Chapter 119
ORIENTATION (3)
IAM quickly yanked down his hood, revealing his face as he looked around the room.
Soft ripples of laughter spread around the room. Pockets of giggles and muffled chuckles bounced from row to row—some amused, others simply reacting to the secondhand embarrassment of the scene. Yet, despite the snickers, most of the crowd remained quiet, staring ahead with neutral or blank expressions, as if they'd already mentally filed this moment under "irrelevant."
At the center of it all, standing tall on the elevated podium, the woman addressing the room remained entirely unfazed. Her face was calm, her gaze steady, and her posture gave the impression of someone deeply comfortable with authority. She didn't even blink at the disruption. Her voice flowed smoothly through the microphone.
"Please take your seats," she said calmly, each syllable ringing with understated authority. "You are late."
IAM nodded silently, quickly scanning the vast hall for any available spots. His eyes caught sight of several open seats near the very back of the room. He made his way toward them, slipping between the crowded aisles and sliding into one of the few empty chairs.
Reuel flopped down beside him, dragging his feet the entire way. Even as he sat, his muttering didn't stop, though it had grown quieter—more like a low-level grumble echoing beneath his breath.
Yohan, quiet and careful now, took the seat next to IAM on the other side. His energy had shifted entirely. Even his movements felt smaller and more reserved.
He said under his breath, in a defeated tone, "We are so cooked." As if reading the room and realizing just how bad their timing had been.
Before IAM could respond, a girl sitting directly in front of them turned halfway in her chair, glanced over her shoulder, and whispered a firm, "Shush."
The three boys fell quiet immediately. IAM sat back, Yohan folded his arms, and Reuel crossed his legs, all of them pretending they'd never spoken.
None of them wanted to attract any more attention.
With a shared sense of awkward tension hanging over them, they finally focused their attention on the podium.
The woman speaking stood with a level of confidence that demanded attention without having to ask for it. She was tall—very tall. An imposing 6 feet 7 inches, her height alone made her stand out in the crowd of staff and students alike. Her long legs were encased in sleek, sharply tailored black trousers that fell cleanly over polished black shoes. Her white shirt, neatly pressed, bore the familiar badge of Hope Academy—the same crest that the instructors during the Academy Trials had worn—but unlike the common staff uniform, she also wore a white blazer with bold red lines trailing down from the shoulders, adding a striking formality to her appearance.
That blazer was unique. Not entirely one-of-a-kind, but far from common. Only seven other individuals in the room wore the same design. It was clearly a symbol—an emblem of status, position, and authority within the academy's structure.
Her face was a blend of beauty and calm. Raven-black hair fell straight and effortlessly down her back, not a strand out of place. Her eyes were a greyish-blue—cold in color but not in expression. There was a calmness to her presence that was almost unnerving. Not cold—just... impossibly calm. As though no situation could rattle her.
A small mole marked one of her eyelids, a subtle detail that only seemed to highlight her features more rather than distract from them. She was extremely lean, the kind of lean that some men wished they had.
She looked like someone who could ask someone to bark like a dog, and they would do it without hesitation—without even understanding why they agreed.
She was a descendant of the Elf.
Her voice, when she spoke again, was impossibly smooth—clear and composed. It flowed like velvet, soft yet commanding.
"As I was saying earlier," she resumed, her tone never once faltering, "my name is Penelope Odina. I am, as you can see, one of the eight Vice Principals of Hope Academy."
She paused, letting the words settle across the silent room.
"You may refer to me as Penelope the Head," she continued. "I am, I suppose you could say, the leader of the Vice Principals."
She made a small gesture to her right, directing attention to the first of the seven others who wore the same white-and-red blazer.
The man she indicated stood up slowly. He had a well-groomed mustache and round, red cheeks. At first glance, some might have thought he was slightly overweight—but upon closer inspection, it was clear that his body was densely packed with muscle.
He was a descendant of the Beastman.
He bowed stiffly, his eyes sharp despite his jovial appearance.
"This is Ellias Hartwell," Penelope introduced. "He is known as Ellias the Heart."
He sat back down without a word. Yet his silence did little to disguise the energy radiating from him. He seemed... intense.
Most of the students felt the same immediate impression: Ellias looked extremely aggressive.
Penelope then turned to another individual—a stern woman seated with a perfect, ramrod posture. She wore rectangular glasses that glinted under the light, and her expression was unreadable, like a sculpture carved in stone. She gave off the aura of someone who could grade your soul just by looking at it.
"This is Vera Vierin," Penelope said. "She is known as Vera the Blade."
Vera, a descendant of the Knight, nodded once and gave a curt bow. Then she sat again, never breaking form.
Penelope moved on to the next: another woman with glasses, though slightly rounder in shape. Her tightly braided hair framed her sharp, intelligent face. Her presence radiated thoughtfulness and calculation.
She was a descendant of the Giant.
"This is Selene Vireya," Penelope said clearly. "She is known as Selene the Mind."
Selene gave a polite nod, then returned to her seat.
Penelope gestured to another woman, who leaned back in her chair with laziness. Instead of standing or bowing like the others, she tilted her head slightly and spoke in a sultry, raspy voice that carried even without the aid of a microphone.
"Geez," she said. "There's no need to do all of that for me."
Penelope did not respond. She simply moved on, unfazed.
"This is Nyra Eris," she continued. "Known as Nyra the Veil."
Nyra, with black hair and warm brown eyes, simply offered a slow, casual nod. She was a descendant of the Sorcerer, and her whole posture oozed mystery and confidence, like someone who knew more than she let on.
Penelope then pointed to a short man—noticeably shorter than the others. He couldn't have been more than 5 foot 5. He twirled a shiny coin between his fingers, his hands never still. When he stood, it was with a flourish, giving a bow and sweeping his arm across the room as if performing on a stage.
He smiled wide, his eyes twinkling mischievously, then dropped back into his chair and resumed fiddling with the coin.
"This is Omari Gold," Penelope said. "Known as Omari the Flame."
Omari was also a descendant of the Giant.
Next, Penelope indicated an older woman with elegant white-grey hair tied into a tidy bun. She rose slowly, her movements were graceful. A soft smile lit up her face as she gave a small, almost queenly wave.
"This is Amaia Branwen," Penelope introduced. "Also known as Amaia the Root."
Amaia was a descendant of the Elf as well, and she radiated warmth and peace—completely opposite to Vera or Ellias.
Finally, Penelope pointed to a man who looked nearly invisible in how quiet and still he was. He stood up with minimal motion, acknowledged the crowd with a small nod, and sat back down—all in one fluid, almost seamless movement.
He was also a descendent of the Sorcerer.
"This is Caelus Nazar," she said. "Also known as the Eye."
With all the introductions complete, Penelope turned her full attention back to the sea of students before her. Her gaze swept across the room like a scanning lens.
"Alongside me," she declared, "these seven are going to be the ones who decide your future in this academy."
Her voice dropped slightly, taking on a more formal tone.
"We are symbols that demand respect… and utmost fear. We are the judges of your every action. Remember that."
The room remained silent.
From beside IAM, Reuel leaned over and whispered, "What happened to the uplifting speech?"
Before IAM could even think of an answer, the same girl from earlier—the one who had already shushed them—turned back again, brows raised.
"You missed it," she said, matter-of-factly. "Because you were late."
Reuel blinked. "So… she introduced herself after the speech?"
The girl nodded once, then added in a hushed tone, "Yes. It was very dramatic and cool... And shush."