As I settled into the role of substitute teacher, I felt my skills naturally engage to help manage the complex situation. Lesson Planning kicked in automatically, helping me assess the different grade levels and academic needs represented in the classroom. It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot. I could sense gaps in my approach and moments where a more experienced educator would have handled transitions more smoothly - but it was functional enough to keep thirty students of varying ages productively occupied.
Thankfully I had Knowledge Delivery which helped me adjust my communication style for different age groups, switching between the simplified explanations needed for the elementary students and the more complex concepts that would challenge the high schoolers. Again, it wasn’t flawless - there were moments where I could tell I was either talking over someone’s head or oversimplifying for students who were ready for more advanced material - but it was working well enough to maintain order and engagement.
"Alright, everyone," I said, moving to the whiteboard at the front of the classroom. "I’m going to put some problems up here for different grade levels. Elementary students, you’ll work on the green problems. Middle school, focus on the blue ones. High school students, tackle the red equations."
I began writing a series of math problems, ranging from basic addition and subtraction for the younger students to algebraic equations and geometry problems for the older ones. The mixed-age approach was challenging, but I found myself adapting to it more easily than I’d expected.
"Remember, this isn’t a competition," I continued as students pulled out notebooks and pencils. "Work at your own pace, and raise your hand if you need help with anything."
The classroom settled into a productive quiet, broken only by the sound of pencils on paper and occasional whispered questions between students. I circulated through the rows, checking on individual progress and offering guidance where needed.
I was helping a third-grader work through a particularly challenging subtraction problem when the classroom door opened. Derek Mitchell walked in, his school uniform slightly wrinkled and his expression guarded. He’d apparently finished whatever consequences he’d been dealing with for the paintball incident, though I suspected there might be additional disciplinary measures waiting for him after school.
Derek paused just inside the door, his eyes meeting mine with a look that seemed to carry multiple messages. There was wariness there, probably wondering if I’d reported our earlier conversation to the administration. But there was also something else a mix of confusion and curiosity as to how and why I was the one teaching this class. After all, I was invited to give speeches and guidance and not be a teacher for them.
"Take a seat anywhere, Derek," I said casually, as if his arrival was perfectly normal and expected.
What surprised me was the reaction of his classmates. Instead of the eye-rolls or annoyed expressions I’d expected from students who’d been dealing with a chronic troublemaker, several of them actually smiled and gestured for Derek to sit near them. A girl in the middle of the room scooted her chair over to make space, while a boy near the window quietly moved some supplies so Derek would have room for his books.
They didn’t seem to resent Derek for his pranks at all. If anything, they appeared genuinely glad to see him join the class.
Derek settled into a seat in the middle of the room, pulled out a notebook, and glanced at the problems I’d written on the board. After studying them for only a few seconds, he began working - and I could see from his confident pencil movements that he was starting with some of the more advanced equations.
As I continued circulating through the classroom, I kept an eye on Derek’s progress. What I observed was even more surprising than his classmates’ warm reception. Derek was solving problems quickly and accurately, often finishing complex equations before students who were supposedly at higher grade levels.
He wasn’t just smart - he was exceptionally intelligent, with the kind of mathematical intuition that suggested he could probably handle coursework well above his current placement. When he finished the red-level problems, he glanced up at me with something that might have been a challenge in his expression, then started working on variations of the equations that were even more complex than what I’d originally written.
It was becoming clear that Derek’s behavioral issues weren’t related to academic struggles or intellectual limitations. If anything, him acting out is nothing but a limiter to his intelligence. If he spent his creativity and time on academics or socially investing himself then I wouldn’t doubt seeing him as a high ranking individual in the near future.
But analyzing Derek’s academic abilities wasn’t my primary mission here. I needed to focus on identifying potential threats among the faculty and staff. The problem was that I hadn’t yet had a chance to use Scan on any of the other faculty members, and besides Milan, I needed to figure out which of them might be the second operative Anthony had mentioned.
More concerning was the possibility that some of the legitimate teachers might actually be assassins operating under perfect cover. If someone had genuine teaching credentials, meaning the System gave them that job and they had been working at the school for months or years, Scan would likely identify them as a teacher rather than revealing any hidden criminal activities. It would be the perfect disguise - blend in completely with the legitimate staff, maintain a normal professional routine, and wait for the right opportunity to strike. Not even IDs or an evaluation orb could catch them.
I was helping a middle school student work through a geometry problem when there was a soft knock on the classroom door. A woman I recognized from the faculty introductions that morning peered in with a friendly smile.
"I hope I’m not interrupting," she said quietly, stepping into the room. "I’m Ms. Patterson - we met briefly this morning. I just wanted to check and see how everything was going."
"Everything’s fine," I replied, moving toward her so we wouldn’t disturb the students who were still working. "The students have been great, very focused on their assignments."
Ms. Patterson was one of the faculty members whose exact position I hadn’t been able to determine from Principal Whitfield’s rushed introductions. She appeared to be in her early forties, with shoulder-length brown hair and the kind of efficient, professional demeanor that suggested she was good at managing multiple responsibilities simultaneously.
"That’s wonderful to hear," she said, glancing around the classroom with obvious satisfaction. "I know this mixed-age approach can be challenging for someone who’s not used to it. You’re handling it beautifully."
"Thank you. The students are making it easy."
"Is there anything you need? Extra supplies, reference materials, anything like that?"
"I think we’re all set for now, but I appreciate you checking."
As we continued our quiet conversation, I positioned myself to get a clear view of Ms. Patterson while activating Scan. It was the perfect opportunity - she was being helpful and professional, there was nothing suspicious about our interaction, and I could gather the information I needed without arousing any suspicion.
The familiar sensation washed over me as Scan engaged, giving me a detailed look on her System’s interface and-
Hold on...that’s not right?
The scan results materialized in my consciousness with crystal clarity, but what I was looking at made no sense at all. The professional, helpful teacher standing in front of me was definitely not what she appeared to be.
I managed to maintain my expression of polite attention, continuing our conversation about classroom management and student engagement while internally processing the implications of what I’d just learned.
"Well, I should let you get back to your students," Ms. Patterson said after a few more minutes of conversation. "If you need anything at all, my classroom is just down the hall. Don’t hesitate to ask."
"Thank you so much for checking on us," I replied, hoping my voice sounded more casual than I felt.
She gave me another warm smile and headed toward the door, pausing just before she left to wave at some of the students who looked up from their work.
"Have a great afternoon, everyone!" she called out cheerfully.
"Bye, Ms. Patterson!" several students responded, clearly genuinely fond of her.
As the door closed behind her, I found myself staring after her while my mind raced through the implications of what I’d just discovered. The students returned to their assignments, Derek continued working through increasingly complex mathematical variations, and the classroom settled back into its productive quiet.
I moved back to the whiteboard, ostensibly to write additional problems for students who had finished their initial assignments, but really to give myself a moment to process what I’d learned and figure out my next steps.
"You’ve gotta be kidding me," I muttered under my breath, staring at the whiteboard without really seeing it.