The bell rang.
A group of students shuffled into the classroom, some yawning, others scowling. Their uniforms were wrinkled, ties loosened or missing altogether. This was Class Epsilon, the bottom rung of Eterna Academy—a dumping ground for failures.
The desks were scratched, chairs missing screws. A broken fan spun lazily above them.
"Where's the teacher?" a boy in the back asked. His name was Dane, a tall, broad-shouldered kid with a permanent smirk. He leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs.
"Probably ran off like the last one," said Tess, a wiry girl sitting cross-legged on her desk. She flicked a paper ball at Dane. He swatted it away.
"Better for us," said Arlo, a quiet boy hunched in the corner. He tightened the bandages on his knuckles.
The door slammed open.
A man stepped inside. He was tall, lean, and dressed in a plain black suit. His silver hair was tied back, and his eyes gleamed yellow like a predator's. He carried no bag, no books. He didn't even look like a teacher.
The room fell silent.
He strode to the desk at the front of the room and stood behind it, hands clasped behind his back. "Good morning," he said.
No one answered.
"My name is Professor Zarlath," he said. "Starting today, I'll be your teacher."
Dane snorted. "Another one bites the dust."
Zarlath's eyes flicked to him. In a blur, he crossed the room and yanked Dane's chair out from under him. Dane hit the floor with a thud.
"First rule," Zarlath said. "Respect."
Dane scrambled to his feet, his face red. "Who do you think you are?"
Zarlath raised an eyebrow. "Try me."
Dane swung a fist. Zarlath sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and twisted. Dane yelped as he was forced to his knees.
"Second rule," Zarlath said. "Violence without skill is pointless."
He let go. Dane staggered back, clutching his arm.
The class watched in stunned silence.
"Now that we understand each other," Zarlath said, walking back to the desk, "let's begin."
He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote on the board:
ASSASSINATION 101
The room erupted into laughter.
"You've got to be kidding," Tess said.
"Quiet," Zarlath said. The laughter stopped.
"This is not a joke," he said. "For the next year, your only goal is to kill me. If you succeed, you graduate. If you fail…" He paused, his yellow eyes scanning the room. "The world ends."
The silence was deafening.
"You're insane," Arlo said.
"Probably," Zarlath replied.
A hand shot up. It belonged to Mira, a short girl with glasses. "What do you mean, the world ends?"
Zarlath tapped the board. "If none of you can kill me, it means humanity isn't strong enough to survive. Your failure will prove that. And I'll destroy the planet."
Mira's hand dropped.
"Why should we believe you?" Tess asked.
Zarlath shrugged. "You don't have to. But if you think I'm lying, try me."
The class hesitated.
"Go ahead," Zarlath said, spreading his arms. "Attack me. All of you, at once."
No one moved.
"Scared?" he asked.
Dane growled. He lunged, throwing a wild punch. Zarlath caught it effortlessly.
"Too slow," he said, twisting Dane's arm.
Tess jumped in, aiming a kick at his side. Zarlath dodged, swept her legs out from under her, and sent her crashing to the floor.
Arlo charged next, fists flying in a flurry of jabs. Zarlath weaved through them, moving faster than anyone could follow.
One by one, the students joined the fray. Chairs toppled, desks scraped against the floor. Zarlath didn't use a single weapon. He parried, dodged, and countered with precise, fluid movements.
Within minutes, the entire class was on the ground, groaning.
Zarlath stood in the center, untouched.
"Pathetic," he said.
Dane struggled to his feet. "You're a monster."
"Correct," Zarlath said. "And if you can't defeat me, you won't survive what's coming."
"What's coming?" Mira asked, clutching her side.
Zarlath didn't answer.
"Class dismissed," he said.
The students slowly picked themselves up and limped out of the room.
Only Arlo stayed behind.
"What do you want?" Zarlath asked.
Arlo tightened the bandages on his knuckles. "I'm not leaving until you explain."
Zarlath tilted his head. "Explain what?"
