The tired man led them through a maze of corridors, each turn taking them deeper into what felt like the forgotten corners of the Academy. The hallways here weren't as well-maintained as the main areas. Paint peeled in places. The lighting was dimmer. It felt intentional, like Delta class was being physically separated from the rest of the student body.
Cairo walked near the middle of the group, observing his new classmates with careful attention. Michael Chamberlain was directly ahead of him, shoulders hunched, still radiating that embarrassed energy. A girl with mousy brown hair walked beside Michael, whispering something Cairo couldn't quite hear. Two boys near the back were having a hushed conversation about how they'd been robbed, how the placement system was clearly flawed.
Everyone looked defeated. Resigned to their fate as the Academy's rejects.
Everyone except Cairo.
He kept his expression neutral, his posture relaxed. No point broadcasting his intentions yet. Let them think he was just another disappointment, another weak link in an already fragile chain.
The tired man finally stopped before a door marked with a simple "D" in faded paint. He pushed it open without ceremony and gestured for them to enter.
The classroom was... adequate. That was perhaps the kindest word for it. Ten desks arranged in two rows of five, each with an attached chair that had seen better days. A large blackboard dominated the front wall, its surface scarred with the ghosts of previous lessons imperfectly erased. Windows along one side let in natural light, at least, though the view was of another building rather than the Academy's beautiful gardens.
"Sit," the tired man said, his voice carrying no enthusiasm whatsoever.
The students filed in, each claiming a desk. Cairo chose one in the second row, positioned where he could see both the instructor and most of his classmates without having to turn his head much. Michael ended up two seats to his left. The mousy-haired girl sat directly in front of Cairo. The complaining boys took seats in the back row.
Once everyone was settled, the tired man moved to stand before the blackboard. He didn't write anything yet, just stood there for a long moment, studying them with those hollow eyes.
"My name is Noah Kyeler," he said finally, his tone suggesting he'd rather be literally anywhere else. "I'm your class instructor. I'll be responsible for your education, your training, and your general wellbeing for the next four years. Lucky me."
The sarcasm was so thick it was almost tangible.
"I'm going to explain how this Academy works," Noah continued, crossing his arms over his chest. "Pay attention, because I'm not repeating myself. I don't get paid enough to waste breath on students who can't be bothered to listen the first time."
Cairo leaned forward slightly, his full attention on the instructor. Around him, other students shifted in their seats, some looking offended by Noah's attitude, others too dejected to care.
"First, the basic structure," Noah said. "You already know about the four classes. Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta. What you might not know is that these aren't just labels for your current ability. They determine everything about your Academy experience."
He uncrossed his arms and began pacing slowly in front of the blackboard.
"This Academy operates on a point system. We call them Private Points, and they function as currency within the school. You use them to buy food, supplies, entertainment, anything you might need or want during your time here."
One of the boys in the back raised his hand tentatively. Noah ignored him and kept talking.
"At the beginning of each month, students receive Private Points deposited directly into their Academy accounts. Initially, you all received 100,000 points. That's equivalent to about 1,000 gold coins in the outside world. Enough to live comfortably if you're smart about it."
The mousy-haired girl in front of Cairo perked up slightly at that, her defeated posture straightening just a fraction.
"But," Noah said, and the word carried the weight of inevitability, "that amount is not guaranteed. Your monthly point income is directly tied to something called Class Points."
He turned to the blackboard and finally wrote something, his handwriting surprisingly neat despite his slovenly demeanor.
CLASS POINTS = MONTHLY INCOME
"Each class has a pool of Class Points," Noah explained, still facing the board. "These points measure your class's overall performance, conduct, and success. The more Class Points your class has, the more Private Points each student receives monthly."
He turned back to face them, and Cairo thought he saw a hint of something that might have been bitter amusement in those tired eyes.
"The conversion rate varies by month, but as a general rule, each Class Point translates to about 1,000 Private Points per student. So if your class has 100 Class Points, each of you gets 100,000 Private Points. If your class only has 1 Class Point..." He let that hang, the implication clear.
