NOVEL NEXT Chapter 10: All elite class
The raucous sound of laughter and clanging footsteps announced the arrival of Class 1-C before Noah even saw them. When he turned, the group was exactly what he expected: a collection of misfits, their gear sloppily worn and their demeanor screaming rebellion. One of them, a lanky boy with a crooked grin, wore his chest plate unbuckled, and another—a girl with spiky purple hair—carried her helmet under her arm as if it were optional.
Miss Brooks didn't spare them more than a passing glance, but Noah watched closely.
'They look like they'd rather pick a fight with each other than anything else. But… that could work to their advantage. Chaos is unpredictable. With the right push, they could be dangerous.'
As he studied them, he caught the eye of one of their members, a broad-shouldered boy with a jagged scar running down his cheek. The boy smirked, nudging his teammate as if to say, look, they're scared of us. Noah didn't break eye contact.
'Let them think what they want. Everyone here is a threat, even if they don't look like it.'
Cora leaned toward him. "Class 1-C. The dropouts of tomorrow," she muttered under her breath.
"Or the wild card no one sees coming," Noah replied softly, his gaze still fixed on the unruly group.
As Class 1-C loitered near the ship, the other students began to pair up, forming small groups. The base buzzed with quiet anticipation, the low hum of the aircraft engines in the background adding a sense of urgency to the air.
Noah's eyes scanned the crowd, cataloging alliances. Everyone was sizing each other up, covering for weaknesses with strengths. It was a natural instinct, survival at its finest.
'Humans have survived plagues, wars, and apocalypses. It's in our DNA to adapt and overcome. Some of these groups might look weak now, but that's what makes them dangerous. Underestimating them would be stupid.'
His gaze landed on Adrian Albright, the son of Commander Albright, standing awkwardly with three girls. The group looked more like they were on their way to a high school dance than a survival exercise.
'Why is he in Class 1-B?' Noah wondered. 'With his dad's pull, he could've been shoved into Class 1-A without breaking a sweat. Maybe the commander doesn't want to risk him getting found out… or maybe he wants to teach him a lesson. Either way, it's none of my business.'
The homeroom teachers began to board the aircraft, their crisp uniforms standing out against the crowd of students in full gear. Miss Brooks exchanged a curt nod with Class 1-A's homeroom teacher, a tall man with a sharp jawline and an infuriatingly smug expression.
As everyone filed onto the aircraft, Noah got his first close look at the ship. Sleek and massive, its metallic body gleamed under the sun, and the faint hum of its crystal-powered engines was a reminder of its sheer power.
'So this is it. State-of-the-art. I've seen it take off a hundred times, but being inside it? That's new.'
The interior was as impressive as the exterior—rows of seats with harnesses, monitors displaying live feed from external cameras, and storage compartments for gear. Noah strapped himself in, glancing at the others doing the same.
The three homeroom teachers stood at the front of the cabin. Miss Brooks stepped forward first, her voice steady and commanding. "Listen up. This is a large-scale assessment. Before we drop you off, there are a few things you need to understand."
She gestured to the monitors, which displayed a map of the area. "This zone has been scouted thoroughly. The majority of the beasts you'll encounter are Category 1. There's a chance you'll run into a stray Category 2, but that's unlikely. Your mission is straightforward—eliminate threats, collect resources, and survive until extraction. The rendezvous point will be pinged to your bracelets."
Class 1A homeroom teacher scoffed and this caused everyone to look his way including miss Brooks who wasn't impressed from the look on her face.
Now looking at all three teachers, Noah found them to be an odd trio.
The three homeroom teachers stood together near the landing craft, quite the of contrasts. It was almost comedic how different they were, like three characters from entirely separate genres thrown into the same story.
First was Mr. Elias Vane, the homeroom teacher for Class 1-A. He stood like a monument, tall and broad-shouldered, his uniform crisp enough to cut paper. His beard was neatly trimmed, and his blue eyes seemed to gleam with perpetual judgment. Even his boots looked like they'd been polished by angels.
'Of course he would look like a recruitment poster for the base,' Noah thought, stifling a snort. 'Bet he wakes up every morning reciting motivational speeches in front of the mirror.'
Vane then finally spoke. "Category 2? I trust that won't be a challenge for my students. After all, they've been trained to exceed expectations."
The smugness in his tone wasn't lost on anyone, least of all Miss Brooks, who didn't so much as twitch in response. Noah could almost feel the silent battle of wills between them.
Next to Vane was Mr. Damien Rourke, the teacher for Class 1-C. Where Vane was sharp and polished, Rourke was rugged and casual, the kind of guy who looked like he was one bad day away from ditching his uniform entirely. His dark hair was tousled, and a hint of stubble shadowed his jawline. His boots were scuffed, his sleeves slightly rolled up, and he had the demeanor of someone who'd just finished a nap.
'Rourke looks like he should be leading a biker gang, not a class,' Noah mused, watching him lean against the bulkhead. 'But those eyes… he's not as relaxed as he pretends to be. That's someone who's seen things.'
Rourke's grin was lopsided as he addressed his class. "All right, kiddos. Category 1, Category 2… who cares? Just don't get eaten. I'm not in the mood to fill out death reports."
A few snickers rippled through Class 1-C, their motley crew of misfits clearly used to his laid-back style. Rourke caught Noah's eye for a split second, giving him a knowing nod that felt like a silent warning.
And then there was Miss Brooks, their own teacher, standing between the two extremes. If Vane was all discipline and Rourke all chaos, she was the razor-sharp balance in between. Her short, tailored hair framed her face like a helmet, and her piercing gaze could have any man's balls retreating in its sac.
'Miss Brooks could take down both of them in an argument and still have time to lead us into battle,' Noah thought. 'And she wouldn't even break a sweat.'