Hand Of God

Chapter 72: Only you

Adam and Thomas held each other’s gaze for a few seconds, both wearing polite, amiable smiles—until the air started to feel a little too thick. Adam broke it first with a quick laugh.

“Hah! Got it, then. Just curious, that’s all.”

“Goodbye, President Freud.”

He turned on his heel instantly, his expression shifting the moment his back was turned, and shot off toward his apartment building.

His mind was buzzing. He couldn’t figure out why Thomas had lied. Adam’s *Hearing of Everything* had clearly warned him that the red envelope contained intel about a traitor inside their ranks.

He didn’t want to speculate too hard. Better to get out while he could. If he let his imagination run wild—if Thomas himself *was* the mole—then they were all screwed anyway. Game over.

So tonight, sleep would be a luxury for many.

---

Back in his private quarters, Thomas sank into his recliner, eyes fixed on the wall covered in photographs—faded snapshots of warmth, family, and a gentleness he’d long buried.

He didn’t turn on the lights. He just sat there in the dark, replaying Adam’s visit in his head.

Both of them had smiled politely—but for Thomas, it had been one of the rare moments in decades when his chest tightened with genuine unease.

*Does that kid… know something?*

---

Serena lay in bed, hugging the spectral book Thomas had given her.

She could still hear his final words echoing in her mind:

> Let’s keep our master-disciple bond between just the two of us.

> I want to help you… but I’m afraid I’ll only hold you back someday. Sigh.

She turned the words over and over in her head.

This whole disciple arrangement made no sense. There’d been no ceremony, no formal oath—just a quiet, almost apologetic handover. And Thomas? He looked less like a proud master and more like someone who owed her a debt.

*Why does taking on a disciple feel like he’s asking for forgiveness?*

---

Meanwhile, Diana sat on the edge of her bed, twirling a ballpoint pen between her fingers as she played a childish game of “dot-connecting” on her notebook.

She was drowning in second-guessing. At first, she’d worried that revealing her real identity would cause social suicide—especially after building up such a different online persona. But now, the longer she waited, the more awkward it became.

Adam was already making real-world connections at Orienta. He’d even swapped contacts with Kenny.

Yet she, who’d known him longest—technically—hadn’t even exchanged numbers “in person”… because they were already friends online under fake identities!

*Should I come clean? Should I not? Should I just tell him?*

She tapped the final dot. The “game” gave its verdict: Tell him.

But she still had no idea how. With a groan, she buried her face in her pillow, trying to vanish like a turtle retreating into its shell for a few precious minutes.

“Ughhh…” She exhaled sharply, cheeks flushed from oxygen deprivation, then flopped onto her back.

Come to think of it… Adam had seemed different today.

With his near-prophetic perception, he’d bluntly declared there was a traitor among them. He must’ve been holding that in for a while.

Did he suspect someone specific?

…Did he even suspect her?

And what exactly had he discussed with President Freud in private?

He was probably just as conflicted as she was.

Just then, her phone buzzed. She glanced down—and saw a message from Adam.

> Wanderer: You there?

Diana frowned. Her gut told her this wasn’t casual. After all, she’d recently hinted that her background wasn’t ordinary. Maybe he wanted answers.

She sat up straight against the headboard, expression turning serious.

> Icecream: I’m here!

A reply came almost instantly.

> Wanderer: Wanna log in?

> Wanderer: New character just dropped!

Diana: …

Her face froze. Her train of thought derailed completely.

*Wait—what happened to the serious talk?!*

One second they’re on the brink of a conspiracy revelation, the next he’s inviting her to play an online game? That whiplash was unreal.

*Only you, Adam. Only you.*

Back at his apartment, Adam wasn’t brooding like everyone assumed he would be. Nope. He’d dropped the whole “traitor” drama like a hot potato and launched straight into his favorite online game.

Traitors? Later. Right now—*gaming*.

Honestly, he’d already done more than his share tonight: scouting, killing, coordinating—zero compensation, zero perks. Sure, they’d promised academic credits, but seeing how overwhelmed the vice president and department heads looked, he hadn’t even bothered to follow up.

Compared to his usual “minimum effort, maximum reward” philosophy, tonight had felt like unpaid overtime. And as a student, he wasn’t getting paid to carry the entire university’s security.

If the higher-ups chose to ignore his warning? Not his problem.

Honestly, Kenny had the right idea. As head of one of the six Core Student Departments, he hadn’t shown up *at all* tonight. Total ghost. Probably enjoying a nice meal and a full night’s sleep.

Now that’s how you live.

After staring blankly at Adam’s message for a solid five seconds, Diana sighed and smiled despite herself. She tapped “Accept,” and ended up gaming with him all night.

If no one else would acknowledge his effort… at least someone should keep him company in-game.

---

Naturally, this meant that on the first day of classes at Orienta University, Adam looked like he hadn’t slept a wink.

Fifty-six students stood assembled on the open field—those granted assessment-free admission, plus a handful of top-tier superhuman freshmen.

Adam stood among them, yawning wide. What even *was* superhuman university curriculum? Why was the very first class held outdoors?

P.E.?

Many faces looked familiar: Serena, Edward… and, of course, Henry.

The moment Adam appeared, Henry practically materialized at his side, grinning like an overeager puppy.

“Boss! You made it! Hehe.”

Adam: …

*I just walked here. Why are you giggling like a cartoon henchman?*

He checked his watch. Class was supposed to start in about a minute—but no instructor in sight.

Late on the first day?

Just as he thought that, a dark speck appeared in the sky.

A second later, a massive figure plummeted from above like a meteorite, slamming into the ground right in front of the group with a thunderous *BOOM*.

The impact silenced every conversation. All heads snapped toward the newcomer—a towering, broad-shouldered man with a face like storm clouds and a glare that could curdle milk. At 2.2 meters tall and built like a war tank, he looked less like a professor and more like a fugitive who’d just busted out of maximum-security prison.

His eyes swept over the students, one by one. Then he gave a slow nod.

“Fifty-six. All present. Not bad. Guess I won’t need this… for now.”

With that, he drove a three-meter-long black rod—thick as a battering ram—deep into the earth. It hummed ominously as it settled.