The gymnasium buzzed with activity, its atmosphere transformed into that of a wartime stronghold. The rhythmic clang of hammers on metal filled the air as sparks flew from makeshift forges. Students hurried back and forth, some inspecting newly crafted weapons while others helped set up barricades or checked the traps. The acrid tang of metal and sweat mingled with the faint scent of oil, a reminder of the stakes they faced.
Groups huddled around scattered tables, murmuring strategies and offering nervous encouragement. The once-chaotic scene now pulsed with a grim sense of purpose.
Lucas stood at the center of it all, his usual meekness replaced by an air of quiet authority. His blue eyes darted across the room, pausing on each group as if ensuring they were ready. Beside him, Lena's sharp gaze scanned the gym with equal intensity, her arms crossed in a posture that brooked no nonsense. Caleb worked tirelessly in one corner, his sleeves rolled up, soot streaking his forearms as he examined a newly sharpened blade.
Alex, standing near the front, observed it all. Though he let Lucas and Lena lead the discussion, his mere presence exuded control. A subtle glance or nod from him seemed enough to quiet side conversations or refocus wandering attention.
Lucas stepped forward, clearing his throat. His voice, though not loud, carried over the din of the gym. "Everyone, listen up! We've got less than two hours until the second wave arrives. This one won't be like the first. The enemies will be faster, stronger, and far more aggressive. Let me make this clear—none of us are invincible. If you underestimate them, you won't live to regret it."
The gym fell silent, his words cutting through the tension like a blade.
Lena stepped up, her tone clipped and commanding. "The production class has worked tirelessly to ensure you're equipped. You've all been given leather armor and steel weapons—use them wisely. They'll keep you alive, but they won't win the fight for you. That's on you. Stay sharp and stick to the plan."
A boy from the crowd, barely older than sixteen, raised a trembling hand. "What about those... those things we saw before? The big ones with the horns. Will there be more of them?"
Lena's gaze softened for a fraction of a second, but her voice remained firm. "Yes. We've identified them as higher-tier demonoids. They're smarter, stronger, and they won't go down easily. That's why we've set up traps and formed specialized teams to handle them."
Caleb wiped his hands on a rag and stepped into view, his grin laced with pride. "Speaking of traps, the production class didn't just stop at gear. We've got spike traps, pitfalls, barricades—hell, even a few surprise contraptions I won't spoil for you. Just make sure you don't fall into one." His chuckle was lighthearted, but the underlying warning was clear.
Alex raised a hand, reclaiming the floor. "We'll need a frontline team to draw the stronger enemies into the traps. It's a dangerous job, but it's critical to the plan. Once they're in range, the ranged units and the traps will do the heavy lifting. The rest of us will protect the gym and hold the line."
Ryan, leaning casually against a table, raised a hand. "I'll take bait duty. Speed and stamina—I've got plenty of both."
From the back, Tyler's laugh rang out. "You planning to dazzle them with that cocky grin of yours, Ryan?"
Ryan turned, his smirk cutting through the tension. "Better than scaring them off with whatever you've got going on."
Before the exchange could escalate, Ken stepped between them, his imposing frame casting a long shadow. "Enough. This isn't a game," he said, his voice low and firm, silencing the room.
Lucas seized the moment. "Ken's right. Focus. The frontline team's job isn't only to bait—it's to lead the enemies into the traps while fighting. Avoid unnecessary risks, keep them moving, and once they're in position, we hit them hard. The rest of you will hold the line inside and defend the gym."
Caleb gestured to a blueprint spread across a nearby table. "The traps aren't just for show. We've placed weighted nets, concealed pits, and barricades along the perimeter. If everything goes according to plan, they won't even make it to our main defenses. And Tyler—" Caleb's eyes glinted mischievously as he hefted a small hammer, tossing it in his hand. "—if you've got complaints about how 'unimpressive' these setups are, feel free to use this. See how far you get."
The room chuckled, and Tyler raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I get it."
Alex stepped forward again, his voice steady. "Healing priority goes to the frontline fighters: Ryan, Ken, Tyler, and Avi. They're our strongest, and we can't afford to lose them. Everyone else gets support as needed."
Ken frowned, his brow furrowing deeply. His gaze drifted across the gym, taking in the sight of their group. A cluster of younger kids, barely twelve, stood near the far wall, struggling to hold up their spears, shields, and swords. Their faces were pale, their hands trembling as they clung to weapons that looked too heavy for them. One of them caught his eye—a boy with dirt-smudged cheeks and a determined, albeit terrified, expression.
Guilt washed over Ken, his chest tightening. These weren't soldiers; they were just kids. Kids who shouldn't have to be here. His grip on the strap of his shield tightened as he made a silent vow. Not a single one of them is going to die. Not if I can help it.
He turned back to Alex, his voice rough with restrained emotion. "That doesn't sit right with me. Every life here matters. These people are putting everything on the line—some of them have never even been in a fight before. How can we ask them to risk it all while telling them they're not as important?"
