It had been a long time since Hunter had worn a backpack to class. The walk across the campus was idyllic. It was a warm autumn day. Students and academy faculty packed the streets and sidewalks, hurrying about their morning. Despite the exclusivity of the academy, there were still thousands of students there at any time. Many were sitting on benches, or hanging out in small groups in some of the park-like alleyways which made up the small town that the campus composed. It was all somewhat nostalgic for Hunter. A backpack full of books, on his way to class? Nearly a decade had passed since his last class, excluding his time at the Oberon estate. It felt like a lifetime ago.
Hunter was seeing coffee cups in hands, and realized that he'd forgotten to buy a coffee press for himself. He would have to find out where he could find a cafe close to home. He debated buying a coffee on the way, but he figured he's just rough it out until classes were over for the day. The academic courses were situated closest to the 'soul', the epic historical monument which Hunter had enjoyed when he and Aera had registered their attendance. It was only a few minutes' walk away, and he relished the idea of relaxing there between classes.
His first class was a consequence of his new life, having been insisted upon by Trey. He assured himself that it was nothing but a formality, but Leadership Psychology 101 felt like a big symbolic step Hunter was reluctant to take. He knew that being an Oberon came with huge potential responsibilities, but he's hoped that Trey didn't expect him to ever fully step into those responsibilities.
The upside was that if he ever were to lead a team of artisans in research and development, perhaps a course like this would be a boon. He'd seen how various teams would sink or swim based on their ability to stay coordinated and focused during the global youth artisan competition. If nothing else, Hunter expected to get some insight into how people like Trey and Aera thought.
He'd charted the course to the lecture hall the previous day, but still made a couple of wrong turns. The abundance of people seemed to paint the streets and alleys in a new light, but there were certain landmarks which Hunter used to guide himself.
Hunter made it to the hall with 10 minutes to spare before the class. Students had already taken half the seats. He found a row that was empty of occupants towards the outer edge of the room. It felt safer to sit away from the centre, further from all the attention and activity. A few of the students watched him as he came in. A ripple of interest went through the class; some were just curious about their fellow students while others clearly recognized him, whispering amongst themselves. Some appeared outright hostile, others sneered in contempt — nothing Hunter hadn't expected. There were a few more who seemed to look at him in anticipation.
One reaction stood out. A rather handsome young man, with a confident air, who was laughing with his friends. A member of his group pointed Hunter out, and the look on the young man's face when turned from friendly and casual to completely focused and, Hunter couldn't find any other way to describe it, hungry. Hunter got a feeling in his gut that he hadn't felt since Seckina, when he'd have to walk past a group of Comics who stalked the entrance of his home like hyenas. It was as if the young man had just spotted his prey.
Within a second, the predatory look was gone, replaced by the affable smile he'd worn just a moment ago. He turned back to his friends, said something, and they all laughed.
Hunter noticed he wasn't the only one receiving such looks. Two or three times there were commotions that didn't just catch his attention, but most of the gathering students. To Hunter, it seemed like a bold move.
At 8am sharp, a side door at the front of the lecture hall opened, and a thinly built man walked in. He wore a pearlescent dress shirt and brown dress pants. He had short, neat, peppered hair. His sharp angles made him look like the poster boy for corporations everywhere.
Hunter grimaced as it became apparent to him he was in a corporate drone factory and these were going to be his peers.
He tried to comfort himself, affirming to himself that he didn't need to worry about that. All he needed to do was get a high enough grade to stay enrolled. He focused only on earning an Excellence degree in Artisanship. If anyone here saw him as a threat, he'd do his best to dissuade them. He had no skin in this game.
They could have all the academic Excellence degrees for all he cared.
The professor approached the middle of the whiteboard at the front of the hall and wrote his name.
"Professor Bellamy. Rule number one, my name is not 'bro,' it's not 'bud.' I understand that many of you might be somebody, or most likely the child of somebody. But that doesn't matter here—"
Someone seated behind Hunter snickered.
"—As long as we are on this campus, I am Professor Bellamy, and you will refer to me as such. I will accept Mr. Bellamy as well. There is no other option. Now," Mr. Bellamy said, pulling out a large tome and placing it at the desk at the front of the hall. He leaned over the table.
"What is Leadership Psychology?" he asked the class.
"You're asking us?" someone called out. Hunter couldn't see who.
"Rule number two," Mr. Bellamy said, "you will raise your hand before speaking, unless otherwise instructed. And to answer your question, yes. I'm asking you," he said, pointing at someone in particular. Hunter assumed it was whoever had broken rule number two.
"No answer? Interesting. How many of you, show of hands, have any idea why you're here?" the professor asked. Only a couple dozen students out of hundreds raised their hands.
Mr. Bellamy nodded.
"For those of you who know, welcome to class. For those of you who don't, we'll both hope that you're not wasting your time. I promise you, the moment it seems like you are, I will have a chat with you in private about your future in my class. The only people I want to be here are the ones who want to be here. That's rule number three: I expect nothing but your best effort. That doesn't mean I'm heartless. If you have an excellent excuse for why your work ethic isn't up to my standard, I will forgive you. Fair warning, I can count on one hand the number of times that's happened in my ten years at this academy," he said.
"With all of that out of the way, welcome to Leadership Psychology. The answer I was looking for is—you'll want to write this down—optimal performance through understanding self, and other." he said, following his own advice and uncapping a marker underneath the whiteboard and writing as he spoke.
For a man that oozed the death of personality that seems to come from corporate life, Mr. Bellamy had a very commanding presence. Hunter wrote it down.
