its peak, people can't scream.

He just stood there. His left wrist hanging at an impossible, twisted angle. His whole body frozen, like someone had hit pause.

Then he dropped to his knees. His kneecaps hit the ground with a thud, about as loud as the sound of breaking bone. His right hand clutched his left forearm, gripping it tight, knuckles white. His lips trembled, the light in his eyes scattered, not knowing where to look.

The few people at the edge of the training field all froze. Others turned to stare in shock.

I looked down at Killian kneeling on the ground.

His wrist was broken. Not dislocated—broken.

I had felt it when I twisted his wrist outward. That was exactly what I wanted.

His left hand would be useless for at least a month, and recovery would take a long time.

I let go of his wrist. His hand dropped, swaying, like a piece of clothing hanging there with no frame to support it.

Rapid footsteps came from the training field entrance.

I didn't need to turn around to know who it was—I knew the sound of her running too well.

"Ethan."

Olivia ran up in front of me, out of breath, her face pale. She glanced at Killian kneeling on the ground, then at his wrist, then at my face. Her mouth opened, wanting to speak but no words came out—like something was stuck in her throat.

Her eyes reddened, pupils dilated, eyelids unblinking, lips trembling.

I was afraid she would cry. But I was more afraid she would be scared of me because of this.

"You..." she finally squeezed out one word, then stopped.

People around were already looking at me with that kind of look. That look I knew too well—scared, disgusted, not daring to get close, only daring to glance from far away and then quickly look away.

The flying class professor came running from a distance, panic on her face that someone her age shouldn't have. She glanced at Killian's wrist, her expression darkened, and she looked up at me.

"Ethan, you—"