[Year 1 Class 4]
This was one of the two classes that Timothy Rimer was teaching.
And now, Caius was standing in front of the classroom, looking at his pocket watch, wanting to make sure he was on time.
Neither a minute late, nor a minute early.
He had donned his usual formal shirt and trousers, with a grey long coat reaching his knees.
Many students walked inside, passing by him, and giving him curious gazes. They had never seen this face around, so they wondered what he was doing in front of the class.
Tick—
The second hand reached 12, and the time was now 10:00 AM sharp.
He closed his watch with a click and stepped into the classroom.
The low chatter died down almost immediately.
Dozens of eyes turned around him, some confused, some curious, and some annoyed.
He set his bag on the table in front of the blackboard, and only then did the students realize he was a professor.
He looked so young that they mistook him for a senior instead.
One by one, they stood up in courtesy, while Caius picked up a chalk and started writing on the blackboard.
[Assistant Professor Caius Foster]
[Applied Combat Theory]
Putting down the chalk, he walked forward and leaned on the table.
His gaze swept past many students, as if searching for someone.
Based on his knowledge of the person's habits, he looked in the backside, towards the back door.
'There he is.'
A student, clad in the basic student attire, with 3-stars on his chest pocket, and a deceptively lazy persona.
His hair was a deep, tousled brown with a faint reddish undertone that fell messily on his forehead.
His hazel eyes looked lazy at first glance, but he was aware of everything happening around him.
Average build, and an above-average face, there was nothing much that stood out about him.
But Caius knew better than to underestimate that guy. After all, he had spent years looking at the same face on his screen back on Earth.
It was the protagonist of the game
Kevin Swartz.
It was only for a split second that Caius looked at him, and Kevin felt the gaze and stared back into his eyes.
Ahem—
"Good morning."
No response. The students were silent, exchanging glances.
"You may sit," He added, his gaze breezing past each student individually.
Chairs shuffled, and silence ensued.
"My name is on the board, and I would be your new Applied Combat Theory Professor." He put on a slight smile before questioning, "Any questions?"
"..."
"No one?"
At that point, a hand from the back rose.
"Yes?"
A girl with long black hair and glasses on her eyes stood up, "Is Professor Rimer sick?"
It was clear that they had mistaken him for a substitute.
"No," he had to clear the misunderstanding at once, "He was fired yesterday."
The class erupted in murmurs, and shocked faces were seen everywhere.
Was Professor Rimer fired?
How? Why? The students were riddled with questions and all sorts of emotions, too.
But by far the most common one was relief and happiness.
—"Thank God, I couldn't stand his classes."
—"He was so bad at it, too, only reading off the notes and leaving."
—"And he was cocky as well."
All sorts of conversations were flying around when the same girl raised another question.
"Why was he fired, Professor?"
Everyone quieted down, waiting for an answer.
"Embezzlement of the university's research funds, research credit, unsolicited messages to some female students, and assault on me, to name a few."
'To Count a few.'
It was already so bad. What could he possibly have done more?
Everyone was curious, and they wanted answers.
"What more-"
"Irrelevant, anyone else?" Caius's eyes were stern, not allowing any further discussion on this topic.
A girl stood up from behind and asked, "Are you single?"
A few giggles flew around, but Caius' face remained unchanged.
"Irrelevant, again. If there aren't any further questions, we shall proceed."
He inhaled a quiet breath as he started, "Before we begin, how many of you believe you will survive your first real battlefield?"
In the sea of students, only a few hands rose. Some confident, some overconfident, and some hesitant.
"Good," He nodded, "I will be the judge of that."
A few students frowned, and a few scoffed. One could tell who the overconfident ones were in the scenario.
He moved back and wrote, "Causes of Deaths" on the blackboard and shouted, "Scenario."
He tapped on the board and started writing as he lectured, "You are in one of the ten units that are escorting a supply convoy, in a forest with rather low visibility."
"Midway through your journey, you get ambushed. What do you do?"
His gaze jumped past many and landed on a student in the second row, "You, there, stand up."
The student stood up nervously.
"Name?"
"E- Evan, sir."
"Evan," He asked calmly, "What would you do?"
"Uh… I– form a defensive formation and signal for reinforcements."
"Reinforcements, huh?" Caius nodded, "Good, sit."
He wrote down 'Reinforcements' on the board and circled it.
He chose another student on a whim and asked him, "What guarantees that he would receive them?"
The student shrugged, "Nothing is guaranteed."
"Exactly."
The chalk floated on its own and crossed the 'Reinforcement' written on the board.
"You attempt to hold the formation, but the visibility drops further. Few people may have already died."
Another set of words appeared on the blackboard, 'Unit Cohesion,' and the chalk crossed out that too.
"The guards in the rear may panic, breaking the formation."
'Formation Integrity' appeared and was crossed out immediately.
The board was now starting to fill.
"By this point, the outcome is already decided."
A girl in the front stood up and asked, "But can't we regroup?"
"Probably, but the chances would be low." He cut in, "You are playing a game in their home ground."
"You all think you can recover from that, because most of you have been taught combat as a sequence of recoverable mistakes."
"But the real world doesn't always correct your errors." He sat at the table and continued, "Sometimes, it punishes you for the errors."
"Most of the Variants on the battlefield don't die the heroic death you see in the movies."
He knocked on the table, his tone grim, "Most of them die of one little error."
"And no second chance to fix it."
"You there?" He pointed towards a guy in the back. "Stand up. Name?"
"Kevin Swartz, sir."