A day later, I'm back at school in the first class of the day, and my mouth is ever so slightly hanging open.

As a general rule, I attempt to ignore what my core-self does at any given time. It's quite the headache to have two separate perspectives existing and perceiving their own immediate vicinities, but I somewhat regret that decision now. It would have been nice to have some forewarning.

The entire school has been converted into my dungeon.

Incredibly, I can distinctly feel dense mana flowing throughout the halls, infusing and penetrating the walls and floor. Underneath, a comfortably writhing and fully functioning miniature ecosystem is thriving, several hundred thousand bugs under my direct control feeding off of each other. The bug food breeding experiment had succeeded phenomenally, and my horde of minions should be well-fed for at least a year.

Closing my eyes, I focus my attention upon my core-self and instantly receive an enormous amount of information. The welfare of my bugs, the temperature of the many rooms, and the exact location of every person in the whole school. I can see Buck eating something he probably shouldn't in the art classroom. I can see Charlie with a wide smile on her face, drawing something a short distance away from him.

And I can see a familiar face, one I hadn't expected to see here.

What's Richter doing at the school?

I don't need to create a sensory cluster to inspect him this time. My senses are the school itself, after all. Therefore, while my physical body sits crosslegged in a math class I have no need for, I pay attention to possibly the most dangerous human in the world aside from myself.

He's in the principal's office, talking smoothly and casually despite the oppressively dense mana around him. "...here to talk to some of the students. I hope that's not too much of an issue?"

The principal nudges his glasses nervously, leaning back in his chair despite the fact that he should be the one in control. "I wasn't told about a counselor..."

Richter laughs with more silk in his voice than a funnel web. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Davison. Rest assured that I will take care of the entire process, at least for the day. I'm not even charging anything."

Davison's eyes light up. "I don't have to pay for you?"

Shaking his head, Richter responds, "Of course not. The mental safety of the children matters far more than a mere fee. So, if you don't mind my asking, are there any children here who act especially... unusual? For example, being a little smarter than the rest?"

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Oh, paladins. Of course he'd be attracted to a place like the school/dungeon, what with its levels of mana and the impressive arsenal of insectoid defenders. Not that he knows about the bugs, more likely than not - he's made it quite clear that he wasn't a dungeon in Winnetka, but aside from that small amount of satisfaction I have no idea what sort of weapons he has up his metaphorical sleeves.

Taking my attention away from them, I immediately begin improving several of my bugs by a significant margin. The dungeon school is producing an insane amount of mana and I have every intention of taking full advantage of it.

I select a fire ant and make it ten times as big, hardening its carapace and increasing the density of its legs. A common bee, making it faster and harder to see, making its venom more toxic. A... snake?

Taking a closer look at my horde of minions, I confirm that there is in fact one snake and two salamanders among my ranks. They're considerably larger creatures than bugs, and therefore quite a bit more complicated... but then again, I successfully enthralled Charlie, so mere reptiles aren't all that difficult.

Well, bigger is better. I improve all three of them and watch them grow, writhing and molting repeatedly in the process. The salamanders I send off to keep an eye on Charlie, but the snake...

I think I may have a boss in the makings.

My eyes snap open as I hear my name spoken by Davison, and I slam them shut again to pay attention to the conversation.

"-of our brightest students, but he's very antisocial. Doesn't get along with anyone except Charlotte Brown, to be honest."

Richter makes a small moue of faked interest, already standing up to leave. "Well, I'll be sure to check out all of your students, but I suspect a six-year-old might not have too many issues."

Talking more to himself than anything, Davison mutters, "He's a bit scary, though, what with the black eyes and all. Doesn't smile much either..."

Richter's head spins around almost on its axis as the principal says it, and asks in a strange tone, "What was that?"

Davison glances up curiously. "What? Oh, nothing. Jason's got aniridia, a rare variant that affects his whole eye. It's a bit creepy if you're not used to it."

Richter's eyes widen slightly. "Is that so? Perhaps I should see him first - being bullied is a distinct possibility with physical oddities involved. Which class is his?"

I don't need to see any more. Without a moment's hesitation I begin to pull my entire horde to my location, salamanders included, and turn around to face the door, folding my hands on my lap. Despite the inches-thick carpet of bugs and critters crawling beneath the floor, there is no sound.

The teacher looks up at me, then shakes his head and continues talking to the rest of the class. A few minutes pass before Richter opens the door, but I'm more ready than he is. I could see him coming, after all.

Standing, I walk straight up to him and stare up into his eyes, my black ones meeting his ice blue ones. "Hello, Richter," I say with my very best smile. "We should talk."

The slightest stab of uncertainty passes through his eyes for a moment but is replaced by confidence mere seconds later. "I agree, although we should perhaps do so in a more private place. Would you overly mind coming with me to a different room?"

I nod accommodatingly, still smiling. It's easy to do with gritted teeth. "Of course. Do you have a place in mind?"

A slow grin begins to spread across his face, and he asks in a much quieter voice, "It's definitely you, isn't it?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Probably. Who do you think I am?"

His eyes crease. "Who do I think you are?"

He leans in a little closer. "I think you're a very powerful adventurer. Or at least you were."

Wait, what?