Chapter 84: Chapter Eighty Four
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Sam Winchester sat near his brother, as he always did. Soone had to hold Dean back—especially after the fight he and Kenshin had caused.
The fight had brought the class closer, though.
Evidently, the class now sat nearer to Aelric and his group.
Aelric was just as "dumb" as Dean and Kenshin. The fact that they had gotten him to fight seed to have flipped a switch in all their brains. Now the academy had to prepare for three Stars of Destruction.
I wonder who coined that.
Thankfully, despite the newfound camaraderie, Aelric hadn’t abandoned his initial group. His energy didn’t dwindle—he simply dragged Dean, Kenshin, and by extension Sam, into the conversation. And dragged the rest of the class along with them.
With help from his group, of course. Virelle and Seraphin handled Nyssara. Zephyr handled Daemion.
Rhaegar had joined naturally. Most likely because Nyssara had joined first.
If Sam ranked the class by extroversion, Aelric would be first. Kenshin and Virelle a close second. Daemion and Rhaegar competing for last place.
Sam watched Dean groan for the fourth ti about his boredom. About how Alissa was waiting for him. Alissa was a girl Dean had successfully flirted with. One of his many "missions."
Sam watched Virelle defend Nyssara.
If there was a position for class representative, Nyssara would be a good fit. She had shown excellent leadership in calming the class, providing a reasonable explanation for the professor’s absence, and today she had ensured they would all stay together.
It was working. Sam could see it. Dean and Kenshin had no intention of doing anything today.
Maybe Dean would go see Alissa after Nyssara dismissed the class. Sam wouldn’t put it past him.
For assistant representative, it would be a close battle between Virelle and Rhaegar. But Sam would prefer Virelle. She was bolder, more social, and—though it shouldn’t matter—older.
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The air shifted.
Involuntarily, Sam’s eyes drifted to the podium.
The professor stood there.
Zeke smiled at him, then looked elsewhere. Sam followed his gaze—Dean, Kenshin, Daemion, Zephyr, Rhaegar, and Nyssara had all turned their attention to the podium. Aelric noticed the quiet, looked at Kenshin, saw that Kenshin had sat upright, and turned.
Zeke clapped. Twice. The sound was sharp, precise, the kind of clap that didn’t ask for attention so much as take it.
"Why are the lot of you so lax?" His gaze swept the room, touching each of them in turn. "Virelle—didn’t you notice the person you were jumping toward had straightened up?"
The students didn’t respond. They had all straightened up.
Sam couldn’t understand it. He had seen visions of this man, and part of him said run. But the other part—the part that trusted his visions—pushed him to get closer.
He looked at Dean. His brother, who was boisterous even facing the old headmaster, was docile. Not quite docile—Sam could see Dean’s hands and legs shaking. Partly from fear. But he wanted to fight. The fear had tad him, but the urge remained.
It seed the sa for Kenshin.
The fear was ubiquitous in the room, especially in Nyssara. But the urge to fight—only Dean and Kenshin still held it.
"Class is in session, kids." Zeke’s smile widened. "Let’s have a pop quiz."
The enigma deepened. What would he test them on? He hadn’t taught them anything.
---
"What?"
Zeke’s smile grew larger.
"You must be thinking to yourselves: What’s he going to test us on when he hasn’t taught us?"
He let the question hang.
"Well, you’re right. I haven’t taught you. But I did instruct you to get to know your academy, make friends, and go to the library—especially."
He turned. "Nyssara. Tell . What was the philosophical statent I made before I left the class?"
Nyssara stood straight.
"Talent is nothing without the necessary effort."
She said it at the top of her voice, her spine rigid, her eyes fixed forward.
"Good." Zeke nodded. "As expected of the one who saw through the purpose of my hiatus." A pause. "Well, I don’t think that’s the right word. Nevertheless—I have noticed your efforts in quelling your classmates. Despite so of them becoming famous in the academy."
Dean and Kenshin shrank in their seats, shoulders hunching, chins dropping.
