It's 8 a.m., and the world outside is already in full swing, but in here, in this classroom that smells of disinfectant and shattered dreams, I have a 30-minute oasis. Thirty minutes where I can be the king of my little domain of plastic and metal, with my cellphone as my scepter and the internet as my kingdom of glorious nonsense.
I sink into the chair, which creaks under the weight of my indifference, and slide into the digital world. It's orientation day, which means the gods of academia will take it easy today. No activities that require more than two active neurons - which is lucky, because I'm planning to use my single available neuron to appreciate the art of doing nothing.
And then, just as I'm about to reach the nirvana of laziness, a soft voice cuts through the silence like a hot knife through butter. "Good morning," he says, and I'm yanked out of my trance. I look up, and there he is, our instructor, a guy who seems too young to be on the other side of this educational warfare. He has that kind look that hasn't yet been corrupted by cynicism, brown hair that probably never knew the humiliation of a bad haircut, and a face so smooth it makes me wonder if he's ever been through puberty.
I hadn't described the teacher as some character. He's just an extra, like me. So he's new to me, the main cast teacher.
"My name is Peter," he began, his voice as firm as the material he could become. "And I will be your teacher for the first year. I'm an A-class hero, and my superpower is turning my body into diamond."
He paused, waiting for a reaction.
Nothing.
The class stared at him indifferently. I, on the other hand, couldn't help but think, with that sincerity only I possess: "Turning into diamond, huh? That must be worth something on the market."
"Okay…" Peter let out, in a tone that tried to hide his disappointment. But who does he think he's fooling? I may not have a degree in psychology, but even a blind man would see that.
"I guess everyone knows how the battle academy works. So, let's skip the introduction and presentations, since both know who's who, right?" He said, with the confidence of someone who's never taken a punch to the stomach.
Ah, the innocence. This classroom was a jungle, and me? I was the monkey at the top of the tree, watching all the predators below.
Number 231 was eyeing me, probably thinking I was an easy target. And number 232? He was eyeing the guy who was eyeing me, waiting for a chance to jump into a fight that wasn't his. Ah, the food chain of the academy.
And as for the peers at the academy for the gifted? They knew each other, yes. But knowledge isn't synonymous with friendship, especially when you're playing chess and everyone else is playing checkers.
The new faces? Well, they were like extras in a superhero movie: just there to fill the scene. Unless you're a Stan Lee, you don't deserve my focus.
And Peter liked that feeling.
He enjoyed watching the competition the students had against each other.
"During your stay at the battle academy, know that there will be no time for relationships. You will experience real combat. Combat that can take your lives," he said, pausing briefly to see if he could elicit a worried look from the students.
And yes, he did.
Some students swallowed hard, clearly aware of their situation here. Knowing that their strength might not be enough.
And besides, he managed to send a shiver down my spine. Why? Well, because I still don't know what my superpower is.
In my old world, I was a martial arts enthusiast. I'm a black belt in judo and Brazilian jiu-jitsu. But in a world where people can throw fire with their hands, martial arts aren't very useful.
Let's be honest, in a world where people can literally spit fire, my skills are as useful as a lighter in a firestorm.
Despite this, Neo, the character I created, was a martial arts prodigy. With a body sculpted to perfection and enviable genetics, he used his physique as his superpower. Who needs lasers shooting from their eyes when you can deliver a spinning kick that breaks the sound barrier, right?
And now, I would have to enter those duels. And today, oh, today there would be duels.
"The battle academy is competitive. If you want to continue in it, stay at least within the top 500. To climb is simple, defeat the one in front of you in a ranked duel," said the professor, with the seriousness of a judge on execution day.
After trying to scare the students, which worked for some - especially those hanging on the edge of the top 500 - he continued: "I see that some faces here are quite familiar."
He cast his gaze over Neo, Viktor, Jade, Say, a girl sitting next to Viktor, and a towering boy at the back.
"Know that you are writing your futures at this moment. Each one of you. I hope you give it your all and show that you deserve to stay at this institution," he finished, with a tone that tried to be inspiring but sounded more like a veiled threat.
With that, Peter announced:
"Now get ready. Today's activity won't take long. The first task is 'selection of weapons and equipment'. And remember, choosing the right weapon might be just what you need to evolve."
In the battle academy, the arsenal is like a superhero buffet - you choose what complements your style. And the ideal weapon? As essential as a cape to Superman. But here I am, trying to choose a weapon without knowing my superpower. It's like going to a magicians' duel without knowing the difference between a rabbit and a top hat.
