The Crimson Class classroom felt… wrong.
Every seat was filled—almost.
The absence was obvious.
Kira's seat sat untouched, the air around it heavier than usual, as if the class itself was aware something was missing.
Whispers floated through the room.
"Did something happen to him?"
"He never skips homeroom…"
"Maybe he's planning something again."
No one said it out loud, but everyone felt it.
Then the door slid open.
Rich walked in.
For the first time since becoming their instructor, he wasn't empty-handed.
A thin folder rested under his arm.
That alone was enough to silence the room.
He walked to the desk, placed the folder down, and sat in his usual careless posture. One finger tapped the cover lazily before he opened it, scanning the register without real interest.
"For today's homeroom," he said flatly, "I have something important to say."
The words landed heavier than expected.
Dice leaned back in his chair with a grin.
"What could that be, Sensei?"
Rich closed the folder.
"The test will be held in a week."
A collective inhale rippled through the class.
"But before that," he continued, standing up, "there'll be a teachers' contest."
"…A contest?" someone muttered.
"Call it motivation. Or entertainment." He shrugged. "Depends on how bored the higher-ups are."
Without another word, Rich turned toward the door, clearly done.
"Sensei."
Lina's voice stopped him.
The room stilled.
Rich paused mid-step, then slowly turned back.
"I know you don't like doing things like this," Lina said, steady but firm, "but… can you help us train?"
For a moment, Rich simply stared at her.
Then—something subtle changed.
"You seem to be returning to yourself," he said quietly.
Lina looked away, fingers curling slightly at her side, then nodded.
"…Please."
Rich sighed.
"…Fine."
The world warped.
⸻
The next instant, they were standing on the training grounds.
No warning. No countdown.
One second desks—
The next, open stone, endless sky, and pressure thick enough to press against their chests.
Rich clapped his hands once.
BOOM.
Massive doors erupted from the ground in a semicircle before them—each one tall, ancient, and engraved with a glowing name.
Their names.
"What the—" Dice muttered.
"I've been meaning to ask," Sennya said cautiously, "isn't there a penalty for missing class?"
"Not really," Rich replied, unfazed. "It just stains the class reputation."
"…I see," Mia said quietly.
Rich gestured toward the doors.
"You'll enter these," he said. "Inside, you'll face yourselves."
A pause.
"They grow stronger every time you win."
Silence.
A few students swallowed.
"Think of it as accelerated growth," Rich added, a faint smile touching his lips.
"And do try not to die."
"…That's not reassuring," Dice muttered.
One by one, they stepped forward.
Hands trembled. Hearts pounded.
But none of them turned back.
The doors opened.
And for the next six days—
The Crimson Class vanished from the world.
⸻
Pain became routine.
Fear became familiar.
Every victory brought stronger enemies. Faster reactions. Deadlier instincts.
Some collapsed screaming.
Some cried in silence.
Some fought until they could no longer stand.
But they all stood back up.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Because when the doors finally opened—
They would not be the same.