"That's not fair," one of the boys in the back protested. "How are we supposed to compete with Alpha class? They're obviously going to have way more Class Points than us."
"Life's not fair," Noah said flatly. "Get used to it. The Academy doesn't care about fair. It cares about results."
Cairo absorbed this information, his mind already racing through implications. A class-based economy that rewarded success and punished failure. It created natural competition between classes, incentivized cooperation within classes, and gave students tangible stakes in their performance.
It was elegant, in a brutal sort of way.
"What affects Class Points?" the mousy-haired girl asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Noah glanced at her, and for just a moment, his expression softened slightly. "Good question. Several things."
He turned back to the board and began writing again, creating a list.
SUCCESS IN SPECIAL EXAMS
RULE VIOLATIONS
ATTENDANCE ISSUES
PERSONAL CONDUCT
COLLECTIVE ACHIEVEMENTS
STRATEGIC SABOTAGE FROM OTHER CLASSES
"Special Exams are the big one," Noah said, tapping the first item on his list. "Every few months, the Academy holds what we call Special Exams. These are high-stakes tests that can dramatically affect your Class Points, your Private Points, and even whether students get expelled."
That last word sent a ripple through the classroom. Expelled. The threat was suddenly very real.
"Each Special Exam is different," Noah continued. "They might test your intelligence, your adaptability, your strategic thinking, your teamwork, your ability to manipulate others, or your pure survival instincts. The Academy doesn't announce what kind of exam it'll be ahead of time. You have to be ready for anything."
Cairo noticed Michael was taking notes now, writing quickly in a small notebook he'd pulled from somewhere. Good. The boy was at least engaged, even if he didn't know his own potential yet.
"Rule violations are pretty straightforward," Noah said, moving down his list. "Break Academy rules, lose Class Points. Enough violations, and your class could be hemorrhaging points every month. Same with attendance. Skip classes, show up late consistently, and your class suffers for it."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the ten students before him.
"Personal conduct is vaguer but just as important. How you behave reflects on your class. Get into fights, cause trouble, make the Academy look bad, and you'll see your Class Points drop. On the flip side, outstanding personal achievements can boost Class Points."
"What about that last one?" one of the boys asked. "Strategic sabotage?"
A ghost of a smile crossed Noah's face. "Ah, yes. The fun part. See, there's nothing in the Academy rules that says you can't actively work to sabotage other classes. Frame them for rule violations. Manipulate them into making bad decisions. Steal their strategies. As long as you don't get caught doing anything explicitly against the rules, it's all fair game."
The classroom went quiet as that sank in. Cairo felt something cold settle in his stomach. This wasn't just an educational institution. It was a pressure cooker designed to create cutthroat competition, to forge heroes through adversity and conflict.
Or break them trying.
"Now," Noah said, moving away from the board to lean against his desk, "here's where it gets really interesting. Class Points don't just determine your monthly income. They determine your class rank. And at the end of your four years here, the class with the most Class Points graduates as Class Alpha, regardless of what class they started in."
Cairo's attention sharpened. So advancement was possible. A Delta class could theoretically climb to Alpha if they performed well enough.
"More than that," Noah continued, "students who graduate from Class Alpha receive preferential treatment in hero placement. Better assignments, better resources, better opportunities. The Academy's reputation opens doors, but Class Alpha status kicks those doors wide open."
He let that sink in for a moment before straightening up.
"So to summarize: earn Class Points through success, lose them through failure, use them to fund your monthly lifestyle, and accumulate them to climb the rankings. Simple enough?"
No one answered. Cairo suspected most of his classmates were still processing the full implications of what they'd just learned.
"Good," Noah said, not waiting for actual confirmation. "Now, one more thing before we move on. Your curriculum for the first year is standardized across all classes. Three core courses."
