"So this is.. the School of The Gifted, huh?" I stated in awe, while standing in front of the imposing structure. The massive building loomed above, its futuristic architecture leaving a lasting impression, with its sleek lines and shimmering glass surfaces that caught the morning sunlight. Looking to my left, I saw a meticulously maintained track field, where the lush green grass contrasted beautifully with the pristine white lanes, and to my right, a state-of-the-art gymnasium gleamed in the morning sun, its metallic sheen reflecting the promise of physical excellence.
As I walked through the ornate gate, I couldn't help but marvel at how high-tech the school appeared. The place was like a technological marvel, with holographic displays that projected information and announcements, and advanced security systems that conveyed a sense of safety and order. It was hard to believe we were still in Tennessee. After all, when he flew us here, I had expected something impressive, but not THIS grand!
Lost in my thoughts, someone tapped me on my shoulder, pulling me out of my daze. I turned to face him and was met by a young man with striking red hair and a robust physique. His presence exuded an aura of strength and confidence, making it difficult to determine whether his abilities leaned toward strength or defense.
He spoke with a friendly tone, his words filled with excitement, "Yo, dude. You're that transfer student, right? Everyone's talking about you. Transfer students are incredibly strong, being referred to this institution and all. Fun fact, three of the top ten are transfer students."
Responding confidently, I confirmed his suspicions, "Yes, 'dude,' I'm the transfer student. My name is Oren."
He grinned and casually put his arm around my shoulder, creating a sense of camaraderie, "Follow me, you're a third-year just like me. Welcome to the school of the future, one that trains demi-gods, basically." With that, I let him guide me further into the school's awe-inspiring premises, eager to explore the mysteries and challenges that awaited me.
Everything inside was a stark contrast to my previous school, which had been run-down and plagued by unfriendly teachers. Here, in sharp contrast, the atmosphere was entirely different. The school was well-maintained, and the students around me appeared genuinely happy. It was a refreshing change.
My new acquaintance pointed toward a particular classroom, saying, "That's the class, 3-A. Yeah, we borrowed the naming format from Japan. The Headmaster rarely shows his face, but he's a big weeb." With a grin, he opened the door, and we both stepped inside. The classroom was abuzz with activity as students chatted freely, seemingly without a care in the world, each engrossed in their own world. What struck me most was the incredible diversity among the students. It made me wonder if they were from all over the world.
The dude, still easy-going, responded, "Just sit down at an empty seat, the teacher probably won't care." I followed his advice and took a seat at an unoccupied desk. Placing my backpack to the side, I concentrated on the thoughts and advice Tony had shared with me during our flight here.
Oh yeah, by the way, Tony is the strongest police officer guy. Tony went on to share his crucial advice, "You'll probably make friends there, and that's okay, but remember, your goal is to find the Headmaster and ambush him, or get his attention by winning the Gifted Tournament." His words left me determined but also somewhat skeptical. I couldn't help but quip, "Gifted Tournament? Couldn't they have come up with a better name?"
He continued, emphasizing the importance of my mission, "This is serious, Oren. Like I said before, you would probably not even make the top five, let alone the top three. You need to attend the classes there and learn from even the weaker ones, as they all were trained in martial arts at a young age." I couldn't help but ponder, "Heh, so they all have high growth limits and were forced to? I guess in some ways being a non-gifted is better."
Concerned about the risks involved, I asked, "What if my cover's blown or something?" Tony responded reassuringly, "That won't happen. Remember, your goal, at least in the short term, is to get a spot in the tournament." Aroha, sitting beside me, unexpectedly reached out and touched my hand, offering her support, "You can do it, Oren." Her encouragement was a comforting gesture as the plane started to descend into the airport.
The front door swung open, and the teacher, a woman with ginger hair, strolled into the room, a slightly amused expression on her face, "Eh, Oren, you could've made it easier, you know. You were supposed to come to me so I could introduce you." She finished arranging her belongings on her desk, while the rest of the class observed the newcomer with curiosity. She turned to address the class, "Everyone, this is Oren Hashigana, the transfer student. Say hello."
In unison, the students chimed in, "Hello, Oren." I gave a friendly wave in response to their warm welcome. The teacher, named June, continued, "My name is June, Oren. Nice to meet you. Now shall we get started?" She began the routine attendance check, and one by one, students raised their hands as their names were called.
