The classroom was dimly lit, the old chandeliers overhead flickering with a warm but unsettling glow. The walls were adorned with ancient paintings of figures with hollow eyes and fanatical expressions, their hands raised in devotion—whether to a god, a cause, or something far more sinister was left unsaid. The air carried a faint scent of incense, thick and cloying, as if trying to lull its occupants into a trance.

You sat stiffly in your seat, suppressing the urge to sigh as the professor droned on about faith, obsession, and ritualistic practices. It was a subject designed to indoctrinate, to teach students how devotion could be weaponized—either to bind others in unwavering loyalty or to manipulate the faithful into submission.

The professor, an older man with deep-set eyes and a voice that carried a strange soothing yet chilling cadence, continued:

"The power of belief is the most formidable tool one can wield. Those who worship—who give their entire being to a cause—become unshakable, unstoppable. A single word, a mere promise of divine favor, can make men kill, suffer, or devote their lives without hesitation. Now, ask yourselves, do you wish to be the devoted... or the one they devote themselves to?"

You fought the urge to scoff. What a load of bullshit.

Your classmates, however, were enraptured. Some took frantic notes, their eyes gleaming with fervor. Others whispered among themselves, exchanging theories or perhaps their own experiences of devotion. You could feel the tension in the room, the quiet hum of something sinister brewing beneath the surface.

Your gaze drifted to the person beside you—Mikhail.

He sat with an eerie stillness, his posture elegant yet unwavering. His platinum silver hair caught the dim light, making it look almost ethereal. His crimson eyes, tinged with black, gleamed with something unsettling. Unlike the others, he wasn’t just listening—he was absorbing every word. His fingers traced the pages of his notebook lightly, as if committing the teachings to something deeper than memory.

Your stomach twisted slightly.

You knew what he was. A Ritualistic. Someone who believed in absolute devotion—where love, faith, and obsession were all the same thing. To him, submission wasn’t a loss of self but a glorious offering.

"Ritualistics are the worst," you recalled reading before enrolling. They don't just crave obsession—they sanctify it.

Still, you had a part to play. You were manipulative, calculated, adaptable.

Turning away from Mikhail, you let your eyes wander once more, assessing the room. On your left, the monocled student sat poised, his notes meticulously written, his face unreadable. His calm demeanor piqued your interest. What could he be thinking? Was he genuinely immersed in the lesson, or was he like you—simply playing along?

You must have stared too long.

A slow movement caught your eye—his glance shifting towards you.

Your breath caught. Shit.

Caught off guard, you quickly averted your gaze, embarrassment creeping into your chest. You could practically feel his eyes lingering for a moment before he returned to his notes. What you didn’t see, however, was the faint smirk that curved his lips.

The professor’s voice continued in the background, but you were no longer listening. Instead, you felt a presence shift beside you.

"You're not taking notes."

Mikhail’s voice was soft yet heavy, like silk laced with something darker.

You turned slightly, meeting his gaze. Up close, his porcelain skin seemed untouched by flaws, almost too perfect to be real. His crimson-black eyes observed you not with casual curiosity, but with purpose—as if he were measuring your worth.

"I remember things better when I listen," you lied smoothly.

He hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Is that so?"

You offered a small, polite smile, playing your part. "Faith and devotion are interesting, but I prefer actions over words. People can say they believe in something, but true devotion is proven through deeds, don’t you think?"

You watched as his eyes darkened slightly, his fingers tapping idly against his desk.

"That is… an interesting perspective," he murmured. "Deeds over words. So you would rather someone prove their devotion rather than simply claim it?"

"Exactly." You leaned slightly closer, lowering your voice just enough to feign confidence. "Anyone can chant prayers or speak of undying loyalty. But the ones who act on it? The ones who give something up, who endure pain for their beliefs—those are the people who are truly devoted."

You saw something shift in his expression.

A small, satisfied smile, as if your words had fed into something he already believed.

"You understand more than you let on," Mikhail mused. "Most people… hesitate when it comes to faith. They think it's simply about words and gestures, but it's more than that. It’s sacrifice."

You nodded slowly, though inside, a sense of unease settled in your stomach. Had you just fed into his delusions?

Before you could backtrack, the professor’s voice interrupted.

"Now," he announced, "to further our understanding of devotion, we will be conducting an exercise."

The classroom stilled.

Your fingers tensed slightly as you saw Mikhail’s grin widen.

The professor gestured towards the center of the room, where a wooden altar stood. It was simple yet imposing, carved with symbols you couldn’t quite decipher.

"Each of you will be given a scenario," the professor explained. "A test of devotion. Some of you will act as the devoted. Others…" His gaze flickered across the class. "...will act as the ones who demand that devotion."

A few students shuddered in anticipation. Others merely smiled, already familiar with the exercise.

You felt a presence lean in slightly beside you.

Mikhail.

"You said you prefer actions over words," he murmured, his voice far too pleased. "I wonder, if you were to demand devotion… how far would you push someone?"

A small smirk graced your lips, though it didn’t reach your eyes. "That depends. How much are they willing to give?"

His chuckle was soft, but his eyes burned with something dangerous.

"Let’s find out, shall we?"