He wrote on the board again:
COMBAT TRAINING
MANA CONTROL & APPLICATION
MILITARY DRILLING
"Combat Training teaches you how to fight," Noah explained. "Basic techniques, weapon handling, tactical thinking, all the fundamentals. Mana Control teaches you how to use the magical energy that flows through your bloodlines effectively. And Military Drilling..." He paused, a hint of something darker crossing his features. "That's where you learn to work as a unit. You'll simulate a real military squad and face demon simulations. It's designed to break down your individualism and forge you into a cohesive fighting force."
Cairo filed that information away. Three courses, each one essential for hero development. And if they were standardized across classes, it meant Delta students would be learning the same material as Alpha students, just probably with less prestigious instructors.
"Now then," Noah said, pushing off from his desk. "Each class needs two leadership positions filled: Class Commander and Vice Commander."
Cairo felt his pulse quicken. Leadership positions. That meant authority, influence, the ability to shape how the class operated.
"The Commander leads the class in Special Exams, makes strategic decisions, and generally acts as the face of your group," Noah explained. "The Vice Commander supports the Commander and steps in when needed. Together, they're responsible for your class's performance."
He crossed his arms again, that tired expression never quite leaving his face.
"In other classes, these positions might be decided by voting or appointment based on entrance exam scores. But this is Delta class. You're all supposedly weak, unmotivated, destined for failure. So we're going to determine leadership the old-fashioned way."
Noah's eyes gleamed with something that might have been anticipation.
"A fight."
The word hung in the air like a thrown gauntlet. Around Cairo, students shifted nervously. A few looked excited. Most looked terrified.
"Not to the death, obviously," Noah added. "Not even to serious injury, hopefully. But a proper combat assessment. You'll fight each other, demonstrate your abilities, show me who has the strength and will to lead this class of rejects."
He walked to the door and pulled it open.
"We're heading to the Delta class training auditorium. It's a private facility, away from the other classes, where you can train and spar without being watched by students who think they're better than you."
Noah glanced back at his students, and Cairo could have sworn he saw something like challenge in those tired eyes.
"Get ready to move. And I'd suggest you start thinking about what you're capable of, because in about fifteen minutes, you're going to have to prove it."
The classroom erupted into nervous chatter as students began standing, checking their uniforms, whispering anxiously to each other.
Cairo remained seated for a moment longer, his mind already working through possibilities. A fight to determine leadership. This was his chance to establish himself immediately, to take control of Delta class before anyone else even realized what was happening.
The system had given him boosted attributes. Strength, agility, intelligence, all enhanced by his encounter with Eden. He had Limitbreak, a talent that could push past normal limitations. And he had knowledge of what was coming, memories of plot points and character arcs that his classmates couldn't possibly possess.
This wasn't just an opportunity. It was a gift.
Cairo stood slowly, adjusting his blazer, and followed his classmates toward the door. Michael caught his eye for just a moment, the other boy looking nervous but determined. Cairo filed that away. Michael would be useful, but first, Cairo needed to establish dominance.
Noah led them back into the corridors, this time heading in a different direction. The path took them down a flight of stairs, then another, descending into what felt like the Academy's basement level. The air grew cooler, the lighting more utilitarian.
Finally, they emerged into a large open space that could only be the training auditorium Noah had mentioned.
It was impressive despite clearly being designated for the lowest-ranked class. High ceilings to accommodate aerial combat or large-scale techniques. Reinforced walls that showed scorch marks and impact craters from previous training sessions. A flat, open floor space big enough for multiple simultaneous fights. Equipment racks along one wall holding training weapons and protective gear.
"Welcome to your home away from home," Noah said, gesturing broadly at the space. "This is where you'll train, where you'll spar, where you'll prepare for Special Exams. Get comfortable with it."
He walked to the center of the floor and turned to face his students.
"Now then. Let's see what Delta class is really made of."
Cairo felt adrenaline beginning to surge through his system. This was it. The moment where he'd prove that being placed in Delta class was the Academy's biggest mistake.
The fight for leadership was about to begin.