All students had left the cafeteria and gone to their designated classes.
Thors noticed many eyes on him after leaving the cafeteria with Seoul. He could even hear murmurs about him. Some were spoken so lowly that he heard nothing, while others were loud enough to reach his ears, as though the people speaking them wanted him to hear. However, strangely enough... they turned out to be compliments.
"I heard he is in the top ten. Hmmm, and he stood up to the Regarndo Family candidate of the year."
"I also heard he managed to pass the third test. That’s unbelievable..."
"Yes, I think that one is pure bullshit! Even I, the son of the Lion Family, was thrown away."
"Oh my, he is so handsome..."
"He’ll make a great boyfriend from my first year. Damn, look at that jawline."
"Such a cutie, and he’s hanging out with such an ugly person."
"Ewww, he probably doesn’t want the dude to feel sad. How benevolent."
Those last two Seoul heard fully well, as they were said right behind the two of them. And given that they had already reached the one-hundred-seat hall they had for their class, the murmuring seemed to gain an even clearer context.
Yet, Thors did not let it slide.
Seeing the young joker visibly bummed from the girls calling him ugly was golden to Thors.
"Ha! Ha! Choke on it," Seoul replied sarcastically.
Thors glanced at him from the corner of his eyes.
"Don’t worry. I’m sure someone out there finds you attractive."
"Shut up."
That only made Thors grin.
Though it did not take long before the narrative shifted to the other top ten students present in their classes.
If Thors calculated correctly, there were about five of the top ten in this class. The others had been placed into the second first-year class.
He had also searched through the crowd of students for someone in particular, scanning face after face, hoping to catch even the slightest glimpse of a familiar figure.
But after searching for a while with no results, his eyes dulled in defeat.
’Not here either...’
At the same moment, it seemed a teacher had also walked in.
A man in a military uniform from head to toe.
Just that his uniform was quite... questionable.
The sleeves of his uniform had been torn off, exposing his muscular arms, while his trousers were large and loose as though they were intentionally made to hang baggy around his legs. His white hair had been cut short, and his beard consisted of nothing more than a short goatee that framed the lower portion of his scarred face.
He appeared to be in his mid-thirties.
But his face was covered in scars.
Some were thin and pale, while others were thick and jagged, stretching across his cheek and disappearing beneath his beard. They disfigured any chance he might once have had at beauty, leaving behind the hardened appearance of a man who had spent far too much time standing in places where people died.
But that wasn’t the feature that stood out on him the most.
It was the fact that he was strangely...
Missing an arm.
No.
His left arm had been entirely replaced from the shoulder down by a metallic, shimmering limb.
The artificial arm reflected the light of the hall in cold silver streaks, the joints moving with a faint mechanical whir whenever he shifted. It looked neither elegant nor ornamental.
It looked functional.
A weapon disguised as a replacement for something he had lost.
Whatever he had been through was certainly something to be revered.
Or feared.
Reaching the middle of the podium, the man let out a low growl.
Surprisingly, the sound reached the entire hall.
It wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
The growl carried a weight that seemed to settle over the entire room, forcing every conversation to die before it could even begin. One by one, the students fell silent, their attention shifting toward the man standing before them.
"I am Sergeant Harold, and I will be your homeroom teacher for the year you will spend at this academy," he began, his voice thick and brutal, carrying the roughness of someone who had screamed commands over the sounds of war.
He took a few steps across the podium.
"As you can see, my body is a testament to what being unprepared for war looks like."
His metallic hand clenched.
The sound of metal grinding against metal echoed faintly through the hall.
"You will be scarred. Violated. Torn limb from limb. You will watch your comrades die, and you will pray for the mercy of a swift death that might never come..."
Harold stopped.
His cold eyes swept across the students.
"That is... if you are unprepared."
His words settled over the class like a layer of frost.
The students listened.
Not a single person interrupted.
Even those who had previously been whispering among themselves were now completely captivated by his speech and appearance. There was something about the man that made it difficult to look away.
He wasn’t merely telling them about war.
He looked like someone who had survived it.
Harold drew in a long breath and slowly let it out, rubbing his beard with his remaining hand.
"Today, there isn’t much to get done besides the registration of classes."
He turned slightly, allowing his gaze to pass over the students.
"There are a total of four main classes you can take at this academy, but it is advisable that you only take three."
