When The System Spoi Chapter 80 - Eighty

Chapter 80: Chapter Eighty

The room was filled with ten teenagers—students of Asterea Academy.

Today was resumption.

Unlike the others in the academy, they hadn’t taken the entrance exams. For many of them, this was their first ti setting foot here at all. That alone made them different. A special class, as they’d been labeled.

And with that title ca expectation.

If they were special, then their professor had to be sothing more.

---

At the right side of the room, four students had already ford a small circle—the more social ones, it seed. Two boys, two girls. The conversation drifted in the easy, speculative rhythm of people who had just t and were trying to figure out who was worth talking to.

"...Who do you think the professor will be?" The boy who spoke had a thick braid draped over his shoulder, the rest of his dark hair falling in layered, shaggy strands around a face that was sharp despite its softness. His pointed ears twitched as he spoke, catching the light. "I heard the head of the combat field is the strongest in the academy. Think he’ll be teaching us?"

The silver-haired girl beside him tilted her head, her short, tousled bob shifting with the motion. Soft layers brushed her jaw; side-swept bangs frad blue eyes that matched the faint glint of her teardrop earrings. "He’s the head of the combat field," she said, calm and patient. "We’re not even in that field. So probably not."

"It doesn’t matter who it is." The dark-haired girl on the other side of the circle didn’t raise her voice, but the words landed with the weight of soone used to being heard. Her posture was straight, her arms loosely folded. Long, jet-black hair fell in heavy layers down her back, thick bangs casting faint shadows over a sharp blue gaze. There was nothing soft about her presence. "I ca here to get stronger. A weak teacher won’t help

do that."

"...What do you think?" The braided boy turned, tapping the last mber of their group.

The silver-haired young man stood slightly apart despite being among them, pale eyes fixed on sothing none of them could see. Strands of his silver-white wolf cut fell in soft, wispy layers across his face, the tapered ends at his nape giving his silhouette a sharp edge beneath the green newsboy cap resting on his head.

"...Hm?" He blinked, refocusing.

"You’re interested in them too?" the silver-haired girl asked, leaning forward.

"They’re twins, right?" the braided boy added.

"...Yeah." A small nod. His gaze drifted back across the room.

---

Across the room, seated away from everyone else, were the twins.

They didn’t try to blend in.

One of them leaned back lazily in his chair, balancing it on two legs with the casual confidence of soone who had been doing this long enough to know exactly when it would tip. His dark brown hair was tied loosely into a ssy top knot, several strands escaping to fall across one side of his face. Combined with the relaxed tilt of his head, it gave him a deceptively careless look. His fingers tapped idly against the table.

His gaze was mapping the room.

Mid-motion, he noticed the group watching him. He smiled. And waved.

The other twin sat on the desk instead of a chair, facing his brother. His hair was shorter—dark brown, layered, slightly spiked—with a loose curtain fringe that parted just enough to reveal intense green eyes. Where his brother looked relaxed, he looked ready. Coiled.

Noticing the wave, he turned. His eyes landed on the group. Sothing flickered there—a glint that didn’t quite match the casual smile that followed.

Tap.

"You’re being creepy, Dean."

"My bad."

The ssy-haired twin offered the group a brief, almost apologetic smile before his attention drifted, stray strands slipping loose from his top knot as he turned. His gaze swept the rest of the class—not idly, but with quiet intent, like he was morizing them.

---

At the center of the room sat a red-haired boy. His deep crimson hair fell in textured layers, a loose fringe parting slightly at the center to fra sharp golden eyes that seed far too focused for soone doing absolutely nothing. The high collar of his black trench coat cast a shadow along his jaw, its red lining flashing faintly whenever he shifted.

Beside him sat a pink-haired girl. Her long, flowing hair spilled past her shoulders in soft waves, faint green undertones catching the light beneath the delicate floral piece pinned to one side. Her posture was composed, almost elegant. Her green eyes were calm.

Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to.

---

On the far side of the room, another boy sat alone. He leaned back against the wall, one knee slightly raised, entirely at ease in his isolation. His long black hair fell straight past his shoulders, the upper layers slightly tousled, thin bangs veiling his eyes just enough to make his expression harder to read.

He lifted his hand in front of him. Wiggled his fingers. And smiled—not at anyone, just at the movent itself. He was completely absorbed in his own world.

---

The last student didn’t bother sitting at all.

He moved.

Dark, voluminous hair was pulled into a high, ssy ponytail, thick waves spilling free and framing his face in wild layers that gave him an untad silhouette. His coat shifted with each step, silver accents and chain details catching the light, feathered shoulders giving him a larger presence than his fra alone suggested. His green eyes locked onto the twins. Direct. Unapologetic.

"Yo. I’m Kenshin." He stopped in front of them, raising a hand in greeting. "Let’s fight."

Dean looked up slowly. His gaze lingered on Kenshin for a mont before shifting sideways to his brother.

Sam didn’t even need words. A small shake of his head was enough.

