Sorry, I'm Just a Weak Little Vampire

The heavy velvet curtains in the theory classroom were drawn tight, blocking out the midday sun. Elias Vance stood at the massive chalkboard. Dust fell from his chalk as he aggressively drew the intricate lines of a dark magic tactical array. He stopped mid-stroke. He turned his head. His sharp eyes locked onto the back row. Genevieve had an open textbook propped up over her face. Soft, rhythmic breathing came from behind the pages. She was fast asleep. Elias slammed his knuckles against the chalkboard. The sharp crack echoed like a gunshot in the tiered classroom. "Genevieve!" Elias barked. "Stand up and answer the question." Genevieve jumped. The heavy book slid off her face and hit the desk. She rubbed her sleepy eyes, pushed her chair back, and stood up. She swayed slightly, leaning heavily on the desk for support. "Assume you are trapped at the edge of the Abyss," Elias said, his voice dripping with condescension. "A high-tier shadow beast ambushes you. As a Child of the Night, how do you utilize the dark arrays to counterattack?" The entire class turned around in their seats. They stared at the back row, waiting to see if the fallen genius still had her tactical brilliance. Genevieve stared at the chalk diagram. Her Antediluvian instincts immediately supplied the answer: a single-strike obliteration spell, followed by three different escape routes. She mentally crushed those thoughts. She cleared her throat and arranged her face into a mask of absolute, deadpan seriousness. "The best tactic," Genevieve said loudly, her voice echoing in the quiet room, "is to immediately find a deep hole, bury yourself, and wait for the monster to eat its fill and leave. Rely on others to save you? By the time they arrive, you'll already be monster dung." For two seconds, the classroom was dead silent. Then, the room exploded. Dozens of students burst into roaring, uncontrollable laughter. The sound bounced off the stone walls. Elias's face turned gray. His fist clenched so hard the chalk snapped into fine white powder. He slammed both hands onto the podium. "That is a disgrace to the Nightwalkers!" Elias roared over the laughter. "That is the behavior of a coward!" Genevieve pouted. She crossed her arms, looking genuinely offended. "Staying alive is the most important rule," Genevieve argued back. "Pride gets you killed." She paused, then perfectly mimicked Rosalie's soft, breathy voice. "Besides, the weak should be protected, right?" In the front row, Rosalie stiffened. Hearing her own manipulative catchphrase thrown out as a joke made her blood boil. She bit her lip so hard she tasted copper. Elias took three deep breaths, trying to stop his heart from exploding. He glared at Genevieve through narrowed eyes. "And what if no one comes to save you?" Elias asked through gritted teeth. Genevieve shrugged. She threw her hands up in the air. "Then I'll just close my eyes and get eaten," she said matter-of-factly. "It's not like I can outrun it anyway." The last shred of respect anyone had for her shattered. The pureblood aristocrats in the middle rows sneered, shaking their heads in absolute disgust. But on the far left side of the room, Dorian didn't laugh. The blood alchemy genius sat perfectly still. He pushed his silver-rimmed goggles up the bridge of his nose. His sharp eyes cut through the crowd, locking onto Genevieve's face. He saw the lazy slump of her shoulders. But beneath that, he caught a fleeting glimpse of sharp, calculating clarity in her eyes. His instincts screamed that this girl was faking it. Elias waved his hand dismissively at Genevieve, treating her like a piece of garbage. "Sit down," Elias spat. "Stop embarrassing yourself." Genevieve dropped back into her chair without a single ounce of shame. She picked up her textbook, placed it back over her face, and adjusted her posture to get comfortable. Elias called on Rosalie. Rosalie stood up, her voice sweet and clear, and delivered the textbook-perfect tactical answer. Elias nodded in deep satisfaction. He spent the next five minutes praising Rosalie, using her brilliance to highlight Genevieve's pathetic failure. Under her book, Genevieve rolled her eyes. She didn't care about the comparison. She just wanted to sleep. When the bell finally rang, the students packed their bags quickly. As they walked up the aisle, they actively swerved to avoid Genevieve's desk, treating her like a contagious disease. Genevieve took her time. She slowly shoved her book into her bag, stretched her arms over her head, and yawned. Dorian stood by the door. He watched her isolated, unbothered figure walk down the aisle. Why would a pureblood intentionally destroy her own reputation? Dorian's mind raced. He was hooked.