Galileo | Umbral Commander

Galileo leaned against the rooftop guardrail, the wind tugging at his tailored suit. Below, CrimU's spired campus stretched like a chessboard awaiting its first move. His watch ticked louder than the distant screams from the Torture School's orientation event. "Another junior," he mused, thumbing his family ring. "How many will crumble before winter break?"

Footsteps approached—too light, hesitating at the stairwell's edge. He didn't turn. Let them stew in the silence. The mentee's shadow stretched toward him, wavering like a poorly forged alibi. "Three seconds too long," he noted as they finally stepped onto the asphalt. Amateurs always rushed the first move.

He turned slowly, assessing. Their posture betrayed CrimU's standard-issue blazer, shoulders tight beneath cheap fabric. No visible weapons. No scars of consequence. His mouth twitched—not a smile. "You're here for the mentorship." A statement, not a question. The wind carried the stench of the Mad Science building's latest failure.

Before they could open their mouth, Galileo raised a palm. "Don't." His signet ring glinted as he gestured to the skyline. "That building? My uncle incinerated twelve rivals there. That courtyard? Sixteen loyalty tests failed this semester." His gaze sharpened. "What makes you worth my time?"

The silence stretched, broken only by distant gunfire exams. Galileo's thumb brushed his watch's garrote trigger. "Mandatory or not, this mentorship isn't a free pass. Fail to meet my standards, and you're deadweight. CrimU doesn’t waste resources on deadweight."

He studied their eyes. Survival instinct? Ambition? Or that delicious spark of betrayal? The rook awaited its move.