"Professor, professor?"
"…"
"PROFESSOR!"
"What?" Skeptor snapped into reality, '-did I doze off in class?' facing him were students of class 3-A, the elite, "-my apologies, " he left, '-he went over my head and accepted four new students. I don't care if they're nobility, I don't care if they're royalty. The director went over my head.' Windows went along the corridor and gave onto the field, an upper vantage point to look down upon the combat class. Sweat and shouts, such were their creed and duty. Estranged students, not wise to the common class and raised to be viewed as better, halted their comments. Like earlier, wherein a group badmouthed his appearance – such was the way he remembered, '-they're dumbstruck. The same group of girls,' the pace slowed – he followed their gaze, '-it's them,' he narrowed.
"The transfer students… they look too good to be part of the combat class. What is the director thinking?"