"Not that I mind." Zeke’s grin turned teasing. "I relish fights. My students should do the sa. And it seems it wasn’t just a select few—the whole class fought."
The students sitting near Dean and Kenshin—close enough to give a side-eye without turning their heads—did exactly that.
"It’s a boon you didn’t lose. Even if you fought the B-Rank ability class." He paused, letting the weight settle. "You won, nevertheless."
He let that land.
"Oh. One rule." His voice dropped, conspiratorial. "We don’t like the head of the ability field. So other than the A class—beat them up however many you can."
{ What about Jude? }
’He needs the motivation. Kai, on the other hand, is the youngest. He needs to be pampered. ’
"Yes, sir!"
Kenshin’s voice cracked through the room, eager and uncontained.
"I digress." Zeke turned back to Nyssara. "Upon reviewing your actions over the past week, I have decided to hand the title, responsibility, and position of class representative to you." A pause. "If you choose to accept."
His smile said: don’t choose if you dare.
"Thank you, sir. I will be honored."
Nyssara bowed to Zeke—deep, formal, precise—then turned to the class.
"I’ll be in your care."
"OK."
The class responded in unison, the word landing like a single note.
Clap. Clap.
"This calls for a celebration." Zeke’s smile widened. "Thankfully, I have prepared the best banquet. Your pop quiz."
"Urgh."
Dean groaned—then caught himself, his eyes widening, his mouth snapping shut. Sam shot him a glare.
"Oh, before I forget." Zeke’s gaze shifted. "Samuel Winchester. Well, you did say to call you Sam."
Sam nodded.
"You’re the assistant course representative. Work well with Nyssara."
Dean snickered. Sam’s elbow found his ribs.
Zeke moved. One mont he was at the podium. The next, his hand rested on Dean’s shoulder. The class shifted, faces registering shock—trying to process how he had crossed the room.
Quick.
Dean gulped, his throat bobbing visibly.
"Dean. Tell . What did the fifth girl you flirted with say to you?"
Dean’s voice ca out ek. "I don’t think that’s part of our curriculum, Professor sir."
Don’t get offended. Please don’t get offended.
The hand left his shoulder.
"Really?"
Zeke’s voice ca from the podium again.
{ I can’t believe you copied Nyssara’s ability just to aura farm. }
’Tah. I’m a professor. I have to be cool. ’
The class’s attention shifted to him again. Shock—but less exaggerated this ti. The realization settling: their professor could be anywhere in the room, at any mont, without warning.
"Do you believe there’s only one path to a fight?"
Zeke didn’t wait for an answer.
"I don’t think so. You all shouldn’t either. Especially considering that, unlike the other students in this academy, you’re in a class with mixed fields. Taught by one professor."
He spread his hands.
"What did you expect? That I would take the mages aside for magic and tell the combatants to wait their turn?"
He smiled.
"Naive."
"The Academy differentiates fields because the talent threshold for admission is low. It has to account for thousands of students. So there’s segregation and specialization. To offset that, students are allowed minors."
His voice dropped, sharpening.
"But I’m here to inform you, children—there’s no major or minor here. Only battle. Only fighting. Only war."
A beat.
"Ahem. I sound like a general."
Chuckles rippled through the class. Zeke smiled in response.
"And to ride on what the great Kenshin Arashi—the nominal ancestor of a family whose na he stole—said: it doesn’t matter what you specialize in. Everything is a ans to an end."
He paused.
"Combat."
"Whooo!"
Kenshin and Dean whistled in joy, their earlier tension dissolving into sothing looser, more familiar.
"So, in my class, combat is the purest form of art. Whatever ans you apply, as long as you enjoy a good fight—" He made an OK sign. "—you’re golden."
He turned back to Dean.
"Now. How your flirting ties to the pop quiz." He ticked off on his fingers. "One—your flirting led to combat. Two—you talked while I was talking. Three—strength in this world is the strongest factor. I’m stronger. So when I ask what the fifth girl told you, you tell ."
He paused.
"And I have to make sure you have aweso flirting skills. Your professor happens to be a master flirt."
