I claimed the empty desk where I'd dropped my bag. The chair groaned under my weight, the plastic molded for someone who didn't exist.
It was the standard kind of uncomfortable, a universal language of institutional misery.
The conversations started up again. Quieter now. People talking to their neighbors. A few still looking at me. Most had already moved on.
I pulled out my phone. Checked the time. Eight fifty-two. Class started at eight thirty according to the schedule Reika had forwarded me.
Professor Jackson was officially twenty-two minutes late to his own class.
The box pressed against my ribs. Still warm. Always warm.
I shifted in the seat. Tried to find a position where the corner of the box wasn't digging into my side.
Movement to my right. Someone sliding into the desk next to mine.
I looked over.
Girl. Purple-pink curly hair cut to her jaw. Teal eyes behind the kind of attention that was quiet but absolute. She had a small white cat in her lap. Partially transparent around the edges like it wasn't fully there.
Spirit type. Divine origin if I was reading the quality of the manifestation right.
She looked at me. The cat looked at me.
Neither spoke.
"Hey."
"Hello." Her voice matched the rest of her. Quiet. Carefully measured.
The cat made a sound. Not quite a meow. More like a question.
The girl's hand moved to the cat's back. One smooth motion that the cat leaned into without appearing to move.
"This is Miru."
"Max."
"I know." She tilted her head slightly. "You arrived two weeks late."
"Yeah."
"The Exceptional Circumstance Provision."
Statement. Not a question.
"That's the one."
She nodded once. Looked forward. The conversation was apparently over.
I looked forward too. Waited for this Jackson guy to show up so we could start whatever this was going to be.
The door opened.
Everyone went quiet.
A man walked in. Tall. Maybe six three. Dark skin and the kind of curly black hair that looked effortless but probably wasn't. He had small round sunglasses pushed up into his hair even though we were indoors. His uniform was wrong. No blazer. Just a black turtleneck that looked expensive and pants that looked like he'd pulled them on without checking if they matched.
He looked at the class. Smiled.
"Morning."
His voice was smooth. Lazy. The kind of tone that said he had nowhere to be and all day to get there.
Nobody responded.
He walked to the desk. Sat on it instead of behind it. Pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes even though the lighting in the room was fine.
"I'm Professor Dante Jackson. You can call me Jackson or Professor or hey you depending on how formal you're feeling." He crossed his arms. "This is Class One Z. Remedial Track. You're here because something about your intake assessment didn't meet Standard Track requirements."
He paused. Looked around the room like he was counting.
"Twenty-one students. That's a full class. Good. Makes my job easier."
The guy in the back raised his hand.
"Professor?"
"Yeah."
"Are you going to take attendance?"
Jackson pulled a paper from his pocket. Unfolded it. Looked at it for exactly two seconds. Folded it back up.
"You're all here. Moving on."
He dropped the paper on the desk.
"You've got three semesters. That's the probation period. End of third semester you take your final assessment. Pass and you get reclassified. Fail and you get recommended for alternative career paths." He said it the same way he'd said good morning. No weight. Just information. "Questions?"
Silence.
"Great. Then let's talk about what remedial actually means."
He stood up. Walked to the board. Grabbed a marker. Wrote one word in letters big enough to read from the back row.
POTENTIAL
"This is what the academy thinks you have. Potential that hasn't manifested correctly yet. Could be your Anima's weak. Could be your compatibility's low. Could be you choked during intake and the rubric couldn't measure what you actually do."
He capped the marker. Tossed it back on the desk. "Could be the system's broken and you're fine."
He turned around. Looked at the class through those sunglasses.
"My job is to figure out which one you are and help you fix it if it's fixable."
Thessa raised her hand.
"What if it's not fixable?"
Jackson smiled.
"Then we figure out what you're actually good at and build from there."
He sat back on the desk. Crossed his arms again.
"Our class is gonna run different than Standard Track. No formal lectures unless I feel like it. Lots of practical work. Gate simulations. Combat assessment. Actual useful shit instead of theory you'll forget in six months."
Someone near the front whispered something.
Jackson's head turned toward them.
"You got something to say, say it out loud."
The student shrank in their seat.
"That's what I thought." Jackson looked back at the rest of us. "First rule. If you've got a problem with how I run things, tell me. Second rule. If you've got a problem with another student, handle it yourself or bring it to me. Third rule. Show up. I don't care if you're late as long as you show up."
He pulled his sunglasses back up into his hair. His eyes were bright blue. Wrong shade for his face. The kind of blue that looked like contacts except they weren't.
"Last thing. You're in Class Z. That means Standard Track thinks you're not worth their time. Pioneer Track thinks you're a joke. The administration thinks you're three semesters away from dropping out." He smiled again. Wider this time. "Prove them wrong."
Nobody spoke.
Jackson stood up. Walked to the door.
"Homeroom dismissed. I'll see you tomorrow."
He left.
The door closed behind him.
Twenty students sat in confused silence.
What the absolute hell kind of teacher was that?
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A/N: Thanks for reading this chapter! Support by adding to your library and giving a power stone or two. Comment for a cookie!