CHAPTER 35: FIRST CLASS (1)

Chapter 35: First Class (1)

The corridor leading to Class A was unnervingly quiet.

Not the natural kind of silence either this one carried weight.

Every time I passed a cadet, their conversation stuttered to a halt, eyes flicking toward me, lips twitching as though fighting to hold back whatever they wanted to say.

Others didn’t bother holding back.

"That’s him..."

"The Rank 1... the commoner."

"Arrogant bastard from the ceremony."

I walked on, hands tucked into my pockets, gaze fixed ahead. My boots clicked against the marble tiles, echoing down the hallway like a countdown.

Did I provoke them too much? I wondered, though my expression stayed blank.

Probably.

Definitely.

When I reached the end of the hall, the plaque above the door gleamed with engraved runes:

CLASS A.

I pushed the heavy oak door open.

What greeted me wasn’t a classroom.

It was an auditorium.

Rows of seats stretched in a semi-circle, rising higher the further back they went. The stage at the bottom center was broad, with two blackboards looming behind it one ordinary slate, the other glowing faintly blue with magic for projections. Sunlight poured through arched windows along the left side, painting the floor and desks in gold.

And... the cadets.

Every single head turned as I entered.

The atmosphere snapped tight. Their gazes locked onto me—sharp, hostile, probing. Some masked it behind bored expressions, others didn’t bother hiding the irritation that bled across their faces.

The whispers hit almost immediately.

"That’s him?"

"How can a nobody stand above us?"

"Rank 1 because of luck. Nothing else."

I stood still for a heartbeat, letting my eyes sweep across the rows. The layout was almost too easy to read.

---

Front Row (Row 1)

The spearhead of the class.

Leon, seated in the center, posture stiff as stone, shoulders squared. His eyes flicked toward me for the briefest second before he looked away, jaw tight.

Beside him, Selena radiated calm dignity. She didn’t sneer, didn’t whisper just observed, violet eyes cool and steady, lips faintly pressed in thought.

On Leon’s other side sat Chris, relaxed but alert, his presence quiet, controlled. He glanced at me once, expression unreadable, then returned his gaze to the stage.

Lyra, at the far end, was practically bouncing in her seat, her fiery hair catching the light. She wasn’t angry not exactly but her grin carried the spark of a challenge, as though itching for the chance to fight me again.

Ranmon sat at the opposite end, arms crossed, face unreadable but his foot tapped against the floor with impatience.

Second Row (Row 2)

Eric sat in the middle, smirk curling across his face the moment our eyes met. His entire posture screamed provocation, chin tilted, eyes glinting with amusement.

On his right, Ren (Rank 19) sat stiffly, his loyalty obvious in the way he mirrored Eric’s smirk despite clearly not having the courage to back it up.

Elara sat on Eric’s left, arms folded, her gaze cold and analytical. She didn’t bother hiding the faint curl of disdain tugging at her lips.

Across from them, Aiden leaned lazily in his chair, hands behind his head, already grinning as if waiting for a brawl to break out.

Aurelia sat beside him, elegant as always, her smile polite but her eyes calculating, as though already dissecting me piece by piece.

Third Row (Row 3)

Sam sat straight-backed, his sharp eyes flicking between me and the others, lips pressed in a thin line.

Petric had his hand on his chin, watching me with amusement that didn’t reach his eyes.

Noora, Rank 15, kept her arms folded tightly across her chest, glaring at me with undisguised hostility.

George, Rank 17, shifted uncomfortably, clearly torn between curiosity and the peer pressure of disliking me.

And then finally an empty seat at the far end. Mine.

Fourth Row (Row 4)

Sakura (#13) sat with elegance, her gaze quiet but piercing, like a blade hidden in silk.

Seon (#20) was already scribbling notes into a small journal, barely glancing up, though I noticed the flicker of his eyes in my direction more than once.

Rita (#18) scowled openly, lips curling every time her gaze fell on me.

Zack, slouched as always, gave me a bored glance and promptly yawned, as if none of this mattered to him.

Maro (#11) tapped his fingers against his desk, staring at me with an expression that said, hurry up and prove yourself or shut up.

