SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery

The morning air felt crisp as Marcus guided the limousine towards Hudson Heights. I found myself reviewing the schedule Principal Whitfield had provided, mentally rehearsing the day's activities while maintaining awareness of Anthony's warning that today represented maximum danger. Despite the tactical briefings and enhanced security measures, I felt surprisingly calm as we approached the school grounds.

"Same pickup time as yesterday, sir?" Marcus asked as he pulled into the designated drop-off area.

"Yes, unless you hear otherwise," I replied, gathering my materials and checking that my phone remained easily accessible for emergency communications.

The school entrance appeared normal, with students moving through their morning routines and faculty members stationed at their usual positions. I noticed Ken Ross near the student activities bulletin board, apparently engaged in routine administrative tasks, while Thomas Chen was visible through the gymnasium windows, setting up equipment for what looked like a standard athletics period.

Ms. Patterson greeted me at the main office with the same professional courtesy she had displayed during our previous interactions. If she harbored any resentment about yesterday's failed trap, her demeanor gave no indication of such feelings.

"Good morning, Mr. Vale," she said, consulting her clipboard. "Principal Whitfield asked me to confirm that you're comfortable with today's schedule. We have your presentation to the senior classes first, followed by individual consultations with students who expressed interest in discussing your international work."

"That sounds perfect," I replied, maintaining my cover identity while internally noting how normal everything seemed. My Instinct skill remained completely quiet, registering no immediate threats or dangerous situations.

The first presentation went exactly according to plan. I delivered my prepared speech about rank inequalities within the System, explaining how the current global structure created artificial barriers between people based on their perceived abilities rather than what they can actual contribute to society. The students listened with genuine interest, asking thoughtful questions about how different countries were beginning to challenge these established hierarchies.

"Mr. Vale," one student raised her hand during the question period, "do you think the System will ever be completely dismantled, or are we just going to see gradual reforms?"

"That's an excellent question," I replied, settling into the familiar rhythm of discussing political theory. "Change rarely happens overnight, especially when dealing with structures that have been in place for generations. But when enough people recognize that the current system doesn't serve their interests, momentum can build surprisingly quickly. However, it's important to note that we don't aim to remove usage of the System. It's still effective in showing if someone is good at specific jobs. For example an A-Rank Physicist can still benefit from the System as it serves as proof of their skill, while a D-Rank Physicist would not benefit since they could be great athletes, but the System only shows them as a bad physicist."

The discussion continued for nearly an hour, and I found myself genuinely enjoying the intellectual engagement with these young people who were clearly thinking critically about their world's fundamental assumptions. For a few moments, I almost forgot about the assassination threats and diplomatic complexities that had brought me to this place.

Between classes, I helped several students with various concerns they had about their academic and personal situations. One young man was struggling with family pressure to pursue a high-ranking System classification despite it being somewhat random. A group of students wanted advice about organizing a peaceful demonstration in support of reform policies. Each interaction felt natural and productive, exactly the kind of work I had imagined doing when I first conceived of this undercover mission.

Throughout the morning, my Instinct skill remained completely dormant. I passed Ken Ross in the hallway twice, exchanged polite greetings with Thomas Chen near the athletics facilities, and even had a brief conversation with Ms. Patterson about scheduling future visits to other schools in the district. None of these interactions triggered any sense of immediate danger or concern.

The further I progressed through the day, the more relaxed I became. Anthony's assessment about the timing of a potential attack was beginning to feel overly cautious. If the assassination team had been planning to act today, surely they would have made their move during one of the many opportunities that had already presented themselves. An attack at the end of the school day would be rushed, poorly coordinated, and conducted in front of numerous witnesses who could provide detailed accounts to investigating authorities.

By the time lunch period arrived, I was feeling genuinely optimistic about the possibility that we had either overestimated the threat level or successfully deterred the assassination team through our security measures and tactical preparations.

I found a quiet table in the faculty section of the cafeteria and opened the lunch Sienna had prepared for me. She had outdone herself with a carefully arranged selection of sandwiches, fresh fruit, and what appeared to be homemade pastries. Each item was perfectly seasoned and beautifully presented, making the meal feel like a small celebration rather than just functional nutrition.

The sandwich was particularly outstanding – some kind of artisanal bread with layers of carefully selected meats and vegetables that complemented each other perfectly. The pastries were light and flaky, with a subtle sweetness that didn't overwhelm the other flavors. Even the fruit selection showed Sienna's attention to detail, with each piece chosen at optimal ripeness.

As I worked through the meal, I reflected on how normal this entire day had been. Students and faculty members moved through their routines with the easy familiarity of an established community. The conversations I overheard were about upcoming tests, weekend plans, and typical interpersonal dramas. Nothing suggested the presence of trained assassins or international conspiracies.

About halfway through the lunch, I began to feel thirsty. Sienna hadn't included any beverages with the meal, probably assuming that the school would have adequate drink options available. I finished the last of the pastries and walked over to the cafeteria's beverage station.

The selection was typical for an educational institution – soft drinks, juice boxes, and bottled water arranged in refrigerated cases with clear price listings. I selected a standard brand of bottled water, paid the cashier, and returned to my table feeling pleased with how smoothly everything was proceeding.

I twisted off the cap and raised the bottle toward my lips, ready to take a refreshing drink after the satisfying meal. The liquid looked perfectly normal – clear, odorless, and contained in what appeared to be a completely standard commercial bottle with all the appropriate branding and labeling.