Alex didn't waver but softened his tone slightly. "It's not about who's important, Ken. It's about making sure the team survives as a whole. If we lose you four, the defense collapses. We can't protect everyone if our strongest fighters fall. This isn't favoritism; it's strategy."
Ken held Alex's gaze for a long moment, his jaw tight. He glanced back at the younger kids, a flicker of resolve hardening in his expression. Finally, he sighed and nodded, though his voice carried a firm edge. "Fine. But make sure they know they're not just pawns in some plan. They deserve to feel like they matter—because they do."
As Alex moved on, Ken stayed rooted in place for a moment longer, his thoughts racing. No one else has to die. Not today. Not if I can stop it. He adjusted the straps of his shield and set his jaw, readying himself for what was to come.
"We will," Lena said, her voice softer now. "But for this to work, we need to play smart. Everyone has a role. Stick to yours, and we'll get through this."
The gym erupted into renewed activity, the grim determination of the group stronger than before. The second wave was coming, and there was no room for error.
Caleb began distributing additional gear, his usual quirky demeanor tempered with a hint of pride in the craftsmanship of the production class. Everyone in the room was already outfitted with basic leather armor and steel weapons—simple but reliable gear forged in the relentless hours leading up to the meeting. The gym lights reflected off the polished surfaces, casting flickering shadows that danced across the walls.
First, Caleb approached Ken, a massive tower shield in his hands. The shield was nearly as tall as Ken himself, its surface gleaming with a polished finish that showcased intricate etchings of defensive runes along its edges. The craftsmanship was impeccable, reinforced with steel plating and a reinforced core designed to absorb heavy impacts. A thick leather strap and a firm grip completed the design. Caleb handed it over with a grin. "Think this'll hold up to that heroic streak of yours?"
Ken tested the weight with ease, his large hands adjusting the strap and grip effortlessly. His expression softened with admiration as he ran a hand over the etched runes. "Yeah, this'll do. Feels solid—like it's ready for war."
Next, Caleb turned to Ryan, tossing him a pair of sleek, reinforced gauntlets. These weren't ordinary gloves; they were lined with lightweight steel on the outer surface, designed to enhance striking power without sacrificing agility. The interior was padded for comfort, and the fingers were exposed for better grip. Caleb smirked. "Try not to turn these into scrap metal on the first monster, yeah?"
Ryan slipped them on, flexing his fingers and testing a few jabs in the air. The gauntlets moved seamlessly, a testament to their craftsmanship. He grinned. "No promises. They look tough, though. Might even survive me."
Then came Tyler's turn. Caleb approached him with a scowl, his arms straining under the weight of a truly colossal weapon—a hybrid axe-hammer that practically screamed destruction. The double-headed axe was forged from dark steel, its broad, razor-sharp edges glinting menacingly. On the opposite side, a massive hammerhead was designed for pure, brutal impact. The handle was wrapped in dark leather, providing a firm grip for the sheer force it demanded.
But instead of handing it over, Caleb hurled the weapon at Tyler without warning. The enormous axe-hammer spun once in the air before Tyler caught it with a grunt, his expression briefly startled. Caleb's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Here you go, big guy. Let's hope it's as tough as your mouth."
Tyler smirked, hefting the weapon with ease and testing its balance by swinging it in slow arcs. The weighty thud of the hammer side hitting the floor echoed through the gym. "Not bad," he said, his grin widening. "This might even be overkill."
"Good," Caleb retorted dryly. "Let's see if your ego can carry it."
Finally, Caleb approached Avi, holding out a chest plate with both hands. It wasn't as ornate or intimidating as the other gear, but it was built for practicality. The solid steel plate was reinforced with layered rivets, offering excellent protection without restricting movement. The matte black finish was deliberately understated, avoiding any unnecessary attention.
"Not flashy, but it'll keep you breathing," Caleb said, his tone neutral but his eyes betraying a sense of approval.
Avi took the chest plate and began fastening the straps with practiced efficiency, testing the fit as he adjusted it to sit snugly against his frame. "Thanks," he said simply, his focus already shifting to the task ahead.
The atmosphere in the gym grew heavier with each new piece of gear distributed. The banter faded into quiet determination as everyone inspected their equipment. The leather armors they wore, though basic, now felt more significant when paired with the steel weapons and reinforced gear. Every scratch, every polished edge was a reminder of the effort the production class had poured into their survival.
Caleb, standing amidst the crowd, clapped his hands together. "All right, folks. This isn't just about fancy weapons or shiny armor. It's about using every advantage we've got to stay alive. Let's make sure their blood is on the battlefield—not ours."
The mood in the gym shifted as the final preparations wrapped up. The players moved with a mix of urgency and determination, each step echoing the countdown displayed in the corner: [02:19:01].
Avi's gaze flicked toward Emily, standing among the support team. She offered him a small, reassuring smile, and for a moment, the weight on his shoulders felt lighter.
Lucas clapped his hands sharply, commanding attention one last time. "That's it. Everyone in position within the hour. Stay sharp, and stay alive."
As the group dispersed, the gym fell into a tense quiet, broken only by the distant hum of the countdown.
This time, they were ready. Or so they hoped.