She tilted her head slightly, giving me a blank stare, like she couldn’t tell if I was joking or serious.
I gestured to the window. "C’mon, I will buy you lunch after this."
She blinked once. Then twice.
And then, she scooted to the side without a word, making room for me.
"Thanks," I said, dropping into the seat with the kind of relief only those who’d found their destined throne could understand.
Just then, I noticed something else.
Art... was sitting in the first bench of the row directly in front of me.
’Wait... Art’s not a backbencher?’
What kind of twisted timeline was I living in where that guy sat up front voluntarily?
I narrowed my eyes at him. He turned around, caught my expression, and gave me a lazy wink.
The betrayal. The absolute blasphemy.
Ignoring that abomination of an act, I leaned back and let my gaze wander outside.
The sunlight was warm. Clouds drifted lazily across the sky. The wind rustled the trees.
For a brief moment, I allowed myself to relax.
"How are you? I mean... your injuries..."
Her voice was soft, almost hesitant—like she wasn’t sure if she even had the right to ask.
I turned slightly, her posture poised but her crimson eyes filled with something rare. Concern.
I flexed my right arm, rolling the shoulder casually, trying to make it look effortless. "I’m good. Just needed two days in the cryo chambers. Fixed me right up."
She let out a tiny breath—almost a laugh—as a smile ghosted across her lips. Then, without another word, she returned to her upright posture, eyes facing forward again like nothing had happened.
I went back to gazing outside the window, watching the wind dance through the trees as the sun cast golden hues across the courtyard.
But then her voice reached me again—quieter this time. "I’m sorry... I didn’t go visit you."
I turned toward her again, locking eyes. "It’s okay. Honestly, I slept like a corpse the entire evening yesterday. Even if you had come, I wouldn’t have known. And in the morning you must have had your classes."
That seemed to ease her a little. She nodded, lips pursed, then focused forward again.
But the conversation sparked something in me.
Now that I thought about it...
Aside from Art, no one else had come to see me.
They were all supposed to be my childhood friends—people who’d grown up beside me, laughed with me, fought beside me.
And yet only one person had showed genuine concern.
The Crown Prince of the fucking Empire.
The guy who, by all logic, should be the one receiving comfort—not offering it.
Despite everything, he’d come to check on me.
Cracked jokes, tried too. Pretended like I wasn’t bruised and broken. Tried to cheer me up like nothing had changed.
Before I even realized it, a small smile crept up on my lips.
Warm. Bitter. Grateful.
’He really was Cassius’s best friend...’
And then, like a cruel twist of fate, a memory surged forward—
An image. A voice. A face.
The one who’d always had my back when no one else did.
The idiot who challenged me in games, pulled all-nighters beside me, and always said,
’If we die, we die together, bro.’
I wondered what he was doing now.
Did he cry when I died?
He had to have cried.
Aside from Mia... he was my only family.
Living someone else’s life.
Carrying someone else’s name.
He was in a world without me.
A dull ache settled in my chest, the kind that no healing chamber could fix.
I leaned back in my seat, eyes half-lidded, letting the melancholy settle in for just a second longer—until the enormous double doors of the classroom creaked open.
The sound echoed like a ripple through the cathedral-esque hall.
Conversations stopped. Murmurs died.
Even the air seemed to still.
And in walked our homeroom teacher.
She strode in with a presence that filled the room, each step echoing against the marble floor like a metronome ticking down to judgment.
Her attire was elegant yet minimal—black robes trimmed with silver, long and flowing, reminiscent of both a battle mage and a noble.
Her hair was a cool, platinum blonde, tied neatly behind her head. Sharp glasses rested on her nose, but they did nothing to dull the piercing chill of her aquamarine eyes.
She didn’t speak. Not right away.
She just scanned the room. Each and every student. A second per face.
And when her gaze landed on me, it lingered—just a beat longer than the others.
Then she stepped forward, her heels clicking against the marble.
"Welcome," she finally said, voice smooth and commanding. "To Class Platinum A. Where the weakest among you... will be lucky to leave alive."
The words hung like a blade suspended over our heads.
And as the dumb bitch I was... couldn’t help but laugh.
It wasn’t a polite chuckle, or a quiet scoff either. It was a real, sharp bark of amusement that broke the silence like a glass shattering in a chapel.
Dozens of heads turned.
Even Amelia blinked in surprise beside me.
The teacher’s gaze, which had moved away by then, snapped right back to me.
Her expression didn’t change—still calm, collected—but there was a slight tilt to her head, almost like a cat sizing up a rat that had dared bare its teeth.
"Something funny, Mister Lancaster?" she asked, voice steady. Not threatening. Just curious.
I leaned forward, elbows on the table, resting my chin on my folded hands. "Only a little. I mean... c’mon." I motioned vaguely at the cathedral-sized classroom. "You just came here without any greeting... some hi or hello wouldn’t have hurt. And without introducing yourself. The first thing you said was our death sentence. Damn."
A few students snickered. One even outright laughed.
She didn’t smile. She didn’t frown.
She simply walked toward my seat, heels clicking steadily, each step measured, deliberate.
Amelia stiffened beside me.
When the teacher stopped right in front of my desk, her aquamarine eyes bore into mine like frost-coated daggers. The closer she stood, the more I could tell—she wasn’t just strong.
Then, her lips parted. "Good."
That threw me off. "What?"
"I said good," she repeated. "You’ll need that arrogance. That laugh. That bite. Keep them close, Lancaster." She leaned down slightly, just enough that her next words were for me and me alone.
"Because if you lose them in this class, you’ll die."
I didn’t flinch. Just held her gaze. A spark danced in her cold eyes—and then, she straightened and turned to the rest of the class.
"My name is Professor Celia Arkwright," she announced. "I will be your homeroom teacher, combat theory instructor, and, for the next three years, the only thing standing between you and the grave."
Every student sat straighter now. The air itself felt heavier.
"Some of you may think you are talented. Gifted. Destined for greatness. I assure you—destiny is a lie sold to the weak. Only blood, sweat, and survival matters here."
She clapped once, and a glowing roster projected in midair behind her. Names and ranks flickered like a floating screen.
"You are the top one hundred students of this year’s entrance. Half chosen from academics. Half from combat. Some of you already know each other. Some of you don’t. But let me be very clear—this classroom? It’s not a sanctuary. It’s a battlefield with desks."
Her eyes narrowed as she continued. "Each month, you will be evaluated. And each year the bottom ten students will be removed from Class Platinum. No exceptions. Removed students can either drop to a lower class... or drop from the academy entirely."
A ripple of unease spread through the room.
"Now," she said, pulling a slender crystal from her robe. It floated up, spinning slowly in the air above her palm. "Let’s begin with your first official act as Class Platinum A students..."
She paused—dramatically, of course. Professors loved their flair.
Immediately, a chorus of whispers erupted.
"Silence," she snapped, and silence obeyed.
The crystal flared, scattering dozens of runes into the air. Names began pairing up at random above us, forming glowing duos.
Cassius Lancaster – Amelia Everhart.
I opened my mouth to say something snarky, but she beat me to it.
"Please don’t laugh this time," she said with a flat voice, but her eyes were smiling.
And I—well—I smirked.