Dean’s face went through a complicated sequence—hope, caution, the calculation of whether whooping would offend. Zeke gave a small nod.
"Whoo!"
Dean let it out, his shoulders dropping, his grin returning.
Zeke shook his head, smiling.
"So." His voice was light. "What’s the answer to my question?"
Dean’s face went blank.
"Eh?"
---
"I don’t rember," Dean admitted, his voice small.
"Tsk, tsk." Zeke clicked his tongue. "You should rember. How else would you learn and better your skills?"
He let the question sit.
"The sa applies for battle. Even the smallest mistake in a spar, a fight to the death, or a personal training session should be cataloged, refined, and improved."
He tilted his head.
"So. Does my question not tie to the curriculum?"
Dean straightened. "It does, sir!"
"Good." Zeke turned. "Kenshin. What did you read about on the third row in the magic aisle, when you accompanied Sam?"
"Eh?" Kenshin blinked. "Sothing about a theory on how fire magic works."
"How’d you know I read a book?" Confusion flickered across his face.
"Did you think I slept throughout the periods I was not in class?"
{ You did sleep. }
’I didn’t sleep throughout. There’s a difference. ’
"What did you learn from the book?"
"Nothing, sir." Kenshin’s voice was honest, unadorned. "I did not learn because I did not apply anything I read."
"That’s... correct." Zeke pinched the bridge of his nose. "What did you read?"
"Fire is as destructive as any other magic, and it can be applied in other ways that aren’t destructive—just like the rest of the other books on basic theory of other elental magic."
"Was that useful to you in combat?"
"No. I don’t particularly think so."
"So you would use a Grandmaster spell to kill an ant?"
"No?"
"Then there was sothing to learn. You just didn’t learn it."
Zeke raised a hand before Kenshin could respond.
"Speaking of spell rankings—Seraphin, what are the ranks of magic spells?"
"Kenshin, before you sit, understand this." Zeke’s voice shifted, sharper now, cutting through the room. "All of you, understand. Even the way a dog barks is useful."
He turned to Seraphin.
She straightened, her voice steady. "The ranks for magic: Basic, Interdiate, Advanced, Expert, Master, Grandmaster."
"How does that relate to your status screen?"
He turned to Sam.
"When one learns Magecraft, it appears in the skill section. Depending on the level of skill they’ve attained, it reads F to SSS Rank—the nominal ranks that the status window operates in."
He began pacing slowly between the desks.
"Though in the books, there was no ntion of SSS-ranked magic. What was ntioned was Basic—F to D. Interdiate—C. Advanced—B. Expert—A. Master—S. Grandmaster—SS."
He stopped.
"From this, it can be seen that SSS Rank is a step beyond Grandmaster. And I am of the opinion that knowledge of that level is only available to professors."
"Opinion?"
"You have opinions?"
"Ease up." Zeke waved a hand. "You’re no fun. I was teasing you."
He resud pacing.
"I’ve asked a lot about Magecraft. It’s almost unfair to those without magical talent."
He turned, facing the room.
"But know this—they have the most theory, yes. But as a result of being in the sa class, you will answer questions from the magic field in your exams."
A pause.
"Knowing magic theory is of help when facing mages. So shut up."
He held up two fingers.
"The others will answer theory questions on the other fields as well. You have two sections: theory and practicals."
He lowered one finger.
"Practicals is simply combat."
He spread his hands.
"You’re a team. You will learn together, fail together, pass together. The next ti you are given a task, give it deep thought."
His voice softened, almost imperceptibly.
"Character developnt does not happen once. It happens over a culmination of tiny, otherwise minuscule growth. In essence, you beco a better fighter, a stronger fighter, by the little growth you have. The things you deem inconsequential are very much consequential."
He looked at each of them in turn—Nyssara, Dean, Sam, Kenshin, Aelric, Virelle, Seraphin, Zephyr, Daemion, Rhaegar. His gaze moved like a slow tide, touching everyone, leaving no one out.
"I’ll be seeing you next ti. By then, I want you to have grown—no matter how small, in whatever parater."
Zeke waved.
And he was gone.
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