Chapter 120
ORIENTATION (4)
IAM did his best to ignore the girl in front of him—the one who had been pestering the three for far too long. Her presence was background noise now, drowned out by his renewed focus on the front of the hall, where Penelope, one of the eight vice principals, stood with a posture that seemed permanently poised between elegance and exhaustion.
Penelope adjusted the microphone with a casual flick of her hand, as if to signal the room to refocus their attention.
"As I'm sure many of you have noticed," she began, her tone dry but not unkind, "the actual principal is absent from the panel today."
A few murmurs rippled across the crowd. Some had clearly only just noticed.
"That's because they are currently on a… let's call it a 'business trip,'" she said, making light air quotes with a half-smile. "So you will, unfortunately, not be seeing them today. Or possibly anytime soon. Hard to say with the principal."
Her tone wasn't accusing, but the comment hung in the air like a veiled mystery.
She gave the crowd a moment to process this before continuing, her voice gliding easily back into its usual cadence.
"Now, onto the topic I know many of you are particularly excited about. The discipleship program. Or, rather, the possibility of becoming a disciple to one of the eight of us." She gestured to the panel of vice principals seated behind her, most of whom looked uninterested in the attention.
Letting the silence stretch for just a moment longer, Penelope's lips curved slightly.
"And let me immediately dispel a few rumors."
The atmosphere changed, most of the crowd leaning forward again. Some sat upright, others froze mid-whisper. Every year it was the same: whispers, hopes, assumptions—and every year, she crushed them.
"No, approaching one of us to request discipleship will not work. So don't try." Her voice hardened slightly at the end. "Excelling in your studies, while beneficial and admirable, does not guarantee you anything."
A few students lowered their heads slightly, others stiffened.
"Only by our discretion can someone be chosen. We are not required to select anyone. And in case it wasn't obvious, most of us won't."
That last line was delivered with perfect neutrality, but it cut through the room like a cold gust of wind. It settled over the students and poked into their bones.
A ripple of mixed reactions followed.
Some students sat up straighter, the fire behind their eyes ignited, perhaps even burning a little brighter now that they knew the path wouldn't be easy. Others looked away, doubt flickering on their faces. The challenge began to settle on them in full. How could one possibly stand out when sheer excellence wasn't enough?
Reuel's eyes sparked with curiosity. His thoughts weren't on being chosen himself, at least not yet. He was wondering what it would mean to know someone who was selected. To him connections were currency, and he understood it very well.
Yohan, sitting beside him, remained still. His expression was unreadable and detached. Whatever excitement or nervousness had stirred in the others didn't quite reach him. He looked as though his mind was still entangled in something else entirely.
IAM, on the other hand, didn't move. His outward expression remained unchanged—but his mind stirred. The rules made things clear. Being 'better' wasn't a direct path to becoming a disciple. So what was? What did these vice principals really want? What would catch their eye? He didn't have the answers, but he knew he needed them. If becoming a disciple meant faster improvement, then of course he wanted it.
Penelope glanced once across the crowd, then gestured behind her. "Now," she said, "can we have a round of applause for the fifteen instructors who will be educating and guiding you during your time at the academy."
The hall filled with applause, some eager and genuine, others more reluctant but still offered for the sake of courtesy.
Fifteen individuals stood up from their seats behind the vice principals. Each wore the instructor's official uniform with the Hope Academy crest stitched over the chest. Some offered shallow bows, others nodded silently. One or two waved without enthusiasm. They came in all forms: some tall, some short, varying in age and background. Among them were descendants of the Elf, the Giant, the Knight, and others.
Once they sat down again, Penelope raised her hand and added, "And another round of applause, please, for the Student Council."
Around thirty students entered from the side of the stage, forming neat rows. Each one wore a distinct red uniform with a white line that extended down both shoulders. Compared to the standard academy uniform of red, black and white, theirs was far more polished—clearly designed to stand out.
IAM observed them carefully. The council varied in appearance and height. Some looked young, while others could easily have been nearing twenty-three—the oldest age still eligible for student status. The contrast between their faces and postures was intriguing: some were relaxed, others serious, but none seemed underqualified.
Penelope waited until they had all taken their positions before speaking again.
"If you ever encounter any serious issues," she said, "you may approach the council for help. They are not obligated to grant your request, especially if it's deemed unreasonable, but they will try their best when it matters."
A subtle warning, wrapped inside a promise.
She continued, "If you're interested in joining the council, keep in mind: recruitment is by invitation only. There is no sign-up sheet or application. Only the council members can extend an offer."
Her eyes flicked across the students in the front row before adding, "And yes, there are many benefits. Resources... Points... Authority... Personal care... Privileges that go beyond what regular students receive. But those privileges come with responsibility. And scrutiny."
She stepped aside, and from the ranks of the council, a young woman stepped forward toward the microphone.
She was around nineteen, tall—perhaps five foot nine—with blonde hair that curled slightly at the ends, and light brown eyes that shimmered with confidence. Her smile was warm, and there was an unmistakable energy to her. She had presence, but not the intimidating kind.
Her uniform was perfectly ironed. Her posture upright but not rigid. Her voice rang out clearly as she introduced herself to the crowd.
"I'm Snow, the current president of the Student Council," she said, voice upbeat but sincere. "We're honored to serve, and we hope to make this academy experience as enriching and safe as it can be for everyone here."
...
Her speech was short, bordering on rehearsed, but her enthusiasm gave it life. A few students in the crowd whispered her name, clearly recognizing her. Others simply nodded along, committing her face to memory.
Once she stepped back, the program quickly came to an end.
Penelope returned to the center briefly. "That concludes the formal part of orientation. Please check your devices for class groupings and proceed to the meeting points listed. Your instructor will guide you on your first official academy tour."
IAM's phone buzzed. He checked the screen, squinting slightly. His mouth curled upward in an expression that might have passed for smile—if it weren't edged in pain.
Beside him, Reuel beamed.
"What a coincidence," he chirped, holding up his own screen. "We're all in the same class!"
IAM didn't even look at him. "Shut up, Reuel. I'm going to snap your back."
His voice was flat, devoid of any real threat, but Reuel laughed anyway, unbothered. He walked along beside Yohan as the three of them walked toward the meeting point. The hall was already thinning, students peeling away in clusters, the chatter echoing faintly off the high ceilings.
Just as IAM stepped out into the corridor, a loud voice pierced the air.
"Then I challenge you to a duel!!"
IAM paused mid-step. His head turned, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Someone was about to make a mistake.
And he wanted to see who.