Chapter 105: Back to the grind
Three days after returning from the Black Stone Mountain, Class C gathered back in our designated training hall—also known as the place where optimism went to die.
The air still smelled like old chalk, burnt mana, and teenage disappointment. The sun filtered through the tall, arched windows like it was trying to bless us. It failed.
I stood at the front, arms folded, eye twitching as I surveyed the mess that dared call itself a class.
"Alright, survivors," I said, my voice echoing off the stone walls. "Congratulations on not dying. Take a moment. Appreciate yourselves. Now forget it. You’re back at the bottom again."
Julien raised an eyebrow. "Bit harsh, don’t you think?"
"Not nearly harsh enough. You think glory means anything here?" I tapped the blackboard behind me where someone had scrawled ’Class C GOATS’ in chalk. Probably Felix. "In this academy, the moment you do something impressive, everyone starts planning your funeral. And since none of you are getting fancy coffins, I suggest you stay sharp."
Felix raised a hand. "Do we at least get a bronze statue?"
"No, but I can stuff you and mount your body in the entrance hall as a warning to others."
He lowered the hand.
"Right, now," I continued, slapping a thick book onto the lectern with a satisfying thud, "today’s lesson: tactical rune adaptation in high-pressure scenarios."
Groans.