"Why us? Why this class?"
Zarlath smiled. "Because you're the weakest. And the weak always fight hardest to survive."
Arlo clenched his fists. "We'll kill you."
"I hope so," Zarlath said.
He turned and walked out, leaving Arlo alone in the wrecked classroom.
The next morning, the class sat in silence as Professor Zarlath entered. They were bruised but determined. No one dared to slouch or talk back.
"Good," Zarlath said. "You're learning."
He tossed a bundle of wooden staffs onto the floor. The students stared.
"No weapons today," Zarlath said. "Just these."
"Why?" Tess asked.
"Because," Zarlath said, "if you can't fight with your bare hands, you won't last long with anything else."
He picked up a staff and spun it effortlessly. "The goal is simple. Knock me down."
Dane snorted. "Yeah, right."
"Try," Zarlath said.
The students exchanged glances.
"I'll go first," Arlo said, stepping forward.
He grabbed a staff and held it in both hands. His stance was solid, his grip firm.
"Come on," Zarlath said.
Arlo lunged, swinging the staff in a sharp arc. Zarlath sidestepped and tapped Arlo's wrist with his own staff. Arlo winced and dropped his weapon.
"Too rigid," Zarlath said. "Next."
Tess stepped up. She spun her staff, testing its weight.
Zarlath gestured for her to begin.
She darted forward, feinting left before striking from the right. Zarlath blocked, twisting his staff to knock hers away.
"Predictable," he said.
Tess scowled.
"Next," Zarlath said.
One by one, the students took their turns. Zarlath disarmed each of them with minimal effort. He didn't taunt them, didn't mock their failures. He simply pointed out their mistakes and told them to try again.
By noon, the students were drenched in sweat.
"Break," Zarlath said.
The students collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air.
"What's the point of this?" Dane asked, wiping his face with his sleeve.
"Coordination. Strength. Precision," Zarlath said. "Your survival depends on mastering all three."
"We're not soldiers," Mira said.
"You don't have to be," Zarlath said. "But you will be fighters."
He crouched, his yellow eyes scanning the room. "Your enemies won't wait for you to pick up a gun or a blade. You'll have to rely on your body, your instincts, your mind. Fail, and you die."
The room was silent.
"Five minutes," Zarlath said, standing. "Then we go again."
After the break, Zarlath split them into pairs.
"Fight each other," he said.
The students hesitated.
"Now," Zarlath said.
They moved.
Dane faced Tess. Mira paired with Arlo. Others partnered up, their staffs clacking loudly against one another.
Zarlath walked among them, correcting stances and pointing out weaknesses.
"Too slow," he told Mira as her strike missed. "Faster."
He nudged Tess's foot with his own. "Your balance is off. Fix it."
Dane growled as Tess landed a hit on his shoulder. "Lucky shot."
"Luck has nothing to do with it," Zarlath said. "She's better than you."
Dane scowled but didn't argue.
---
Hours passed. The students' movements grew sharper, their strikes more precise.
"Enough," Zarlath finally said.
The students dropped their staffs and slumped to the floor.
"Better," Zarlath said. "Still terrible, but better."
"Is this all we're doing?" Arlo asked.
"No," Zarlath said. He walked to the board and picked up the chalk.
He wrote three words: Strength, Strategy, Survival.
"These are the pillars of assassination," he said. "Today, we worked on strength. Tomorrow, we move to strategy."
"What about survival?" Mira asked.
Zarlath smiled. "You'll figure that out soon enough."
"Dismissed," Zarlath said.
The students limped out of the room, too tired to talk.
Only Arlo stayed behind again.
"You don't quit, do you?" Zarlath asked.
Arlo shook his head.
Zarlath crossed his arms. "What do you want this time?"
"Teach me more," Arlo said.
Zarlath studied him for a moment. "Why?"
"Because I don't want to lose," Arlo said.
Zarlath's smile faded. "Good. Show me."
Arlo picked up a staff and assumed his stance.
They trained until the sun set.