Kill to evolve: A system that demands blood
Chapter 53: Psychopath

Chapter 53: Psychopath

Chapter 53

No one laughed.

Ronan scanned the room with a calm, flat expression. They weren’t just strong. You could feel it in the air. Like pressure. Like standing in a room with wild animals that hadn’t eaten in days.

There was a sharp-looking woman with ash-gray skin and silver wires braided into her hair. A tall guy with mirrored shades, even underground, flipping a knife through his fingers absently. Another leaned against the wall, chewing a toothpick, muscles twitching like he was holding back from charging.

And those were just the ones in plain sight.

A huge monitor came to life on the far wall. Aldric’s face appeared, crystal-clear.

"I assume everyone’s here," he said.

No one answered. He took that as a yes.

"You all must have heard about the your newest member? Am I right?"

Several heads tilted. One guy blinked slowly like he was trying to process a joke.

"Hold up," said a voice near the center, lean guy with a high buzzcut. "He’s in now? Just like that?"

"He nearly crippled three of your teammates in under five minutes," Aldric replied. "I’d say he’s earned his seat.

That got a reaction.

Someone up in the rafters let out a low whistle.

Another muttered, "Bullshit."

Ezren chuckled. "It’s not. I’ve still got some back injuries to prove it."

"You telling me he held his ground against three of us?" Tyce said, leaning forward. "Three S-ranks?"

Aldric’s tone didn’t change. "He didn’t just hold his ground. He nearly ended it."

Now they were all looking at Ronan.

Some skeptical. Some calculating.

Most... pissed.

Ezren laughed under his breath. "Told you. Rookie’s a freak."

"I don’t care if you believe it," Aldric said. "You’ll see it for yourselves soon enough."

A long pause.

Someone lean, tall, face full of scars stepped forward. "So, what exactly is his value on the mana meter? We need to know exactly where he stands."

"We haven’t checked him yet, but he will be checked after tomorrow’s mission is done, now... that’ll be all."

"Lucky bastard," someone muttered.

The screen cut off.

And just like that, all attention was on Ronan again.

"You got a name for that freaky-ass tattoo? Are you part of a gang or something?" said a woman with ink across both arms and eyes like burning coals.

Damn it, seemed like the new about his tattoo had spread already, "No," Ronan answered, voice dry. "It’s just there."

"You talk like you’re already one of us," a short, wiry guy snapped. "You’re not. You’re just some freak who managed to get in by pulling some strings. Trust me, you’re nothing."

Ronan didn’t respond, he didn’t need to. Besides, he wasn’t in the mood to pick up a fight.

Another voice broke the tension, Jalen, a hulking man near the back, arms like tanks.

"Enough. If he’s trash, let him prove it when it matters. If he’s not... well. We’ll know soon enough."

Everyone went quiet.

Ronan looked around one more time. Let them all have their moment. Let them glare, question, doubt.

They didn’t have to like him.

They just needed to stay out of his way.

Ronan didn’t wait around. He turned on his heel and headed for the exit, hands in his pockets, ignoring the weight of every glare drilling into his back. It felt like everyone here was out to crush him for whatever fucked up reasons they had.

But there was nothing he could do about it. It wasn’t like he could go around threatening everyone to stop hating on him for no reason. Yeah, he would if he could.

He pushed open the heavy metal door, the hallway outside colder, quieter, untill..

"Yo."

He heard footsteps approaching from behind him.

Ronan stopped but didn’t turn.

"Not gonna stab you. Relax."

Now he turned.

The guy was maybe an inch taller than him, broad-shouldered but built like a brawler, not a gym rat. Hoodie half-zipped, combat boots loose. A split lip, like he’d just come from a fight or didn’t care to clean up after one.

"You’re Ronan, yeah?" he asked.

Ronan said nothing.

The guy clicked his tongue. "Alright. We’re doing the strong-silent thing. That’s fine."

He held up his hands. "Look, I don’t give a damn about the pissing contest back there. They’re just mad ’cause you made a mess before they had the chance to size you up, everyone here got that damn ego. Top squad problem."

Ronan started walking again. The guy followed.

"I’m not here to kiss your ass," he added. "Just thought someone should say it."

"Say what?" Ronan muttered.

"That was clean work. I watched your fight, and loved how you humbled those brats. So, how’d you get so strong?"

Ronan paused.

The guy smirked. "Most of these clowns swing big to show off. You? You swing to end it."

Ronan side-eyed him. "You got a point?"

"Yeah. Name’s Colt. I don’t care if you trust me. But I’m not against having someone useful around who knows how to shut mouths."

He didn’t offer a handshake, didn’t wait for an answer. He could already tell from the look in Ronan’s eyes that he wouldn’t get any answers.

So he just walked past, slapped the button for the elevator, and stepped in without looking back.

Before the doors shut, he called out, "Watch out for tomorrow’s mission Someone’s gonna test you again. That Ezren guy got a fragile ego, he might seem friendly on the outside but trust me, he is the devil himself."

Then the doors slid closed.

Ronan stared at the empty space for a beat.

He didn’t come here for allies. But if someone wasn’t aiming a knife at his throat, that was as close as it got.

Also, he didn’t need to be told that Ezren meant no good, he could already sense it right from the start....that dude was a psychopath, no doubt about it. Maybe it was instincts, maybe his system, but people like that never went unoticed. And if he was being honest, he was itching to see what Ezren actually got up his sleeves.

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