"Kelvin," Miss Brooks' voice cut through the evening air like a steel blade, "why didn't you deliver my message to Noah?"
"I... I was just about to," Kelvin stammered, his usual confidence evaporating like morning dew. "Right now, actually. This very moment."
Around them, male students froze in their tracks, conversations dying mid-sentence. Eyes turned, necks craned, and a reverent hush fell over the courtyard. 'Because of course they're staring,' Noah thought. 'It's Miss Brooks.'
Their homeroom teacher – Class 1B's very own glimpse of divinity. The walking definition of perfection in their decidedly imperfect world. Even the evening light seemed to soften around her, as if nature itself was trying to create the perfect backdrop.
"Noah," she turned to him, her expression unreadable. "A word in private."
It wasn't a request. Noah fell into step beside her without question, feeling the weight of dozens of envious stares burning into his back as they walked away from the dorm area.
The silence stretched between them like a taught wire as they walked. Miss Brooks' boots clicked against the stone path with military precision, each step purposeful and measured. They reached a quiet corner near the general learning area, where lecture halls stood dark and empty at this hour.
She turned to face him, her posture parade-ground perfect. "I requested to meet with you after your discharge. Why didn't you honor that invitation?"
"Got caught up in things," Noah replied, trying not to fidget under her razor-sharp gaze.
A slight nod. "I understand. All this attention must be quite thrilling, right?" Her tone carried just enough edge to make it clear exactly what she thought about that. "Everyone wanting to hear about your... experience."
'If by experience you mean dying, then sure, let's call it that.'
"But you need to get your head on straight." The words snapped like a drill instructor's command. Then, surprisingly, her expression softened – just barely. "I'm not here to lecture you about managing your post-deceased PR campaign."
'Post-deceased PR campaign?' Noah almost laughed. Almost.
"However," she continued, her eyes boring into him, "given your background, I hope you'll use this opportunity – and those rare gifts you've acquired – to better your position here. There are far greater threats in our world than academy politics and social climbing."
She straightened, if that was even possible. "If you need anything, you know where to find me."
And then she was gone, boots clicking away into the gathering darkness, leaving Noah standing there feeling like he'd just been hit by a tactical briefing and a warning shot all at once.
'Well,' he thought, watching her disappear around a corner, 'that just happened.'
He stood there for a moment longer, processing. Miss Brooks had always been hard as granite – this was a military academy, after all – but there had been something almost... concerned in her voice?
'Nah,' he shook his head. 'Must be imagining things.'
Though he couldn't help wondering what she'd meant about "greater threats." And why she'd seemed so interested in his "rare gifts."
'Unless...' A cold thought crept in. 'Unless she knows about...'
But that was impossible. Right?
---
Noah collapsed onto his bed that night, his mind a whirlwind of the day's events. 'Let's see: robbed a vault, had ice cream with someone who thinks I'm her hero, and got cryptically warned by Miss Brooks. Just another normal day at the academy.'
The tension from his teacher's impromptu meeting still lingered, but he wasn't about to let it consume him. 'Besides,' he thought, staring at the ceiling, 'I've got better things to focus on.'
Whether Miss Brooks had any idea how accurate her "rare gifts" comment was didn't matter. The fact remained – he had an SSS-ranked summoning talent now. The scales had definitely tipped in his favor. 'So many system features to explore, so little time.'
The next morning, Class 1B's homeroom buzzed with the usual pre-class chatter. Miss Brooks strode in with her characteristic military precision, and the room fell silent.
"As you can all see," she announced, gesturing toward Noah, "we have Noah back with us after a week of unconsciousness."
'Interesting,' Noah thought, noting the irony. 'For someone who warned me about PR, she's doing a great job of putting me in the spotlight.'
Today's lesson focused on the importance of proper scouting. Miss Brooks paced the front of the room, her voice carrying the weight of experience. "Knowing your enemy better than they know themselves isn't just an advantage – it's survival." Her eyes swept the room. "And I'm not talking about beasts. I'm talking about Harbingers."
The word sent a familiar chill through the classroom. She continued her lecture about respecting the enemy – but not too much – until the bell signaled the end of homeroom.
The excitement was palpable as students gathered their things. After all, this wasn't your grandmother's high school curriculum. The Harbinger incursion had changed everything. Traditional education had been replaced by something far more vital: survival training.
Students dispersed to their chosen specialties. Some headed to Beast Mastery, where they'd learn to understand and combat the various creatures that now roamed their world. Others went to Tactical Operations, focusing on strategy and combat planning. The Engineering Corps attracted those with a knack for weapons and defense systems, while the Medical Division trained future combat medics.
But the two most popular tracks were Combat Arts and Beast Crafting. Combat Arts focused on honing the body and spirit into lethal weapons, teaching everything from hand-to-hand combat to energy manipulation. Beast Crafting, on the other hand, dealt with understanding beast cores, their applications, and the creation of enhanced equipment.
'And for once,' Noah thought as he headed toward Combat Arts alone, 'no Kelvin.' His friend had chosen Beast Crafting, drawn to the allure of creation rather than destruction.
Walking the corridor alone felt strange after weeks of Kelvin's constant chatter. 'Though maybe some peace and quiet is exactly what I need.' After all, he had plenty to think about – like how to best use his new "gifts" without drawing too much attention.
'Because something tells me,' he thought, approaching the Combat Arts training hall, 'Miss Brooks isn't the only one watching.'
Noah was almost at the training hall's entrance when a sharp whistle cut through the air. His steps faltered as he caught sight of Micah Reed, one of the top 25 students of the academy lounging against a pillar, the afternoon light gleaming off his bald head. A few other upperclassmen clustered around him like well-trained guard dogs.
'Great. Number 5 wants to chat.' Noah thought, recognizing the third-year student from the beast hunting briefing weeks ago.
The last time he'd seen Micah Reed, he'd been standing next to Sienna Voss – Number 3 in the academy rankings. Back then, they'd barely spared him a glance. 'Funny how dying and coming back to life changes people's interest levels.'
Micah's eyes locked onto him with predatory focus. The other upperclassmen shifted slightly, redistributing themselves in a way that looked casual but effectively blocked any easy escape routes.
'What the hell does he want now?' Noah wondered, feeling the weight of their collective stares. He'd heard rumors about Micah Reed – none of them particularly comforting. Being ranked fifth in the entire academy wasn't just about grades and combat scores. You had to have something extra. Something that made others think twice about crossing you.
And right now, all that attention was focused squarely on Noah.