Chapter 3: Chance From The Heavens? Moving In With The Sexy Dean

Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Chance From The Heavens? Moving In With The Sexy Dean

Seraphine Voss’s violet eyes narrowed.

The soft, almost languid atmosphere of the office sharpened in an instant. She set the document aside with deliberate care, then fixed her gaze on Principal Diomande.

"Are you certain of what you’re saying?"

Diomande hesitated. The weight of her attention alone was enough to make the man sweat profusely.

"I... am not one hundred percent certain, Dean," he admitted carefully. "But Michael broke the awakening crystal after seeing his result. Knowing his habits and personality, I cannot believe he would do something so reckless simply because he awakened a low rank. The boy has always been careful with his family’s reputation."

The atmosphere in the room shifted as Seraphine’s aura flared without warning.

It was not a loud, explosive pressure. It was heavier than that—dense, ancient, and absolute.

Michael felt it slam into his chest like the gaze of something that had lived far longer than any human should. His heart stuttered. For a single terrifying second it felt as though a dragon had opened its eyes and decided he was small enough to crush under one claw.

The temperature in the room seemed to rise by several degrees, and the soft floral scent in the office suddenly turned sharp.

Diomande’s face went pale. His head dropped almost to his chest, shoulders trembling under the weight.

Michael’s expression, however, remained completely blank.

Not because he was unafraid. The pressure was brutal, suffocating, the kind that made lesser prospects piss themselves.

But as a transmigrator who had already spent eight years in this world, he had taught himself one of the most useful skills a man could possess: the ability to keep his face blank no matter what he felt. Panic, lust, greed, fear—none of it was allowed to show unless he chose to let it.

Seraphine’s violet eyes moved from the sweating principal to the calm young man standing a few steps behind him. The contrast was almost amusing. A slow, curved smile touched her lips. The crushing aura withdrew as suddenly as it had appeared.

"Leave us," she said quietly.

Diomande did not need to be told twice. He bowed low, muttered something respectful, and retreated through the door as though the floor had become hot coals.

Click!

The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind him, and silence settled over the office.

Seraphine leaned back against the edge of her desk, one hand bracing her weight.

Then, with the unhurried grace of a woman who had never needed to rush for anything in her long life, she crossed one long leg over the other. The fitted pencil skirt rode up just enough to reveal a smooth stretch of pale thick thigh.

The movement was casual, almost motherly in its ease, yet the way her hips shifted and the fabric tightened over the full curve of her ass made it anything but innocent.

Michael’s throat moved as he swallowed.

She noticed. Of course she did. The smile on her lips deepened, soft and knowing, like a fox that had just watched a particularly interesting mouse step into its den.

"Would you like to come live with me, Michael?"

The question hung in the air, gentle and dangerous at the same time.

For a moment, he simply stared. The words were inviting, almost warm, but his mind snapped back into cold calculation.

In this world, powerful martial artists did not offer free charity. Some killed promising prospects before they could grow. Others groomed them carefully, only to use them later as living batteries or sacrificial materials when the time came to force an ascension.

Seraphine Voss had already stood at the peak of the First Heaven for sixty years. A woman like that did nothing without reason.

Michael tried to control himself, but his gaze darkened without him realizing it. Still, he kept his voice polite.

"Why would I leave with you, Dean?"

Seraphine rested her cheek against the knuckles of one hand, elbow propped on her raised knee.

The position pushed her full breasts together slightly, the black blouse stretching across the heavy, mature softness of her chest.

A few strands of ash-blonde hair slipped free and brushed against her collarbone, making her look like the embodiment of every forbidden fantasy of a refined older woman who knew exactly how desirable she was and saw no reason to pretend otherwise.

"If you truly awakened as the highest tier," she said, voice low and smooth, "then I would be required to observe you constantly. The government becomes... particular about such talents. And if your real goal is to remain low-key for now, then an official re-evaluation would be the worst possible move."

She lifted one elegant finger. "Besides, I don’t fully believe you awakened something that high. But if you did..." Her violet eyes curved. "I would treat you very well."

She uncrossed her legs and patted the space on the desk beside her thigh, the motion slow and deliberate.

"Come closer."

Michael stepped closer, slowly closing the space between them until only a breath separated them. Up close, the scent of her perfume was richer and warmer, with a subtle hint of lavender.

Seraphine tilted her head back to look up at him. The angle made her look almost demure, yet the way her eyes traveled over his face and down the line of his throat was anything but.

"You may not know this," she continued softly, "but every individual in history who awakened as Tier 0 possessed a unique talent from the very beginning. Something that did not require a skill rune to appear. So tell me, Michael Kaiser..." Her lips parted slightly. "What is your talent?"

Michael’s pulse kicked once.

He had not expected the Dean of the academy—one of the Seven Stars—to offer him cover while remaining skeptical. However, what truly made his breath hitch was her last question.

A coincidence?

He thought not.

It was almost too perfect—the exact lifeline he needed to turn an absurd bluff into an ironclad reality.

And Michael was far too sharp to waste an opportunity like this. If she was offering him the perfect narrative on a silver platter, he was going to take it and run.

A grin threatened to pull at his mouth. He forced it down.

If he lived under her roof while she tried to gauge his strength and unique talent, then she would become the perfect test subject. High rank. Enormous potential. And if the intimacy requirement of his system could be met... the Growth Points he could farm from a woman like this would be absurd.

A safety net and a hunting ground in one.

And if things went especially well—

Without meaning to, he licked his lips.

Seraphine’s eyes flicked to the small motion, and something amused and faintly predatory sparkled in their depths.

Michael schooled his expression into something soft and almost shy.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I awakened a special talent."

One of her brows rose. "And what does this talent do?"

Before he could even answer, the system chimed in his mind, crisp and clear.

Ding!

[Target Identified: Seraphine Voss]

[Current Emotional State: 68% Skeptical | 22% Amused | 10% Intrigued]

[Arousal: 14%]

[Favorability: 27/100]

[Potential Growth Point Yield: Extremely High]

​A faint, dangerous heat coiled in Michael’s chest.

​She was a hundred-year-old walking disaster area, but sitting right in front of him with her legs crossed and violet eyes gleaming with fox-like patience, she was also the ultimate farm.

​He leaned in just an inch, dropping his voice into a soft, smooth cadence.

​"It’s a little difficult to explain with words alone, Dean," he said, letting his eyes lock onto hers. "So why don’t you help me test it?"

​Seraphine’s eyes widened a fraction. The lazy smile on her lips froze, then slowly curved into something far sharper—and far more interested.

"...Me?" she repeated, her voice dropping into something lower. "Help you?"