Chapter 43: [43] Don’t Judge A Book
Xavier turned to find a slender young man with thick square-frame glasses staring at him. The glasses were so heavy they kept sliding down his nose, requiring constant adjustment. Behind them, brown eyes darted nervously, never quite meeting Xavier’s gaze.
"Hey, what’s up? I don’t think we’ve officially met. You’re Traore, right?" Xavier extended his hand.
The shorter student pushed his glasses up with one finger and tentatively reached for Xavier’s hand. "N-N-Nolan Traore. It’s a p-pleasure to m-meet you, Valentine-san." His voice came out barely above a whisper, each syllable requiring visible effort.
Xavier shook his hand, noting the surprising firmness of Nolan’s grip despite his nervous demeanor. "Just Xavier is fine. No need for the honorifics."
"I ap-apologize for the p-presumption," Nolan said, bowing slightly. "In my research on s-social customs, I found Japanese honorifics to be most r-respectful in the w-world when addressing new acquaintances."
Xavier sized up his new partner. Nolan stood at least eight inches shorter than him, with a slight frame that seemed almost fragile. His posture was hunched, shoulders curved inward as if trying to make himself even smaller. Dark hair fell across his forehead in a practical but unremarkable style.
Oh yeah, this is a D-rank, Xavier thought dismissively. Probably got in on academics rather than combat potential.
The moment the thought formed, the hair on the back of Xavier’s neck stood straight up. His muscles tensed, heart rate spiking as his body instinctively shifted into a defensive stance. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Nolan hadn’t moved. He hadn’t activated any visible Essentia. He was just standing there, adjusting his glasses again, looking at the floor.
Yet every survival instinct Xavier possessed—honed through years as an assassin—screamed danger.
"Are you all r-right, Xavier-s... I mean, Xavier?" Nolan asked, head tilted slightly.