With attendance completed, June announced the day's lesson plan, "Today we will do some review on math, English, and science. James, come take this and hand it to the class." James, a classmate, distributed three pages of exercises covering these subjects to the students. We delved into the work, diligently tackling the problems, while June kept a watchful eye on our progress.
After about two hours of focused effort, we handed in our completed assignments. June, in her efficient manner, spent the next hour grading them. Finally, she returned the graded papers to each of us. I received my results, an eighty-seven in math, eighty-one in science, and a satisfying ninety in English. Not a bad start, I thought.
The teacher told us, "Stand up. It's time for your favorite part of the day. Follow me to the gymnasium." We all followed her, and the guy from earlier slowed down to get next to me, sharing his excitement, "You're gonna love this. This is why we truly come here." I was a bit perplexed, wondering what could be so special about a regular gym. But then again, this was a school for the gifted, so I suspected there might be more to it than met the eye.
Upon our arrival at the gymnasium, the teacher effortlessly swung open the doors. She addressed the class, her tone carrying a sense of mystery, "Oren, do you know what our number one goal here is?" I was curious and replied, "No, what is it?" She gave a somewhat eerie grin and revealed, "Strength. Strength is all that matters here. Today we are going to test your strength. Check this out." The rest of the students piled in and gathered around an electronic screen that displayed ranks from one through twenty-five. It seemed like these were the ranks within the school, each accompanied by a nickname and a student's face. I only looked at the top ten.
Rank One: Time
Rank Two: The Heart
Rank Three: God Fist
Rank Four: The Prodigy
Rank Five: The Red Samurai
Rank Six: Silent Storm
Rank Seven: The Demon
Rank Eight: Tiger's Roar
Rank Nine: The Breaker
Rank Ten: The Colossal
One of my fellow students next to me scrolled the screen down. He then pointed at his own face, with the moniker "Rank Nineteen: The Capoeira King." He approached me and challenged, "Wanna test your strength against me?" He glanced toward the teacher by the storage closet, who gave her approval with a nod. He continued, "Guess I just got permission. You know, I'm one of the strongest gifted in the world! Nineteen in a school of more than a thousand? When every person here is a prodigy with a minimum stat of 8?! If you beat me, you'll get my rank and respect. Sound cool?"
Amused, I responded with a hint of sarcasm, "Sure, how does this work?" This kid didn't fully understand who he was dealing with.
He instructed me, "Go to the other side of the gymnasium, and when Mrs. June says go, we just fight, simple as that. No killing, of course." I couldn't resist a quip, "You sure? We can allow killing if you want." He looked taken aback, hesitated for a moment, and then moved to his designated starting spot, spitting on the wood as he went.
I couldn't resist the temptation to squint and examine his stats, but I knew that would take the fun out of the challenge. Proving my superiority at this school and catching the Headmaster's attention were my primary objectives. Getting into position, I casually slipped my hands into my pockets, a gesture that seemed to irk my opponent. He yelled, "You're gonna need your hands, you b***h!" The teacher added to the tension by slamming her foot on the ground, creating a small crater, signaling the start of the fight.
With lightning speed, my adversary sprinted towards me, performing a front flip onto his hands and spinning his legs, propelling himself off his hands like a spear aimed at my face. I had to admit, he was good. If I took this head-on, I was certain I would sustain heavy damage, maybe even face a life-threatening situation.
But just before his spear-like attack could land, he displayed his tactical prowess by changing his position and launching a crescent moon kick. His flexibility and adaptability is impressive.
But this is nothing compared to the Deputy. The fear I felt from him was immense, and I still have nightmares about him. In a barely audible whisper, I acknowledged his skill, "Good fighting, Rank Nineteen." Without wasting a moment, I countered with a swift roundhouse kick aimed at his left cheek. The impact was devastating, and he was sent hurtling into the left wall, shattering it a fair amount upon impact. He slumped down, clearly defeated. The shock on the faces of the onlookers was evident, their mouths agape in disbelief.
With a casual tilt of my head, I taunted, "Is that all you have?" My intention was not only to win the fight but to send a message to everyone in the gymnasium. The effectiveness of the message, you say? Super.