Chapter 66: The First Class. (1)
The heroes received three days of rest.
Three days without mandatory training, without trials, without evaluations. A margin of time that, for many, meant an opportunity to relax, distract themselves, or simply assimilate everything that had happened up to that moment.
For Aku, however, it was nothing more than another way to observe.
He didn’t waste time.
He spent much of those days in the cafeteria.
At first, out of simple curiosity.
The place functioned in a way that didn’t quite fit any conventional system. There were no visible cooks, no long waits, no clear limitations. The food simply... appeared. Adapted, apparently, to whoever requested it.
It was efficient and very convenient. But for some reason the demon king missed the treatment he had received on the Argos from the waitress.
Aku tried everything.
Without hurry, without initial preferences, limiting himself to analyzing flavors, textures, combinations. Each dish was different, not only in appearance but in the way it reacted on his palate. Some were simple, others complex, some even difficult to describe.
But with time, he developed a certain inclination.
Indian food.
Mexican food.
Both shared something in common. Intensity.
Marked flavors, spices that didn’t limit themselves to being present but dominated the experience. They weren’t soft or discreet foods. They demanded attention, reacted on the palate, left traces.
That was... interesting to him.
More than pleasure itself, it was the constant stimulation, the contrast, the variety within a single dish that captured his interest.
Outside the cafeteria, his most frequent destination was the library.
A place much more aligned with his objectives.
He spent hours there.
Reviewing information about other worlds, systems, structures... everything that could offer a broader vision of what he was facing. He wasn’t interested in the stories themselves, but in the patterns.
The rules.
The constants.
What he really wanted to understand was how the power antithetical to the essence of chaos worked: the authority of order.
The power of order wasn’t a concrete ability or specific technique. It didn’t function like traditional magic, nor like a simple physical capacity. It was something broader, more abstract.
Order didn’t manifest in a single form.
It did so through systems.
Complex systems.
Magic, for example, was nothing more than an organized structure of energy, governed by internal norms. Martial arts, on the other hand, represented a physical order, an optimization of movement, of the body, of combat.
Even abilities, superpowers, systems, psychic powers.
All of that was a manifestation of "order."
Nothing was random.
Everything responded to a structure.
To a logic.
One could say each world could manifest the power of order in a form. Whether with magic or systems.
But everything was delimited. Everything followed an order.
Moreover, Aku realized the power of order didn’t only manifest in heroes, but in all those who made use of systems.
Unlike the power of chaos, which was more capricious.
Aku showed no external reaction upon discovering it.
But he stored it. Carefully.
He dedicated the rest of the time to observing.
The training room. The dueling courtyard.
He passed by frequently, without intervening, without participating. He limited himself to watching. To studying the other students, their styles, their mistakes, their decisions.
Some fought with determination. Others with discipline.
Some relied too much on their power. Others doubted even when they had the advantage.
Each combat was different. But all revealed something.
Aku didn’t need to participate yet.
Observing was enough. After all, the less of his power he showed, the better.
And then the day arrived. The day of the first class.
There was no grand announcement or special preparation. Simply, time advanced to that inevitable point where the pause ended and everything began to take shape.
On the tablet they had been given, the name appeared clearly and directly:
[Theoretical Class I]
Nothing more.
Without extensive description, without unnecessary details. Just a brief text explaining the essential. That class would deal with the general theory of their role within the academy. Their function as heroes. The foundations of what was expected of them.
But it didn’t say how, nor to what extent, nor what it really implied.
Aku read the information only once. Without too much interest. It didn’t seem anything too interesting in his eyes.
A quick reading was enough.
But he deduced that class wasn’t going to be as simple as it seemed.
He got up without hurry and left the room. The hallways were more crowded than in previous days. The atmosphere had changed. It was no longer exploration or scattered curiosity. There was direction. Destination.
Students advanced toward different points, guided by their devices, by signals integrated into the walls, or simply following the general flow.
Everyone wore the same uniform.
Blue and white.
With golden embroidery running along the jacket’s edges, sleeves, collar. It wasn’t an exaggerated design, but elaborate enough to mark a clear difference. They weren’t simple students.
Or at least, they weren’t supposed to be.
After all, they were heroes. Heroes who had failed, yes, but heroes.
Heroes who were going to save hundreds of worlds. Or at least try.
Still, the uniformity in clothing contrasted with the diversity in everything else.
Unnaturally colored hair, completely different styles, gazes reflecting incompatible experiences. Some walked with confidence, others with some stiffness, some even seemed out of place.
There were heroes of all types. Some had traveled to murim worlds, others to futuristic worlds, and even some to prehistoric worlds.
The variety was palpable.
Aku advanced among them without interacting. He wasn’t very sociable. He didn’t need to be either.
He only observed. Recording all data he could collect in his mind.
And then he finally arrived at the classroom entrance.
It was spacious.
More than he had anticipated. Upon crossing it, the space revealed itself completely.
It wasn’t a conventional classroom.
It was shaped like an amphitheater.
Rows of seats descended in levels, organized in a semicircle around a lower central area where the instructor’s area was located.
Each seat was integrated into the structure, with clean surfaces, translucent panels, and small incorporated devices.
The lighting followed the same pattern as the rest of the academy. White, with blue nuances, perfectly distributed.
There were no unnecessary shadows. Everything was visible. Everything was designed so nothing was lost.
Efficient and convenient. Something that ironically aligned with his way of being.
Aku ascended without hurry along one of the sides, choosing a seat in the back. Not for comfort, but for position. From there he could see everything.
The students.
The instructor when they arrived.
Reactions. Details. Everything that could feed his insatiable appetite for knowledge.
The demon king sat down.
He rested his arm slightly on the seat’s side and let his gaze sweep the place.
The general murmur filled the atmosphere. Scattered conversations, low comments, some isolated laughter. It wasn’t chaotic noise, but not silence either.
Contained expectation.
Then someone stopped beside him.
Aku didn’t need to turn completely to recognize him.
"Can I sit here?"
The voice was calm. Familiar.
It was Bīng Xuě.
Aku looked at him sideways.
"Do what you want," he responded without interest.
The boy smiled slightly and took a seat beside him without more.
"I’m glad we’re in the same class," he added, resting his chin on his hand as he looked ahead. "It’ll be more entertaining."
Aku didn’t respond. But he didn’t show rejection either.
Minutes passed.
Little by little, the classroom filled up.
The seats stopped being empty. The murmur increased slightly, then stabilized.
Until, almost imperceptibly, it began to diminish.
Not by a clear signal.
But because someone had entered.
The main door opened.
And he appeared.
The light blue-haired instructor.
The same one who had been present during the welcome.
This time, his appearance was different.
He was still elegant, but more contained. His uniform had changed. Less ostentatious, more professional. Clean lines, sober colors, without unnecessary adornments. Everything about him transmitted control.
Precision.
He walked to the amphitheater’s center with firm steps, without hurrying, without seeking to draw attention.
And yet he had it.
The murmur extinguished completely.
He stopped. Observed.
He didn’t speak immediately.
His gaze swept the classroom slowly, analyzing each of those present as if evaluating them even before beginning.
When he finally spoke, his voice was clear.
"Well," the instructor then said with an icy and sharp tone, almost cutting.
He made a brief pause. Just enough to let the students process his arrival.
"Let the class begin," he then announced coldly.
There was no presentation. No unnecessary introduction.
Only those words.
Simple and icily direct.
But sufficient to make clear that from that moment on, attention had to be paid.
Because that man didn ’t seem to be one of those teachers who let there be commotion in his class.
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