Chapter 12: Tabulation
Teacher Fern looked toward the Thistle descendant calmly. He was 18 years old this year and had been in the academy for three years. Among the students present, there were quite a number like him—students who no longer attended class as they focused on passing higher difficulty courses.
To these students, the right to participate was huge. They were no longer as bright and doughy-eyed as the first years. Once you had cleared all of the basic courses, gathering more credits after 20 or so was a monumental task.
These sorts of opportunities for extra credit had value that couldn't be understated.
"I chose Theron because he is the best option," she replied.
"Under what metric? I have more experience than him and double his credits. There are any number of seniors here that can say the same!"
The more he thought about it, the more enraged the Thistle became. This was ridiculous. Many of them had never even seen this Theron before, and they didn't know what he looked like. It wasn't until the Thistle mentioned these facts that the majority grew more incensed.
"What do you think, Theron?" Teacher Fern asked.
There was no immediate response.
Theron looked down toward the long desk before him, an almost rhythmic set of thoughts going through his mind. It was the same cycle he went through every time he wanted to refocus himself, to remind himself of why he did the things he did—why he acted the way he should rather than the way he wanted to.