Bang!
The simple act of slamming his fist on the desk conveyed not just anger but also confusion, frustration, and disbelief. In one of the restricted rooms of military zone #91, Rolan and Parkinson were standing, unable to sit comfortably.
Before them, a holographic screen displayed footage from a particular hallway on the second floor of a dormitory containing rooms one to thirty.
This recording, moving at a speed tens of times faster than normal, showed the events of the previous night, or rather, the lack of events. The night passed silently, and the following morning, the students exited their rooms to head to the cafeteria on the third floor, including Nickyle, who emerged with an expressionless face and unusually tranquil eyes.
Rolan frowned yet again and turned to Parkinson, asking, "How many times are we going to watch this? What trouble we're in! The Orland family will be after us, and we have no idea what—"
Pa!
Parkinson sighed, grabbing Rolan by the shoulder and turning him toward him before delivering a sharp slap to his face.
"Get a grip. What are you so worried about?" he asserted. He pointed at the screen, where the displayed content changed.
A woman dragging a multiple cleaning supplies swiped a card to enter Anon's room, then left shortly thereafter, followed by entering Seth's room and then Nickyle's.
"Besides Nickyle, she's the only person who entered his room yesterday," Parkinson noted, showing no sign of concern about the Orland family.
He continued, "She left soon after. We've already checked her background and visited her personally to confirm—she's no stellar fighter."
Hearing this, Rolan's trembling body calmed.
A broad smile gradually spread across his face as a sense of calmness eased his chaotic mind.
With eyes lighting up with brilliance, he deduced aloud, "If she, a mere mortal, was the only person to enter Nickyle's room yesterday, doesn't that mean there are only two possibilities leading to his death?"
Parkinson grinned, finishing Rolan's thought. "And neither of these possibilities implicates us."
Nickyle was dead.
They discovered this the following morning when it was time for the eleven stellar geniuses to be transferred from the camp of ten thousand to the military academy.
They knew the time they needed to be at the entrance of military zone #91, yet Nickyle had the audacity to be late.
It wasn't as if Rolan and Parkinson, or anyone in the military zone, were transporting them to the academy; the military academy sent a bus for them, and he was still so daring?...
However, once it was confirmed that Nickyle had died, not of it mattered.
The military bus couldn't be delayed, so the stellar geniuses were sent on their way. As for speculating whether any of them had a hand in Nickyle's demise, it was not necessary.
Although Rolan worried that someone at the military camp might be involved in Nickyle's death, he understood how unlikely that was.
The surveillance system was an advanced A.I. that alerted them of any unusual happenings within the military zone.
The two instructors and other high-level staff at the military camp were aware of most occurrences within the camp, especially events taking place near the students' dorms.
Still, surveillance did not cover what activities occurred in a student's dorm room.
Even in these times, privacy remained important, and breaches could lead to legal consequences, particularly when it involved the children of powerful families involved.
While the military academies in the six cities founded by the six heroes might operate above the law, the camp was not the academy.
In any case, Nickyle had died, and though they had previously suspected it, finally, they confirmed that no one in the military camp was directly responsible.
All staff movements were recorded, and even Rolan and Parkinson were not exempted from the camp's technological surveillance, nor did they have control over it.
This left them with two possibilities: either an enemy of the Orland family, possessing strength beyond the camp's security, had assassinated Nickyle—something highly unlikely—or, even more unbelievable, Nickyle Orland, the arrogant child of luck, had committed suicide.
As a government-affiliated organization, a thorough background check would have been conducted when hiring staff, so combined with the surveillance footage, it was clear that the killer was an outside force.
Instead of blaming themselves, Rolan and Parkinson could adopt a different perspective: "Your Orland family is jeopardizing the staff, students, and the entire camp of ten thousand."
While it was improbable that an assassin was involved, the narrative would inevitably be that "an assassin killed the Orland family's young master."
How could the news of Nickyle's suicide get out?
Where would they hide their faces?
Were the children of the prestigious Orland family so weak-willed? Even after being born with a silver spoon, they still resorted to this?
Pathetic...
All manner of mockery would ensue, from the lowest commoners to the highest echelons of society.
So, whether true or not, Nickyle had been assassinated by an enemy of the family.
This had nothing to do with the camp, leaving the two instructors safe from any backlash from the Orland family.
Haaah...
And that was that.
Rolan groaned, "What a damn headache."
He fell back into the seat behind him. Lazily sinking into the chair, he glanced at Parkinson and spoke in a ponderous tone, "Of these geniuses, how many do you think will get kicked out right after entering?"
Already understanding the meaning behind Rolan's words, Parkinson sat down and rested his hands on the desk, staring at the holographic screen that played last night's recording.
"The Weakness Purifying Mountain..." A nostalgic expression crossed Mr. Park's face. "Back then, out of the fifteen of us, only three reached the top to become official students."
He smiled, adding, "Unlike back then, you've seen it with your own eyes. Andrew, Catharina, and especially that Felix boy, who only needed to step onto the enlightening platform once to awaken..."
"Those three are true geniuses and probably won't let us down. More importantly, we have those two freaks."
"Freaks?!" Rolan immediately picked up on Parkinson's choice of words.
"Indeed, there's no doubt. In the military academy, I'm sure they'll be part of that group of students," Parkinson said, excitement bubbling in his chest.
At these words, Rolan felt his heart race with anticipation.
Yet, a frustrating sensation drowned his excitement. "Back then, it was fifteen of us," Rolan frowned, exclaiming in dismay. "And now, even though we had six before the camp officially began, we ended up with... what, four more?!"
They had gained four more, finishing the three months with ten stellar geniuses, but now one had killed himself, leaving them with nine.
It was pitiful—truly pitiful.
"False hope! That damn program gave me false hope, making me delusional enough to think we'd produce thirty or more stellar geniuses, like Red Wind District and the others."
Sigh...
Parkinson looked at the ceiling solemnly. "It isn't our fault. The heavens simply did not bestow great luck on the Blackridge District. We are not fated."
But then a light sparked in his eyes. "Or maybe we can view it differently," he suggested. "Perhaps all our luck was spent nurturing those two brats."
"Even if we can't compete with the number of stellar geniuses that Yellow Dust District and Blackburne District can produce, we can certainly do so through quality, thanks to those two freaks."