--------

Seat placement Graph

Fourth Row: (Sakura,Top#13),(Seon , Top 20),(Rita ,Top 18),(Zack),(Maro, Top 11)

Third Row: (Sam ,Top 12),(Petric,Top 14),(Noora, Top 15),(George ,Top 17),(Michael)

Second Row: (Aiden),(Aurelia),(Elara),(Eric),(Ren,Top19)

1st Row: (Ranmon,Top#16),(Leon),(Selena),(Chris),(Lyra)

---

The air was heavy.

Even sitting, the top cadets radiated the kind of pressure that would have crushed a normal recruit.

And every single one of them was staring at me.

...Yeah. I definitely provoked them too much.

I forced my posture to remain casual as I walked up the steps, deliberately slow. My boots thudded softly against the wood, each sound echoing louder in the silence.

Don’t falter. Don’t show weakness.

I slid into the empty window seat at the far end of the third row. The sunlight spilled across the desk, warm against my hand as I rested my chin against it. Beyond the glass, the courtyard spread wide—fountains sparkling, manicured gardens stretching toward the training fields.

A protagonist seat, huh? I thought with a faint smirk. Third row, near the window. Classic.

But the atmosphere in the room didn’t ease. I could feel the stares clinging to me like thorns, whispers spreading like smoke.

"That’s the commoner?"

"Rank 1 or not, he doesn’t belong here."

"He’ll fall. Sooner or later."

My lips twitched faintly. I let them whisper. Let them burn holes into my back.

Because if the story played out the way I remembered, this was only the beginning.

----

The silence in the room stretched long after I sat down.

I could feel eyes digging into me from all sides some sharp, some curious, some burning with resentment.

But then

The door at the Front of the class opened with a soft creak.

CLACK.

Every head in Class A turned.

And in stepped a woman who looked like she’d walked straight out of a magazine cover.

The sound of heels clicked rhythmically against the marble floor as a woman entered.

At first glance, she was... striking. A tall, statuesque beauty with long legs and a presence that instantly drew every eye. Her hair was a cascade of platinum-blonde waves, shimmering like spun silver under the ceiling lights. She wore a fitted black suit-jacket that clung to her curves in a way that made several boys in the room audibly swallow.

The faint click of her heels echoed in the silence, commanding attention with nothing more than sound.

Her blouse cut low enough to reveal the soft swell of her chest, a teasing line that made even Eric’s cocky smirk falter for a split second.

Whispers broke out instantly.

"Who... who is that?"

"She’s gorgeous..."

" I think I saw her in some where"

"Wait, isn’t that...?"

Her presence was... disarming. Dangerous, even.

I heard the sharp intake of breath ripple through the room.

"Whoa..."

"Is that really her? Evelyn Whitehound..."

"No way... she’s actually our instructor?"

Even the calmest cadets faltered. Several boys, their jaws practically unhinged, followed her every step like bewitched prey. I didn’t need to look to know Eric was among them.

Sure enough, when my gaze flicked across the second row, Eric had already leaned forward in his chair, smirk half-melted into something far less dignified. Beside him, even Leon’s composure cracked—the stiffness in his posture betrayed by the faint pink dusting his ears.

Oh boy, I sighed inwardly. So much for ’future pillars of the Academy.’

The woman’s heels clicked steadily against the polished floor as she walked toward the stage. Behind her, the dual blackboards loomed—one chalk, one enchanted with faint runes that pulsed like veins.

She walked with deliberate grace, each step carrying the confidence of someone used to commanding rooms, no matter the size of the audience. She set a sleek black laptop and a few papers on the desk at the front, then turned to face us.

She reached the center stage, placed her sleek black laptop and a neat stack of papers on the podium, then swept her gaze across the room.

Not casually. Not like she was "checking attendance."

The room stilled.

Her eyes swept across the class—slow, deliberate, piercing. She wasn’t simply looking. She was evaluating. Measuring every student as if she could strip away their bravado and see the raw truth beneath.

And then... her gaze found me.

For a moment, our eyes locked.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips—amused, curious, like she already knew something I didn’t.

I kept my face calm, but my mind ticked rapidly.

This wasn’t in the script. The one meant to be here was Sara Everheart. So why is... she here?

Finally, she turned to the class at large, her voice ringing out clear and confident.

"Good morning, cadets."

With that she shifted her attention to the rest of the class.