And Nam-Sam? Oh, that guy is more mysterious than the contents of a box of chocolates.
***
So, we walked to the battle academy's arsenal, a room filled with tables covered by every imaginable type of weapon.
"Choose your weapons," said Peter, standing solemnly at the entrance.
Blades of all kinds glinted under the cold light - the cliché choices of any self-respecting isekai protagonist. But me? I prefer to keep my feet on the ground. If there's a weapon that even the greatest fool can wield, it's a revolver.
My steps led me to a table where an open box revealed two gleaming pistols. Without hesitation, I grabbed them. In my old world, I was the heir to a privileged family. I lacked for nothing, and my father, in particular, had a passion for firearms. Well, don't judge, I grew up in a country where having a neighbor armed with a rifle was as common as seeing birds flying.
Ever since I was a kid, firearms and I have been like Batman and Robin. Going to the shooting range with my dad felt like an episode of "Father and Son: Adventure Hunters." That's why, to me, a katana or daggers are about as useful as an umbrella in a hurricane.
Holding the M1911, I thought: "Classic, reliable, but… what's it doing here?". I was expecting something like Iron Man's weapon at the battle academy, but no, just this relic. And yes, it was the only firearm available. Seems like someone here is a fan of antiques or forgot to update the arsenal.
"Well, I'll have to make do with this," I thought, checking the magazine - 7 bullets. The lucky number, or the number of lives a cat would like to have. Maybe this is an omen for the bizarre situation I find myself in. Like, "Congratulations, you're in an 80s action movie."
"Is he wielding a firearm?" The surprise in her voice was almost palpable. I turned my head and caught two girls looking at me as if I had just stepped off a flying saucer. Not that I cared. If looks could kill, I'd already be high-fiving the Grim Reaper.
And it wasn't just them. Surprised and confused looks came from all corners, as if I had just announced that Christmas was canceled. An evolved with a firearm? That could only mean one thing: my superpower was as impressive as a children's party trick. In other words, wait until you see the rabbit in the hat.
Neo chose white bands, wrapping them around his wrists with the casualness of someone about to perform a magic trick. Jade, with a sword in hand, looked ready for a medieval battle, or perhaps to cut the cake at a themed birthday party.
Viktor… well, he was there, weaponless, perhaps his confidence was his blade.
Say played with two daggers, as if she were in a talent show, and a girl with light purple hair and red eyes wouldn't leave Viktor alone, chattering as if he would listen to her. She also chose no weapon, probably because she was too busy trying to figure out if Viktor was more of a dog or cat person.
And then there was Taiho, the Hulk of our little universe. The guy was a mountain of muscle that would make Arnold Schwarzenegger look like a chicken. Standing two meters and forty and with a weight that would send any scale into depression, he was a giant among men.
With the stature of a sumo wrestler and the charisma of a Hollywood star, he wrapped a white band around his right wrist as if he were preparing for a rendezvous with royalty. And with every step he took, the ground didn't just tremble, it practically begged for mercy.
He didn't need a weapon. He didn't want a weapon. He was the weapon. And when you are the weapon, who needs an M1911 or shiny daggers?
Of the hundred students, it seemed we were at a medieval cosplay convention, with the majority brandishing swords or blades as if ready for a Shakespearean duel. A few, the Legolases of the world, chose bows and arrows, because apparently, long-range combat with bows is in vogue in this world.
Then there were the rebels, those who forwent weapons, trusting in their superpowers or their steel biceps forged by rigorous training. They were like the guy who goes to a costume party as "himself" because he's too cool to dress up.
The prejudiced looks still followed me, as if I had just declared a preference for DC over Marvel.
"A firearm? How quaint and childish," they murmured, as if I had brought a Nokia 3310 to a smartphone war.
In the world of the evolved, carrying a firearm is seen as a sign of weakness, a reliance on tools to fight. But hey, even Batman has a utility belt. So, who's laughing now?
Here, in the concrete jungle, the law of the strongest is not just sovereign, it's the queen of the ball.
"Fight with your powers," they say, as if it were an unwritten rule etched on the walls of the academy. Using a sword? Ah, that's as noble as a knight in shining armor. But a pistol? That's like bringing a smartphone to a sword fight - a true faux pas.
"I see that everyone has already chosen their weapon," said Peter, with the drama of a soap opera actor at a season climax. He surveyed the room like a conductor about to lead a symphony of chaos. "So… let the battles begin."
Because, after all, we are at the 'battle academy'. The name is as subtle as a punch in the face. And when the bell rings, it's every superpowered individual for themselves.
Let the games begin!