"Tsk." Dean straightened slightly, the chair legs hitting the floor with a soft thud. "I’m Dean. That’s my brother, Sam." He tilted his head, a grin forming—easy, sharp, and just a little disrespectful. "Unfortunately, we can’t fight you. My brother here likes books..." A pause. "...and you’re not a book."

It was polite. Technically.

Kenshin didn’t take offense. If anything, his grin widened. He pulled a chair and dropped into it across from them, leaning forward like this was already more fun than he’d expected. "We’ll definitely be having that fight."

---

"These are the students you gave ."

Zeke’s voice was flat. He stood in the observation space above the classroom, invisible to the students below, watching through a window that existed only because Nox had decided it should.

Nox stroked his beard, eyes creased with the particular satisfaction of soone watching a plan unfold exactly as intended. "Hoho. Your observation ability has spoiled the fun. I was looking forward to the chaos that would ensue when you saw your students." A chuckle. "Not that it still won’t be chaotic."

"This is not funny." Zeke’s arms were crossed, his jaw set. "My class carries ninety percent—if not ninety-nine percent—of the troubles of this academy."

"Oh, that’s an exaggeration." Nox waved a dismissive hand. "It’s just about eighty percent. We have Jude in the normal class, after all."

Zeke’s expression didn’t shift, but his voice dropped. "From what I know about those two"—his gaze tracked back to the Winchesters below—"won’t there be heavenly pursuers?"

"In my world?" Nox’s smile remained, but his eyes held a dangerous glint.

"Can you stop them?"

"Of course." The old man’s voice was calm, unhurried, as if the question itself was beneath consideration. "I wouldn’t have accepted them if I couldn’t protect them. Though it is a fact that no one can utilize strength past the first tier of sainthood in my world."

"So it’s big talk."

Nox’s smile widened. "Relax. For them to have survived this long—especially on this floor—it’s thanks to their angelic parent. Would you abandon your child?" He paused, stroking his beard again. "Not to ntion, their angelic parent is a mber of one of the strongest races in the Tower. At the top, as well."

Zeke’s eyes narrowed. "I can understand them. But why are the rest so talented? I thought Tower residents weren’t talented. That’s why your people want my world, right?"

"Tah." Nox waved a hand. "Who said Tower residents aren’t talented? I’m a Tower resident. I’m an administrator. Do you know how talented you have to be to beco an administrator?"

"Of a lower floor." Zeke’s voice was dry.

Pow.

Nox’s palm connected with the back of Zeke’s head with a satisfying crack.

"And who said they were all Tower residents?" The administrator’s voice carried a note of theatrical patience. "Actually, none are from the Tower."

"Even them?" Zeke nodded toward the twins.

"Of course. They all lived outside the Tower until I went to invite them."

"A privilege."

"Indeed." Nox stroked his beard, watching the students below arrange and rearrange themselves. "You should get to know them. They might be of help to your cause."

Zeke’s head turned. "Is that why you selected them as my students?"

"Hohoho." The old man’s face threatened to break into a wide smile. "You are the most talented and most capable teacher. You’ve seen it for yourself. These kids cannot be taught by anyone other than a fool."

"I ant to say ’special child.’"

Nox’s smile split wide. With a shimr, he was gone, the space where he’d stood settling slowly, like water closing over a stone.

Zeke stood alone for a long mont, looking down at the classroom. Then he exhaled, ran a hand through his hair, and stepped through the observation window into the space below.

---

The classroom was small, by the academy’s standards. Ten desks, arranged in a loose semicircle facing the front. Sunlight fell through tall windows in long rectangles, catching the dust motes that drifted through the still air.

The teenagers had settled into their clusters—two here, three there, the natural geotry of strangers waiting for sothing to begin. Their conversation was low, speculative. Who was this professor? Where had they co from? What field would they teach?

The voice ca from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Yo."

He appeared in the space before them without transition, without the door opening, without the displacent of air that should have accompanied his arrival. One mont there was empty floor. The next, he stood there, hands in his pockets, silver-streaked hair catching the light, grey eyes moving across the room with an amusent that seed to include everything and everyone in it.

His smile was easy, unhurried. His posture said he belonged here, had always belonged here, was simply waiting for the rest of them to catch up.

"I’m Professor Vaughn."

Zeke leaned against the front of his desk and folded his arms.

"Welco to the S-Rank class."

---

The mont Samuel Winchester heard the voice, sothing in him clicked.

That’s him. That’s the man in my visions.

He turned to look at his brother. Dean was already seated—well, seated enough that you could ignore the grin on his face as he stared at the professor. Even the eccentric addition to their duo, Kenshin, had gone still, his attention fixed forward.

Everyone stared at the professor.

Not only was he the most handso man they’d seen. They all felt the threat the smiling professor carried—which, to the most observant among them, should not have been possible. He was only SS-ranked after all.

---

"Introductions, children." Zeke’s voice cut through the silence, light and unhurried. "It’s the courteous thing to do." His smile widened. "It seems I have to teach you that, too."

He did not release his aura. But the students sat straighter anyway.

"My na is Nyssara Voss!" The pink-haired girl who’d been sitting beside the red-haired boy shot up from her seat, her voice cracking at the end as she bowed sharply. "I’m twenty years old. I’m A Rank. Please don’t kill !"

