hotmtlnovel Chapter 81 Itch Happens
Chapter 81 Itch Happens
Later that night…A young man with leafish green hair and eyes the color of a sunlit forest was tiptoeing through a dorm hallway.
He thought he was being sneaky.
But with a round figure that could rival a pumpkin and a pig-like face only a mother would claim to love, he was capable of attracting attention even in a crowded room.
The only thing he was good at sneaking past was mirrors.
Jake had spent the whole day snooping around to find out which dorm Michael lived in. Right now, he was on his way to break into that bastard's room.
So what if Samael had gone soft?
So what if Samael had stopped caring about revenge?
Jake didn't need him. He could do this all alone.
And he was going to!
"Aha!" He came to a stop in front of room 125-C and glanced around to make sure the hallway was relatively empty.
By relatively, he meant only one witness — a half-asleep guy carrying a pile of books.
Jake figured he could take him if things got messy.
Finally, he turned to the door and called upon his Origin Card. An orb of silver metal appeared over his palm.
Michael had gone out, so his room was locked.
The doors in most dorms needed a biometric scan and a specialized key to open because, apparently, the Academy believed in fancy tech over good old-fashioned trust in their Cadets.
That left Jake with one option — brute force.
After all, brute force could solve almost every problem in the world. If it couldn't, you just didn't use enough brute force.
The silvery metal orb rippled like liquid mercury and reformed into a sharp spike in his hand.
Without hesitation, Jake jabbed the spike into the door's lock.
The locking mechanism gave a pitiful clack, and the door creaked open.
Jake smirked. "I could become a famous burglar."
The half-asleep guy passing by mumbled without even looking up, "If you become famous as a burglar, you wouldn't be very good at your job, would you?"
Jake froze mid-smirk. "...Shut up."
The guy yawned lazily before shuffling down the hall with his books, minding his own business and clearly uninterested in Jake's life choices.
Meanwhile, Jake stepped inside Michael's room and shut the door behind him with exaggerated care.
Now, why was he here?
To go through Michael's laundry, of course!
…Wait.
No, no! That wasn't it!
It was definitely not what it sounded like!
Earlier today, after his falling out with Samael, Jake had pulled some strings in the Alchemist Society to get his hands on something.
A flask containing an unassuming, powdery substance.
The substance was called… uh, something Jake had forgotten.
But he remembered what it could do. And that was the important part.
The powder was extracted from the pores of a common variety of flowers found in the Spirit Realm.
It caused instant rashes and itching the moment it touched the skin.
And the best part? It was so finely ground that it could seep through multiple layers of clothing.
Jake held the glass flask up to his eyes, watching the powder swirl under the dim light like a snow globe.
He grinned as he put on a pair of special rubber gloves. "Michael, you whoreson, you're about to have the most memorable week of your life."
Michael's room was so plain it bordered on depressing.
Bare walls, no curtains, and a bed frame without a mattress.
Even the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the uncovered window couldn't give it character.
It looked more like a prison cell than a living space.
Was this how Michael lived? Like a beggar?
"Hah!" Jake sneered loudly, his voice bouncing off the bare walls. "Poor peasant. Serves him right."
Shaking his head, he began his
The wind rushed past him as he landed with a graceless thud, rolling across the ground before springing to his feet.
"Ugh… That stupid… orphan… bastard."
Without wasting a breath, he started running.
If Michael reported him to the Academy, Jake could just deny everything.
It would be his word against a commoner's. He'd walk away without taking any accountability.
But first, he needed to get out of here.
So, he kept running.
However, he didn't make it very far.
Only after a dozen steps, it hit him.
The itching.
It started as a faint tingle around his waist.
Then it spread — an infectious, burning itch that consumed his entire lower half.
Jake slowed down, his steps faltering as his hands shot to his waistband. "What— What is this?!"
The itching intensified — a maddening sensation that drove him to claw at his pants like a deranged monkey.
He stumbled to a stop. His legs buckled and he fell to the ground, writhing and scratching with reckless abandon.
Soon enough, a small crowd began to gather around him, drawn by the spectacle of a fully grown man flailing on the ground like a dying cockroach.
"Is that Jake Mel Flazer?"
"What's he doing?"
"Ew! Is he… scratching his crotch? In public?!"
Jake's wild eyes darted around, the realization of his humiliation dawning too late.
He tried to get up, only to fall back down, his hands moving in a blur as they clawed at every inch of his tortured skin.
His face contorted in agony, his mouth opened in a silent scream, and his eyes rolled back into his head.
Of course. To the crowd, his reaction looked like… something else entirely.
And then they saw something else as well.
In Jake's left hand, still clutched tightly, was Michael's underwear.
The onlookers gasped.
"Why is he holding someone's underwear?!"
"Oh my gods, he's rubbing himself in the open while holding some boy's underwear!"
Jake, oblivious to the horror spreading through the crowd, continued thrashing on the ground, scratching his crotch and butt like a feral animal.
"It's not what it looks like!" he howled, his voice cracking.
But his protests fell on deaf ears.
Phones flashed as Cadets took pictures and videos, laughing at the unfolding scene of a young noble lord engaging in an activity that should be indulged behind closed doors.
By now, Jake's mind had descended into chaos.
The itch was unbearable. His body refused to cooperate, and his dignity was vanishing faster than the crowd's sympathy.
This was, without question, the most humiliating day of someone's life.
But that someone wasn't Michael.
It was Jake.
His brilliant plan had backfired spectacularly.
And while the itching would eventually fade, the memory of this night wouldn't.
People were going to talk about this for months to come.
Eventually, someone called the medics out of the goodness of their heart, and Jake was taken to the infirmary.
Even the medics, who were taught to be professionally stoic, were laughing at him.
…Of course, no one could have known, but this seemingly funny incident was going to have far greater implications than what anyone realized back then.