Just as the liquid touched my lips, my Instinct skill suddenly blazed to life with an intensity that was almost painful. The warning came too late likely due to my carelessness – I had already taken a small sip before the danger signal registered in my consciousness. But the timing of the alert told me everything I needed to know about what I had just consumed.

This wasn't water.

I immediately spat out what remained in my mouth and threw the bottle across the cafeteria with enough force that it hit the far wall and shattered, sending liquid splashing across the floor. The burning sensation in my throat confirmed what my Instinct had tried to warn me about – I had just swallowed a diluted form of hydrochloric acid.

The entire cafeteria fell silent as everyone turned to stare at me. Students and faculty members looked shocked and confused by what appeared to be an inexplicable outburst of anger over a simple bottle of water. Some people started to stand up from their tables, uncertain whether they should approach me or maintain their distance.

The burning sensation in my throat intensified for several seconds before my resistances began to counteract the chemical damage. Pain Resistance kicked in first, dulling the immediate discomfort, followed by Poison Resistance as my body recognized and began neutralizing the acid. The familiarity of both sensations reminded me that Alexis had already exposed me to hydrochloric acid during our training sessions – my body's defenses knew exactly how to handle this particular threat.

"Mr. Vale?" A concerned voice drew my attention to Ms. Chen. I know she's related to Thomas Chen, though her expression of genuine worry suggested she wasn't involved in whatever conspiracy had just tried to kill me. "Are you alright? What happened?"

I coughed several times, feeling the effects of the acid continuing to diminish as my resistances fully engaged. When I spoke, my voice was slightly hoarse but clear enough to be understood by everyone in the now-silent cafeteria.

"That wasn't water," I said, pointing toward the broken bottle. "That was hydrochloric acid. Someone just tried to poison me."

The implications of my words hit the room like a physical force. Students gasped and backed away from the spilled liquid, while faculty members began moving with the urgent purpose of people who realized they were in the middle of a serious security incident.

The attempted assassination was now obvious to everyone present. Someone had replaced the contents of a commercially bottled water with a chemical designed to kill me, and only my skills and last-second warning from Instinct had prevented the attack from succeeding.

Before anyone could respond to this revelation, the cafeteria doors burst open with dramatic timing that felt almost theatrical. Derek Mitchell stumbled through the entrance in handcuffs, flanked by Frank from the Security Office and followed immediately by Principal Whitfield. Behind them came the three people I had identified as assassins – Ken Ross, Thomas Chen, and Ms. Patterson – all wearing expressions of apparent shock and concern.

"Oh my God, is Mr. Vale alright?" Principal Whitfield called out, her voice carrying across the silent cafeteria. "We came as soon as we were warned about that there was some kind of incident."

Frank, still maintaining his grip on Derek's arm, looked around the room with the professional assessment of someone trained in security procedures. "What exactly happened here?"

Derek himself appeared confused and frightened, his usual troublemaker confidence replaced by the bewildered expression of someone who didn't understand why he was being restrained or what he was supposedly guilty of.

"Someone put hydrochloric acid in a water bottle," I replied, my voice growing stronger as my body continued to neutralize the chemical effects. "I only survived because I realized what it was."

Ken Ross stepped forward with what appeared to be genuine alarm. "This is terrible! Do we need to evacuate the building? Is there more contaminated water?"

Thomas Chen was already moving toward the broken bottle, pulling out his phone as if to photograph the evidence. "We should document everything before anyone else gets hurt. This could be part of a larger attack."

Ms. Patterson stood near the entrance, her hand pressed to her chest in an gesture of shock that looked completely authentic. "How could something like this happen? Our security procedures are supposed to prevent exactly these kinds of incidents."

Principal Whitfield approached my table with careful steps, her administrative authority taking control of the chaotic situation. "Mr. Vale, thank God you're safe. This is absolutely unacceptable, and I want you to know that we're taking immediate action."

She turned toward Frank and Derek with the determined expression of someone delivering justice. "Derek, thankfully Ms. Patterson warned us about him having terrible chemicals. When we heard about the incident in the cafeteria, we immediately placed him under arrest."

Frank nodded grimly, adjusting his grip on Derek's handcuffs. "We found evidence in his locker linking him to the contaminated water bottle. This appears to have been a premeditated assassination attempt against Mr. Vale."

Derek's confusion turned to panic as he realized the implications of what was being said. "I didn't do anything! I don't even know where you could get hydrochloric acid! Someone's setting me up!"

"The evidence speaks for itself," Principal Whitfield replied with the finality of someone who had already made up her mind about the situation. "Derek Mitchell, you are under arrest for the attempted assassination of Reynard Vale, an international figure."

As I listened to this announcement, I felt a cold certainty settling in my stomach that had nothing to do with the residual effects of the acid. Derek Mitchell was being framed, and the real assassins – Ken Ross, Thomas Chen, and Ms. Patterson – were standing right in front of me, playing their roles as concerned faculty members with perfect conviction.

The trap had been more sophisticated than I had anticipated. Rather than attempting a direct assault, they had poisoned me and then they had a plan in case it failed. They would use the incident to eliminate a potential witness and a thorn that had stopped them yesterday while simultaneously appearing to be the ones working to ensure my safety.

I looked around the cafeteria at all the shocked faces, at Derek's panicked expression, at the three assassins who were performing their concern so convincingly that even I might have believed them if I hadn't already identified their voices from the overheard conversation.

But I said nothing aloud. I can prove his innocence soon. I just needed to play it safe.