"What that means will be different for some of you. Any of you who find yourself in a leadership role will find yourself faced with many obstacles, but the biggest ones will not come from the outside world. Who are you working with? What do they want? Let me tell you, it better be what you want. The hiring process filters out many unsuitable candidates. However, you may encounter employees who inherited their roles or are training for other positions within the company. You might be one such individual yourself. Any idea about what that means? Yes, in the blue shirt," he said, pointing to a student who put up his hand.
"Does it mean we need to learn how to treat people fairly?" the student asked, "being mindful of where they're coming from and where they're going?"
"Where they're going? No. Where they're coming from, maybe. Fairness is relative, and it's a tool. Sometimes, being an effective leader means being unfair. Especially when you get higher up the chain, and your decisions affect more people," Professor Bellamy said. That wasn't what Hunter had expected to hear.
But, then again, should he be surprised that the premier school of corporate excellence preached that fairness is relative?
"I know some of you bleeding hearts are going to be finding yourselves disagreeing with me. I don't care. My career is public knowledge, look me up. I used to flip companies. I would buy broken, hemorrhaging, failing businesses and turn them into successes. Out of 20 small businesses I bought, five of them are now worth billions each, and another dozen which are worth hundreds of millions. Believe it or not, I'm not teaching this stuff for the money. Why am I telling you this?"
He scanned the hall. A few hands went up, but he ignored them.
"I'm telling you because I need you to know that what I'm teaching is what works. I'm going to be teaching you how the world works through the lens of how people work, why people work, and how to get them to work more effectively. Take what you learn here this year to apply it to yourself, your friends, and your family, where applicable. I'm quite aware of some names I've got on my attendance list. Some of your families are doing just fine," he chuckled.
"Alright. The rest of this class is to give you an overview of what you'll be learning. We'll get you out of here 30 minutes early. There's not that much to go over. How's that sound?"
A small round of clapping and soft cheers broke out, with Hunter joining in, but it soon died out when we saw the cheerless smile on Mr. Bellamy's face.
"You all just broke rule 2. You get one warning," he said, holding up a single finger to the class to emphasize his point.
Hunter liked this professor. He didn't just talk the talk.
Mr. Bellamy turned to face the whiteboard and started writing the various modules he'd be going over during the next year. He'd been right. It didn't take too long at all, and Hunter left the lecture hall feeling refreshed. That was nothing like the classes he remembered. Having to see the same teacher day after day, week after week, month after month. Stuck in the same desk around the same people. He'd heard that high school was supposed to be different, but he never went, so this was still new and interesting.
With plenty of time before his next class, Hunter decided he might sneak in a coffee after all. He asked a passing student where the nearest cafe was, and they told him to keep heading west. Hunter didn't know west from east, but he headed in the direction the man pointed until he found a building with the world 'cafe' on it. He headed in, pleased to find that there wasn't a large line up. He ordered the largest coffee on the menu and started shoveling in the sugar.
The door to the cafe opened, and a small bell above the door rang to let the barista know they had a new customer. It caught Hunter's attention, and he felt a sense of impending drama. Like when he was in the cafe back in the Oberon Capital, and David Nettle had just shown up. Hunter sighed as he poured in his cream. The young man went to order a coffee, and Hunter felt that maybe there wouldn't be any drama after all. As Hunter left, the young man called out to him.
"You're Hunter, right?"
He silently asked himself, and any deity which may have been listening to his inner monologue, why trouble seemed to follow him around so much. And why cafes?
Hang on, he thought. Had he literally been followed? This could spell a very unfortunate start to the year, especially if this was a sign of how the rest of the year was going to go.
"Yep," he said, "look, I'd love to talk but I'm busy—"
"I just wanted to introduce myself," the young man said, holding out his hand for Hunter to shake, "the name's Pippen. Pippen Visgold."
He'd said his last name as if Hunter were supposed to recognize it. It rang a bell, but he couldn't place where he'd heard it before.
"Hunter," Hunter said, shaking the hand, "Koar—"
"—Oberon Koar, if I'm to understand correctly. What an upgrade, eh?" Pippen asked, his handshake firming into something a bit like a vice grip. The young man's eyes had a hard look in them — that focused, intense gaze that seemed like he was a starving man staring at an incredibly tempting meal. Hunter cleared his throat.
He already hated Pippen.
"Sure," Hunter said, trying to pull his hand free, but Pippen's hand wouldn't budge. "Look, I've got to go."
Pippen released his hand and laughed, slapping Hunter on the back. Hunter knew it was going to leave a bruise.
"You seem like a fun guy, Hunter," Pippen said lightly, as if nothing had happened, before departing with a final, "I'll see you around."
Hunter had been feeling great before this. Professor Bellamy seemed great, and for the first time since ever, Hunter was looking forward to being at school.
But there was always someone around who wanted to shit on his parade, and it was never because of Hunter himself. It always had to do with his name. If it wasn't because of his father, now it would be because of the Oberon's.
He left the cafe, wondering if all of this was worth it. But he recognized where those thoughts were going and nipped them in the bud.
Those kinds of thoughts would not earn him Excellence. He wasn't a vulnerable child anymore. He wasn't fending for himself. Now he was an Oberon. That meant something.
David Nettle wouldn't have bothered an Oberon, but this Pippen Visgold did. That meant something as well.
And Hunter couldn't figure out how he was supposed to deal with that. Who were the Visgolds?
He'd have to ask Aera at their evening session.