I'm a hidden boss

Bishop shook his head, his black hair obscuring part of his face. “No, Professor. I possess no other notable abilities. My only talent is concealment, as I have already mentioned.” His voice, though slightly shaky, maintained a firm tone. The lie, however, was evident to Professor Hermit. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, analyzed every detail, every microexpression on Bishop’s face, unraveling the truth behind the mask of shyness. The [Eye of Truth] ability revealed to her the complex web of deception Bishop wove, showing the gulf between his appearance and his true power. However, Bishop’s insistence on only possessing a concealment ability, without mentioning his other abilities or his demonic power, planted a doubt in the professor’s mind. Was it possible that the power she had sensed was not an innate ability, but the result of some powerful magical tool or artifact? Could a student with no combat skills possess such latent strength? The doubt, although small, was enough to make her hesitate.

Professor Hermit frowned, the sight of the slightly hunched young Bishop on the stage contrasting too much with the power she had sensed only moments before. After a long silence, in which the tension was palpable in the room, the professor finally nodded. "Alright, Miss Chess. Changing contestants now would be inconvenient. We will move on to the next contestant." Her voice, though firm, lacked the usual forcefulness. Doubt had crept into her mind, and though she was not completely convinced, the lack of tangible evidence forced her to back off.

Arnold, from his place in the audience, watched Bishop with a piercing gaze, an unreadable expression in his dark eyes. Before he looked away, a slight, almost imperceptible movement of his head hinted at silent complicity, a tacit acknowledgement of Bishop’s elaborate ploy. A veil of mystery hung over Arnold’s gaze, leaving open the question of whether his silence was due to unexpected loyalty or a more sinister understanding of Bishop’s plans. The rest of the students, relieved by the change of plans, returned to their seats, unaware of the complex power play that had just taken place on stage. The tense air slowly dissipated, replaced by expectant silence as the demonstration continued.

***

Amelia followed Bishop through the halls of the Imperial Academy, their footsteps echoing in the near silence. Bishop, with his Concealment skill disabled, was visible to Amelia, who watched her with a mix of admiration and fear. They were on their way to obtain the last item needed to summon Hedius: the Grimoire of the Sword King, an ancient artifact created by a former servant of the devil, which would serve as a channel for the summoning. They were about to cross the main gate of the Academy, when a figure stood in their way. Arnold, his face hardened in a fierce expression, blocked their way.

Bishop prepared herself for her usual performance, pretending to be a weak and insignificant lady of the court, but Arnold stopped her with a look that chilled her blood. "It's been a while since we last saw each other, Bishop," Arnold said, his deep voice echoing in the silence. The statement, so simple, left Bishop completely shocked. How did he know her? The question echoed in her mind, as a cascade of forgotten memories began to emerge from the depths of her memory.

Blurry images, flashes of childhood: his brother, a friend of Prince Celius, Arnold’s older brother. Fragmentary memories of childhood encounters, games in the palace garden, childish laughter… But nothing to justify this level of familiarity. Arnold’s hand reached out towards his face, as if to caress his cheek, but Bishop instinctively recoiled, pulling away from the contact. His gaze, once filled with surprise, had hardened, now it was firm, filled with a cold determination. “What do you think you’re doing?” Bishop asked, his voice, though calm, leaving no doubt as to the firmness of his stance.

The silence hung between them, heavy and dense, charged with palpable tension. Bishop's initial surprise had turned to cautious alertness. Arnold's familiarity, his knowledge of her name, was no accident. Something, far deeper and more complex than she had anticipated, lurked behind that look.

Arnold stepped closer, his gaze fixed on Bishop. “So, this is your true self,” he said, a smile curling his lips. “Just as my brother Tower said.” The mention of “Tower” echoed in Bishop’s mind. Tower Chess, his brother, the heir to the Chess Earldom. An heir, by the standards of nobility, with little talent.

• If Bishop displayed exceptional talent, the title could be hers. Bishop stared coldly at Arnold, her expression unchanging. She continued walking as if nothing had happened, but the instant she passed him, a well-aimed strike, a downward kick aimed at her face, attempted to knock her down. Bishop dodged it with surprising agility, but in the movement, her glasses fell to the ground, releasing her long black hair, which unfurled like a dark waterfall, revealing her face in all its glory. “Beautiful, as I thought,” Arnold murmured, a fond smile drawing on his lips, as he took in the beauty that had been hiding behind the facade of an insignificant student.

Bishop ran a hand through his hair, gathering it up with an almost automatic gesture. His expression, however, remained cold, impassive. "What do you think you're doing, Prince?" he asked, his voice serene but filled with an unexpected authority. The aura he had held back until that moment, the strength he had kept repressed, exploded, radiating a terrifying power that surprised Arnold. He, however, instead of showing fear, let out a light laugh.

"You're stronger than I thought," he said, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and silent defiance.

Amelia reached out her hand, offering the glasses to Bishop. But Bishop stopped her with a subtle gesture. With surprising speed, she tied her long black hair into a high ponytail, securing it firmly with a small bow she carried in her pocket. The change was radical. Without the veil of her hair, her beauty, previously hidden behind a simple appearance, was revealed in all its splendor. Her face, now fully visible, remained cold and impassive, a mask of ice that contrasted with the elegance of her new hairstyle.

As she took her stance, a faint golden light began to radiate from her body, enveloping her in a brilliant aura. The mana, until then restrained, now flowed with increasing force, announcing the imminent release of her power. Opposite, Prince Arnold, with a confidence bordering on arrogance, also channeled his own mana, a deep red glow that pulsed in sync with his breathing.

The clash was inevitable. With a speed that defied perception, the two launched themselves at each other. The impact resounded with a dull sound as Bishop’s legs met the Prince’s. The ground trembled slightly under the weight of their combined strength. The initial shock was already attracting the attention of onlookers; the situation was becoming dangerous. Finishing quickly was crucial, but defeating Arnold without a weapon would be a herculean task. He surely possessed his [Martial Arts] skill at a level above 4, and besides, they were in his territory.

Despite the odds, Bishop did not stop. He launched himself into the attack again, his movements precise and lethal. Arnold's blows were heavy, crushing, the Prince's brute strength evident. But his mana, despite its intensity, was inferior to Bishop's. In a fight of endurance, Bishop had the advantage; however, time was running out. The crowd, initially a trickle of people, now became a growing wave of students and teachers coming closer, drawn by the aura of power emanating from the confrontation. The tension was palpable. The very air vibrated with the anticipation of the next blow.

Bishop and Arnold's high kicks intertwined in a whirlwind of movement, a ballet of strength and precision. The male spectators, initially drawn by the possibility of a glimpse under Bishop's skirt, stopped staring at the sheer power she displayed. The intensity of the fight, the ferocity of her movements, eclipsed everything else. Sensing the shift in the crowd's attention, Arnold abruptly stopped. With barely perceptible, suppressed anger, he announced the end of the match.

“We’ll leave it here for today,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but it rang with undeniable authority. The sudden interruption left Bishop baffled. What had this all been about? She wondered. Dismissing the question for the moment, she turned and walked away with the same cool composure that had characterized her during the fight. What Bishop didn’t know was that a piercing-eyed, blond freshman had been a silent witness to the entire confrontation, watching every move, every detail of the fight.