Chapter 187: Elites of the Academy
Across the cafeteria, the real elites watched in silence.
They were the ones who usually ruled this place—not with fists or power, but with names, money, and bloodlines. Sons and daughters of ministers, guild heads, corporate dynasties. They owned the prime tables in the center of the room, the ones nobody else even thought about sitting near.
But today, their laughter had thinned. Their chatter died down every time their eyes flicked toward the corner where Xavier sat with Oliver, like it was the center of gravity pulling at all of them.
The empty radius around his table was what unsettled them most. It wasn’t ordered. It wasn’t official. It wasn’t backed by money or prestige. It was just there.
One of the heirs—a smug-faced boy draped in a custom-tailored academy coat—leaned closer to his group, voice low but sharp. "Do you see what’s happening? He’s warping the order. No family, no guild, no legacy. And yet..." He gestured at the space around Xavier, lips curling. "...everyone clears the way like he’s already above us."
A girl with rings glittering on every finger tapped her nails against the table, scowling. "He killed Alexander in prison, didn’t he? That’s the rumor. Even if it’s not true, the fact people believe it..." Her eyes narrowed at Xavier. "...that makes him dangerous."
"Where is Lucas, though? Wasn’t his suspension supposed to end today?"
Another heir, one who usually laughed the loudest, said nothing. His gaze lingered on Xavier’s calm face as he ate, chatting like none of this mattered. The silence around him looked less like fear and more like a throne room.
They all knew it: the unspoken hierarchy was bending. And if it bent too far, it might break.
"I have had enough of this!"
The tension finally snapped when one of them rose from his seat.
Tall, sharp suit, his family crest stitched into his collar like a crown. He carried himself with the weight of someone used to having the room bend to him. His little entourage trailed behind as he walked straight across the cafeteria, eyes fixed on Xavier.
The whole place hushed. Forks froze mid-air. Even Oliver shifted uncomfortably beside Xavier, but Xavier just kept eating like he hadn’t noticed.
"Hey you," the elite heir said, stopping at his table. His voice carried, polished and practiced, the kind meant for boardrooms and speeches. "You may have some... infamy behind your name. But don’t mistake fear for respect. There are rules here. Lines you don’t cross. This academy belongs to legacy, not some stray with no house."
Oliver tensed, ready for shit to blow up. Xavier finally set down his fork and looked up at the guy, eyes half-lidded, lazy like he’d just been interrupted from a nap.
"Legacy, huh?" Xavier muttered, his tone flat. Then he leaned back in his chair, a small smirk curling on his face. "Tell me something—when you walk in, do people clear a path for you?"
The heir’s jaw tightened. "...They don’t need to."
"Exactly," Xavier said, standing up slowly. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t posture. He just let his words hang heavy. "They clear one for me without me asking. Without me lifting a finger. That’s not fear. That’s weight. And you?" His gaze cut sharp, like a knife sliding under skin. "You’re just trying to prove you still matter. You think you are courageous, but you aren’t. That’s just some buffed up cowardice. Because when I think of doing something, I always make sure to make it a reality. While you just hope and pray for things to turn out the way you want."
The cafeteria was dead quiet now. Even the elite’s entourage shifted, uncertain.
The heir’s face flushed, but before he could say another word, Xavier picked up his tray, handed Oliver his drink, and brushed past him like he wasn’t even there. Just walked through him, the same way the crowd had cleared a path earlier.
The silence that followed was louder than any insult.
Everyone watched Xavier leave the cafeteria with Oliver at his side, not a single person daring to step in his way. The heir just stood there, fists clenched, swallowing down the humiliation as the whole hierarchy cracked another inch.
The cafeteria emptied out in a buzz, whispers chasing after Xavier’s back like shadows. By the time the heir sat down again, red-faced and stiff, his pride was already in tatters.
Later, in one of the academy’s private lounges, the elites regrouped. Polished suits, jeweled brooches, gilded rings—money draped over them like armor. But their voices? Uneasy.
"He embarrassed you in front of everyone," one sneered at the heir. "You let him walk away like that? You think the other houses won’t notice?"
The heir slammed his palm against the table. "Shut up. You think I don’t know that?"
Another, slick-haired and smug, leaned back in his chair. "Then we crush him. We don’t need to dirty our hands directly—there are ways. Connections. Professors. Exams. I hate to admit it but we might have to join hands with Lucas to get rid of him."
"Don’t be dramatic," another muttered, though his eyes darted nervously. "He’s just one brat. No family. No backing. He’s nothing. He is a village rat. So what if he is popular online? They will disappear in a few days."
Yet as the words left his mouth, there was no conviction in them. The room had watched the cafeteria. They’d felt it—the invisible weight that had shifted.
The heir rubbed his temple, repeating Xavier’s words in his head, bitter as poison.
’You’re just trying to prove you still matter. You think you are courageous, but you aren’t. That’s just some buffed up cowardice. Because when I think of doing something, I always make sure to make it a reality. While you just hope and pray for things to turn out the way you want.’
Every scheme they spat across that lounge table—bribes, punishments, setups—just proved Xavier right. Empty threats, fragile egos wrapped in silk.
Still, they clung to them, voices rising, boasting louder and louder about what they would do to Xavier, until their words drowned out the truth none of them wanted to admit.
They were already scared of him.
Meanwhile, Xavier was playing with his phone during the lecture, but no one ratted him out, nor the professor said a word.
[Hey, do it.] He sent a text to Angel.
Her response came almost immediately.
[I have been waiting for this since morning!]
And another text after two seconds.
[Done! It will take around 10 to 15 minutes to go viral.]