Zeke stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it, his expression unchanging. "Ah. Socially awkward." He nodded slowly. "I love it." He turned to the red-haired boy beside her. "Next."

The boy rose smoothly, his movents asured, practiced. "My na is Rhaegar Mornel. Nineteen years of age. I’m an A Rank awakened. I am here to study in the magic and ability field." He bowed at the end, precise and formal. "I hope to learn from you, Professor."

"Oh!" Nyssara’s hand shot up again. "I forgot to ntion my specialization! I’m a mage and ability specialist."

Zeke’s lips twitched. He waved them back to their seats without comnt, though the corner of his mouth threatened to betray him.

He moved to the largest group gathering, his eyes landing first on the boy with the braid.

"My na is Aelric Thorne." The boy’s voice was low, even, his pointed ears still. "I’m nineteen. B Rank. I’m an ability and combat specialist. My major is the ability field." A pause. "I hope to learn a lot from you."

Zeke nodded. "Keep the introductions coming."

The silver-haired boy beside Aelric spoke next, his voice carrying the easy cadence of soone who had done this before. "My na is Zephyr Vale. I’m nineteen. B Rank. Ability and combat specialist as well." His eyes t Zeke’s directly. "I hope we have a good ti together as classmates—and as professor and students."

The silver-haired girl practically bounced out of her seat. "My na is Virelle Serien! I’m twenty-one, B Rank, and I’m a magic, ability, and combat specialist. I major in magic." Her grin was sharp. "And just because I’m a girl does not an I’m weak. I’ll puml you any ti, any day. Tehe!"

The dark-haired girl beside her stood with the calm deliberation of soone who had waited her turn and was not going to rush it now. "My na is Seraphin Caelis. I’m eighteen. B Rank. Ability and magic specialist." Her voice was steady, asured. "I hope to learn a lot from you—and to have an amicable relationship with my fellow students."

From the corner of the room, the boy who had been sitting alone rose. His posture had changed—no longer slouched, no longer distant. His attention was fully present. "My na is Daemion Virex. I’m twenty-one. S Rank. Ability and combat specialist." A brief pause. "As they said, I hope to have an amicable relationship with everyone."

He sat. This ti, his back was straight, his eyes fixed on the professor.

"I’m Kenshin Arashi." The voice ca from the front row, where the wild-haired boy had already made himself comfortable across from the twins. His grin was goofy, but his eyes were not. "Arashi seed like a last na worthy of Kenshin, so I took it after I beat the owner of the na. Now I have a lineage in my world, so I’m an old man." A laugh. "But physically, I’m nineteen. S Rank. And everybody here will have to spar with

once during their tenure as students. That’s how you’ll get your amicable classroom."

He leaned back, folding his arms. "Oh, I’m an all-rounder. But I prefer combat—and a little affinity for magecraft and abilities. To , there’s no need for the distinctions. It doesn’t matter in a fight. It’s about who’s stronger, not what you specialize in." His eyes found Zeke’s. "But you’re the professor, so I’ll definitely abide by your rules. After all"—his grin sharpened—"you’re strong."

"My na is Samuel Winchester." The younger twin rose, his posture open, his voice calm. "But you can call

Sam. I’m nineteen, the younger twin. I’m A Rank. Mage major, with minors in combat and ability." He gestured beside him. "This is my older brother, Dean. He’s A Rank as well. Ability and combat specialist." He bowed. "Nice to et you all."

"Hey." Dean was on his feet a beat later, one hand gesturing vaguely. "Who asked you to introduce ?" He turned to the class, his grin easy, his posture loose. "That’s my little brother. I’m the big brother. He’s the smart one. I’m the smarter one—after all, I have a smart younger brother." A shrug. "Point

at a battlefield and I’ll oblige. Or I can stay back and protect the ladies."

Sam’s foot connected with his shin.

Dean’s grin didn’t waver, though he shifted his weight slightly. "Not that you ladies are weak," he added, scratching the back of his neck.

Zeke clapped his hands once. The sound cut through the room, sharp and final. Virelle had been fixing Dean with a look that was rapidly escalating from annoyance to sothing more involved. She subsided, but her eyes didn’t leave him.

"Very... unique introductions." Zeke’s voice carried a note of sothing that might have been amusent, might have been resignation. "It seems my class is filled with socially interesting students. It is a known case that geniuses are wired differently from normies."

He pushed off from the desk, moving to the center of the semicircle. The students’ attention followed him like a tide.

"I hope we’ll get along over the course of our ti together. For now—get to know yourselves. Properly. And get to know your academy."

He picked up the book from the podium.

"Talent is nothing without the necessary effort."

He smiled—at the class, at the room, at the particular weight of the mont.

And then he was gone. Not a blur of movent, not a door opening and closing. Simply not there, the space where he’d stood empty, the air settling slowly in his wake.

Before he left, his gaze found Sam—held for a mont—and was gone.

Sam sat very still, his hands flat on the desk, the weight of that look still pressing against his chest.