Our first class took place in a large lecture hall on the third floor.
At breakfast, Instructor Wong handed out schedules to all the first-years, along with a map of the academy marking everything we'd need—classrooms, restrooms, the library, staff rooms, the principal's office, indoor training halls, and outdoor practice grounds.
The classroom itself was split in two.
Twenty elite students took the right side. The eighteen of us from the special division sat on the left.
"Hey, I'm sitting here," Alma said, shoving Robert away from the desk next to me.
"Find another seat. I want the wall."
"Then go sit somewhere else!"
"Nope. This one's mine," he said, tossing his folder onto the desk.
"Oh, come on! Alan, tell him you want to sit next to me!"
"I really don't care who sits where," I shrugged.
"You heard him. Go sit somewhere else," Robert smirked, throwing me a wink.
I rolled my eyes.
Grumbling, Alma dropped into the seat behind me and jabbed me hard between the shoulder blades with her pen.
"Hey—" I turned.
"Don't forget, I was the first one to befriend you," she pouted.
"Robert and I aren't fr—"
"Good morning, students."
The teacher's voice cut through the room.
Everyone went quiet.
Even the aristocrats stopped whispering.
"For starters," he said, glancing toward the elite side, "I'd like to remind you of the general classroom rules—for those who couldn't be bothered to read them."
"The first thing you need to understand is discipline. No talking without permission. No leaving your seat. No being late. No skipping class. Clear?"
A few voices answered.
"I asked everyone."
"Yes," the entire class responded.
"Second—during shared theoretical lessons, there is no division between elite and special classes. Here, you are equals. Understood?"
"Yes."
"And third—punishments differ between divisions, but none of you are untouchable. Anyone can be expelled. Remember that."
Silence.
No one even shifted as the professor—a stern man in a light gray suit with a gold eagle insignia—slowly scanned the room.
"Take out your notebooks. You don't have to write down everything. I don't care how you store information—I care about results."
He waited.
"Most of you had no idea what 'power' was until recently. Others know the basics. Doesn't matter—you'll listen again."
"So—what is power?"
"It is a surge of energy that manifests in the body when sight is awakened."
"You already know how that works. I won't waste time on it."
"Power appears in roughly one out of ten who gain sight. Sometimes it's so weak it's useless. That's why you were tested with a specialized artifact. Minimum requirement—six beads."
"The next thing you need to understand: your potential is fixed at birth. If it's not there, no amount of effort will create it."
"So if you're thinking about dragging your friends or family into this—don't."
"Near-death experiences, disasters, extreme stress—none of that guarantees even a thirty percent chance of awakening sight, let alone power."
"Questions?"
Silence.
"Power allows you to fight things ordinary people can't see. That doesn't mean those things can't harm them."
"At this academy, you'll learn to release power, control it, and build endurance—which directly affects activation."
"Once you learn to control it internally, some of you may develop individual abilities."
"Not everyone will. So don't get your hopes up."
"But those who do?" He paused. "You'll receive additional training—and your status will rise."
"You," he said, looking at Connie.
"I—I'm sorry," she squeaked. "I couldn't read all the rules… I… I can't read or write."
"Come to the staff room during lunch," he said calmly. "You'll be assigned additional lessons."
"Until then, ask someone for help."
"And no—being illiterate does not exempt you from punishment."
Connie sat down.
My chest tightened.
She'd grown up on the streets. Survival was all she knew.
I knew part of her story from Instructor Start.
But what about the others?
Why were they here?
If I wanted their trust—I needed to understand them.
"That was… a lot," Alma sighed as we left the classroom.
Robert followed us for some reason.
"Yeah," I muttered. "Most productive hour and a half of my life."
"How would you know?" Robert snorted, leaning close to my ear. "You don't remember your life."
"I mean since I lost my memory," I snapped. "I'm not the same person. Obviously. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."
"Losing your memory doesn't erase who you were," he said. "By the way—how old are you?"
"Seventeen. As of yesterday."
"Wow. Big boy," he smirked, ruffling my hair.
I shot him a cold look.
"Alright, alright. Don't get pissy. You're just so damn scrawny I thought you were younger. Didn't your rich parents feed you at all?"
"Get off my back. I know I need to bulk up!" I snapped, shoving him.
"I like skinny, pale boys," Alma chimed in, grabbing my arm. "Robert, look at him—pretty face, no body hair at all. Unlike some people."
"A man's supposed to grow a beard," Robert scoffed. "I had stubble at seventeen. This one doesn't even have fuzz."
I rolled my eyes and pulled free.
"We've got another lecture," I said, heading toward the next classroom.