Tech Hero in Another World
Chapter 156: [155] The calm day before the storm

Chapter 156: [155] The calm day before the storm

The next day, after a registration process that was more symbolic than formal, Kiriya was officially placed in one of the most unusual classes in Starford Academy—Special Class Sector Seven, a room known among students as the place "where all the weird ones are gathered."

And not without reason. Inside this classroom sat students with backgrounds that couldn’t be classified as normal by any academic standard. This was where children with unique statuses or conditions—too dangerous, too rare, or too full of potential—were placed under closer supervision.

The moment Kiriya stepped into the room, the atmosphere instantly felt different. The air inside was cool, but there was an invisible pressure hanging like a mist. Some students turned to look at him, while others appeared indifferent. Yet their gazes, though not immediately judgmental, clearly carried curiosity.

In the corner of the room sat a girl with flowing white hair and deep violet eyes sealed by glowing runes on her temples—cursed eyes, one of the most dangerous magical talents ever recorded.

In the middle row, there was a boy with faint green scales running along his neck and left arm—a child of dragon’s blood, one of the oldest and most feared races in the western continent.

Right behind them, a silver-haired boy was spinning a pen in the air without touching it. A genius, rumored to have mastered high-level magic since the age of nine. There was also a tiny girl—no older than ten—rumored to have a direct connection to a god.

And now, a new addition joined that mix.

The door swung open wide. All eyes turned toward it.

Light, soft footsteps echoed into the classroom. The headmistress herself—Olivia Albrecht, dressed in a silvery white robe adorned with the emblem of three wings on her chest—appeared and stood in the center of the room.

"Good morning," she said in a formal yet gentle tone. "Today, we welcome a guest student who will be joining this class for the next year... Please welcome... Kiriya Asano."

Kiriya stepped forward, feeling the analytical stares piercing into him. But he stood tall, showing no signs of pressure. He’d been used to being scrutinized ever since the first day he arrived in this strange world.

"He’s not a noble?" whispered one of the students on the right side.

"Looks like an ordinary human..." another commented.

But the dragon-blooded boy, with glowing golden eyes, only gave a faint smile. "Not ordinary. His energy... is chaotic. But not without reason."

Olivia gave a small nod. "He will be part of your group starting today. Further introductions can wait. Now, back to the spiritual defense module."

As Kiriya took an empty seat by the window, he let out a slow breath.

(This class... is truly a den of monsters.)

---

Penal Plateau – Two Days Later

The cave was once just a natural hollow in the karst stone wall nestled between the western slopes of the Penal Mountains. Hidden from outside view, with access to fresh water from an underground river and a wide plain overlooking dense forest—to most, it might seem like just a simple hideout. But to Ren, it was a blank canvas.

And in less than two days, the place had changed drastically.

With his ability—Transmutation, his power that allowed him to manipulate and restructure any material he touched—Ren shaped functional spaces from natural rock and metal. The cave walls were smoothed and coated in moisture-resistant silicate crystal, the floor was laid with lightweight sound-absorbing stone tiles, and a natural ventilation system was reengineered through narrow shafts leading to the surface.

The Kitsune children could only stare in awe. To them, magic was something grand, yet often cruel. But this... this was something else entirely. A technology that moved hand in hand with logic and structure, yet just as wondrous.

In a corner of the base, several small drones zipped around—products of Ren’s collaboration with his AI, Ultro. But Ren still didn’t look satisfied. The number of drones wasn’t enough to build the base according to his vision, and raw materials were running low.

"I really need to make a mini metal printer..." he muttered, wiping sweat from his temple. "...and a portable energy station."

That evening, the Penal sky was draped in light mist. The Kitsune children sat in a group atop a warm cloth mat made from emergency blankets. They watched as Ren scribbled something into his tablet device.

Then Ren stopped and turned toward them. His face was calm, but there was a trace of stiffness in his eyes. He knew: if this place was going to become a home, it had to start with one simple thing—trust.

"Hey," Ren began, sitting cross-legged in front of them with a softer expression than usual. His eyes moved between the three Kitsune children—who, until now, had spoken very little. "It’s been two days since we got here. I know... you might’ve felt neglected because I’ve been busy with my work."

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Maybe I was wrong... getting too absorbed in my gear and projects. I just wanted to make sure this place was truly safe. But maybe I’ve... been too quiet."