A few students immediately began paying closer attention.
"One of those is my class, which is compulsory."
Harold raised one finger.
"The next is the Combat Class, which will teach you combat with your abilities against both Beasts and humans."
Another finger rose.
"The next will be the Weapons Class, which will comprise martial arts and the use of weapons against both humans and Beasts."
He raised a third finger.
"And finally, there is the Environment Survival Class, which will educate you on how to survive on foreign planets."
Harold lingered for a moment, allowing the students to catch up.
There were no questions.
Not yet.
Most of them were already thinking.
Abilities.
Weapons.
Survival.
Each class offered something different, and with only three slots available, choosing the wrong one could mean wasting an entire year of their academy life.
Harold eventually turned toward the large wall behind him and stretched out his hand.
In response, the surface of the wall flickered.
A large holographic screen appeared, bathing the front of the classroom in pale blue light as a set of instructions materialized upon it.
Harold gestured toward the first instruction.
"Check out the class."
His metallic finger moved toward the next.
"Summon the class registration watch."
Then the next.
"Tap on register if you prefer the class."
And finally, the last instruction.
"Once done, there is no way to undo the process."
The holographic screen flickered.
"Note. You can only register for a class while being within the class."
Harold turned away from the holographic screen.
"Any questions?"
The class remained silent.
Not because they had nothing to say.
But because there was too much to think about.
Thoughts, imaginations, calculated risks.
Every student present was already weighing their choices, considering their talents, their weaknesses, their future paths, and the kind of battles they expected to face.
One wrong decision could potentially shape the rest of their lives.
Harold waited for a few more seconds.
Nothing.
With that, Harold shifted his weight.
"Class dismissed."
The students immediately began to stir.
Thors, however, remained silent.
He sat in his seat, contemplating what classes would be crucial for his growth.
But more importantly...
Which would be best compatible with completing his goal?
’Combat?’
He thought about it.
’Weapons?’
His fingers tapped lightly against the desk.
’Survival?’
There was no doubt that each class had its merits.
But Thors wasn’t here to simply become stronger.
He had a purpose.
A goal.
And whatever path he chose had to bring him closer to it.
Meanwhile, in the dark, gloomy corridors of the academy, Layla Forze stood within the pristine halls.
The academy was just as imposing from the inside as it was from the outside.
Obsidian gargoyles were mounted along the walls like heretics carved from the darkness itself, their grotesque faces twisted into expressions of eternal suffering. Some pointed their fingers toward the pathways, almost as though guiding travelers deeper into the academy’s depths.
Tapestries hung from the walls, depicting strange people and even stranger battles.
But that wasn’t what mattered.
Not right now.
What mattered were the two people standing with her.
One was a man who looked to be in his early twenties.
He had a handsome face, sharp features, and golden hair that fell down his back, long enough to be tied into a single ponytail. His uniform was similar to Layla’s, except his carried a cape that rested behind him.
And upon his chest was a golden crest.
A badge.
It depicted the image of a knight suspended in the air, a sword held high overhead as it descended toward the head of a monstrous dragon.
The symbol of a knight.
The symbol of someone who had earned the right to represent their year.
The same crest was worn by the next person.
A woman with short purple hair and an appearance that could only be described as stunning.
She had a beauty that seemed almost unnatural beneath the dim lights of the academy, her purple hair framing a delicate face and sharp eyes.
Like the young man, she also wore the crest.
They were both second-year students.
"I will represent my year, since he is not around," Layla said confidently.
The golden-haired boy ran a hand through his hair before sighing, his other hand slipping into his pocket.
"The tournament will come in a few weeks."
His casual tone didn’t match the seriousness of his words.
"The top ten are in danger of losing their ranks, and if they aren’t careful..."
He paused.
"They will."
Layla’s eyes narrowed slightly.
The boy looked at her.
"Something big is coming to your year of Superhumans, Layla Forze."
"And that is?"
Layla raised an eyebrow, frowning at the second-year student.
The young man didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, his expression became strangely serious.
"A threat."
The word echoed softly through the corridor.
Layla stared at him.
He finally removed his hand from his pocket and looked toward the distant end of the hallway.
"I and the other second-years are what is coming."
Layla’s expression shifted.
The boy’s golden eyes returned to her.
"And if you aren’t prepared..."
His voice became quieter.
"You will be destroyed."