Every one of us was surprised by the announcement, each person murmuring his or her opinion on the possible reasons why we were being called.
Miss Double D seemed to know. I could see it in her body language.
She was quiet and calm with a subtle smile on her face while pretending to not be aware of what was going on.
None of us had done anything or broken any of the set rules, so I didn't think that was the case.
Then it hit me.
"Shoot!"
I turned around and looked at Jasmine. In my head, I was thinking if she might have snuck out of the academy again.
But that didn't seem to be the case as well since the call was general, for every second-year scholar.
They wouldn't assemble all the second year scholars for the sin of one person.
We won't know until we arrived at the Auditorium C.
Like sheep heading to the slaughterhouse, we also headed to the auditorium to answer the call that was made.
...
...
...
Is this some sort of joke or something?
We arrived at the auditorium and even waited for another twenty to twenty-five minutes and still waiting, yet no one had come to address the matter for which we were called.
It was just us and the vast space of the auditorium that was filled with comfy black chairs.
Many passed the time with their chatterings while some were already dozing off. I guess magic practice either makes you hyper or sobers you up and maybe, even sleepy.
Then there are people like me, who wondered why our time was being wasted.
I didn't know why we were called or even who were expecting to see.
Why then were we here?
Just as I lamented internally on the current situation of things, a figure walked in from one side of the stage in front of us.
He was fair and tall, about six feet and two inches if I was to make a guess.
The young man was dressed in the standard uniform for the Zenith Academy for Warlocks & Witches.
I leaned forward and glanced at Elizabeth who was five seats away from me on the left but her gaze was so fixed forward that she didn't notice.
I was only looking out for her anyway. I could sense the rage inside her when I saw her fold her hands into a fist.
"Hello, my pesky juniors!" this blond-haired senior of ours greeted.
Pesky?
What a way to make a first impression, William.
Yes, I knew him.
William was another annoying pompous brat. That word he used — pesky — was a perfect way to describe him.
"I'm William Osvenor, the Council Rep for the Fourth Years and welcome to hell."
...
...
...
William had only started speaking three minutes ago and the atmosphere was as tense as the fields of war.
The derisive shouts of the second year scholars echoed within the auditorium.
They disapproved of William and whatever he was saying or represented.
I bent forward and looked to my side once more to see if Liz was alright.
"She's smiling?"
I must confess that I was surprised that she was smiling.
Elizabeth loved that her elder brother was being embarrassed by second years.
Truth be told, William Osvenor did deserve the treatment he received.
While we still revolted, some of us stood and gestured for William to leave the stage, shouting demeaning words at him.
William clicked his tongue loudly into the mic in his hand. He was red with rage but there was nothing he could do.
Though he was a fourth-year warlock apprentice, Williams couldn't take on about a hundred scholars by himself.
Even that was too much for someone with his magnitude of grandiosity.
As we protested William's presence, a loud squeal suddenly reverberated within the walls of the auditorium.
"What the hell—"
The sound was irritating to the ears and skull-crushing.
All of us including William had to block our ears with our hands but that could only help to a certain extent.
The high-pitched sound lasted for a few seconds and stopped, silence followed suit immediately.
"Seems like they don't want you... eh, William," a voice resounded through the different speakers hung on the ceiling of the large hall.
Many of us looked around, searching for the source of the voice.
The voice was more cheerful and friendly than anything we heard William say while he was on the stage.
"I'll take it from here, Williams," the voice said.
Williams clutched the small microphone tightly, trying to protest.
"But—" he said before the voice rudely interrupted him.
"I said... I'll take it from here, Williams. Thank you."
I could sense the fear in Williams, who stopped his protest and shamefully walked out of the stage in a fit of rage.
He must have felt very humiliated.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth enjoyed every bit of the drama that involved her elder brother, Williams.
The embarrassment he faced was like sweet songs to her ears.
She relished the feeling and savoured the sight of his embarrassment.
...
...
...
Most of the murmuring and boos that Williams had to endure, stemmed from the back seats of the auditorium.
As much as the ones who sat at the front wanted, they dared not say a thing that would anger Williams.
He was a senior and that was how the academy worked.
Williams couldn't do anything or make any threats because he could not pick out one person to hold responsible.
The ones in front could only laugh and entrust the voicing out of their minds to the backseaters, who took up that honour and carried it out too well.
Williams walked out of the stage as he was instructed and after a couple of minutes, the sound of slow footsteps thudding against the floor was heard in the short time of silence.
The sound increased, becoming louder with each second as the person responsible drew closer to us.
A figure soon appeared and walked onto the stage. He was a scholar as well but shorter than Williams.
Glossing over his physical appearance, this person could easily pass for a first or second-year scholar.
He had a slender build and was about five feet and seven inches in height with long, white and messy hair that reached his shoulders.
The scholars around me leaned back. Another had his eyes wide as he gaped at the person on the stage.
I looked at them and turned back to see those behind me having the same surprised look on their faces.
"H-How's it... How's it possible?"
"For one of them to be here—"
"One of who?" I asked the student.
He turned to me with a lingering expression of shock and said, "The Student Council for Warlocks & Witches. He's one of them."
The long white-haired boy on the stage tapped the microphone and blew on it.
"Testing, testing..."