Ethan—the psychopath killer.
That's what they called him in the original novel.
And honestly? It fit.
But it wasn't just killer. They had to add psychopath to it. Why? Because Ethan didn't kill for revenge, or justice, or even survival.
He killed because he enjoyed it.
He was a pleasure killer. The kind of monster who smiled as he carved through twenty cadets like they were nothing more than disposable tools in one of his "special classes." He turned murder into performance art. Draped it in the language of education and growth.
It was never about punishment.
Never about madness, even if it looked like it.
It was about longing—a desperate, hollow craving to feel something again.
He hadn't always been like that.
Once upon a time, Ethan was the academy's golden instructor. A prodigy. Brilliant, charismatic. Students respected him. Admired him. Some even adored him.
And then… something broke.
One day he walked into class like normal.