Before he could finish, the eldest of them—the one with two tails—shook his head quickly, his expression serious. "No! Sir, you haven’t done anything wrong!"

That voice—loud but honest—stopped Ren in his tracks.

The child continued, "This... all of this... is already more than enough for us. You gave us shelter, warm food, and most importantly, you don’t look at us like monsters. Even when we haven’t said anything."

The younger one nodded slowly, then added softly, "We... are grateful to be with you."

The third—shyest of them all—added, "And if you’re having trouble... could we help? We want to be useful too."

Ren let out a long breath, but this time not from exhaustion—this time, from relief. He hadn’t expected the kids to say anything like that. Though they’d only been together for two days, they were beginning to show the courage to open up. Trust was growing slowly, like a small seed pushing through hardened soil in search of light.

(Well... maybe some light work won’t hurt them, right?) Ren thought.

His smile grew warm, and the hard edge of his face softened.

"Well then... as it happens, I am having a bit of trouble." He pointed toward the side of the cave, where a panel—a crucial component of one of the base’s systems—lay uninstalled. "You see that panel? I need help lifting and stabilizing it onto the support rack before I can connect it to the base’s power grid."

The children’s eyes lit up, excitement flickering like small flames inside their hearts.

"We can do it, Sir!"

Ren stood up, rolling up his sleeves. "Alright then, let’s get to work!!"

---

In the city of Eks, Trek paced back and forth inside his private resting chamber—a dark room steeped in the scent of dried blood. The walls were adorned with trophies from brutal fights, monster skulls, and honor emblems from the various arenas he had once dominated. Yet none of those relics brought him peace.

His face was tense, his expression unlike the usual. He wasn’t angry because he had been defeated—he was anxious. Impatient. Something was approaching. Something he had long awaited... and could no longer avoid.

The time to release the seal was drawing near.

This wasn’t just any seal. It was an ancient prison meant to contain a being known as the Broken God—the Nine-Tails Fox. Legends once spoke of the creature shaking the entire southern lands.

But what few knew was that the war god Gorthar didn’t seal it out of defeat—but out of mercy.

The Nine-Tails wasn’t merely a demon. She had once been Gorthar’s closest friend, someone shattered by envy of the war god’s glory—forever feeling like a shadow beneath his light.

Trek knew this story—not from history books or official doctrine, but from ancient scrolls passed down through former Champions. And that was why, generation after generation, the Kitsune were made scapegoats in the eyes of mankind.

Out of fear. Out of legacy. Because the seal could break at any moment.

To maintain the world’s stability, only two options existed:

The first—the ritual of a hundred souls—a yearly sacrifice performed through bloodsport in the Colosseum, disguised as entertainment for the masses. The people of Eks cheered the slaughter, unaware that the blood spilled in the arena was no mere spectacle.

But Trek, though a battle fanatic, had never been able to swallow that lie entirely. He knew, one by one, beastmen were offered up to sustain the seal—including his own kin.

And now, ten years into his role as Champion, the second option had finally emerged: a Miko of the Kitsune—a child born with three disc-shaped marks on their body. A mystical sign. Proof that their body could serve as a vessel for the nine-tailed fox. If the Miko was sacrificed, the hundred-soul ritual would no longer be necessary.

"A moral choice, huh..." Trek muttered hoarsely, like stone being ground in his chest. He stared into the golden goblet before him—still filled with deep red wine that shimmered under the hanging lantern. Yet its sweetness no longer tempted him. The taste had turned dull. Nothing could quiet the turmoil in his heart.

On one hand, sacrificing the Miko—a child too young to even grasp the meaning of life—would end the cycle of bloodshed. No more lives taken each decade at the altar of the arena. No more rivers of blood cheered on by a bloodthirsty crowd. Just one life... one, to save hundreds.

But on the other hand... he’d be chaining the world anew in the wrong way. Not a protector—but an executioner. He would continue the cycle of lies under the guise of sacrifice for peace. How could he face himself after that?

Trek took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. Steam rose faintly from his massive body in the cold air of the chamber. He stood and walked toward the large window facing north—the direction that mysterious Van was last seen heading.

"Huuuh... no point dwelling on what’s already been done," he said quietly, yet sharply. "I’ve made my decision."

His fingers clenched around the window handle, knuckles white. "Those brats really can’t handle the simplest tasks."

His eyes narrowed, piercing the darkness outside. "Guess I’ll head out myself."

His footsteps echoed. Trek had made up his mind.