Tasora slipped into the seat on my right, shoulders tense as she tried to calm herself down.
She barely had time to settle when a loud crack echoed in front of us.
"Twenty demerits for you, Miss Rigel," Heather said coldly.
I did not react. I already knew this would happen.
I forced my body to remain completely stiff, like a statue, carefully suppressing my thrum and presence. The last thing I needed was Heather noticing that I was also a conceptual weaver.
Heather continued without missing a beat. "And another five demerits for being late."
Tasora snapped her head up. "But you already deducted me twenty points."
"That is because you stopped time across the entire school grounds; it is a big inconvenience to others who can also resist it," Heather replied flatly.
I nearly laughed.
I barely managed to hold it in.
So that was how he judged it. If she had isolated the time stop to just the classroom, or better yet, tried to freeze Heather and the students alone, he would not have deducted points. He was not angry that she used her ability for her own convenience. He was angry that she used it inefficiently, exactly as expected of the man the community called the school's grumpy parent.
Tasora groaned softly and finally sat down properly. The pressure in the air lifted, and I felt the subtle shift as time began moving again, unnoticed by everyone else.
Heather cleared his throat.
"Ahem."
He glanced down at his tablet once more.
"Rank one. Tasora Rigel."
"…Here," Tasora replied weakly, her voice lacking all the confidence she had moments ago.
She leaned closer to me and whispered, barely moving her lips. "Who in their right mind makes a monarch-ranked weaver a homeroom teacher? Only monarchs and sovereigns can break out of concepts."
I kept my eyes forward, fixed on Heather, but answered her with a faint grin. "Stop underestimating Excelia, or you're going to regret it."
She stiffened slightly, then clicked her tongue in quiet frustration.
Heather straightened and looked across the room, his gaze sweeping over every student seated on the stadium tiers.
"Alright," he said. "That is everyone. It is good that nobody is absent on the first day."
A few students relaxed at that.
"We have two main agendas today before you move on to your next class," he continued. "The first is that within the next month, you will need to decide on a class president and a vice president."
The room stirred immediately.
Whispers broke out. Some students glanced toward the higher ranked seats. Others looked uncertain, clearly uninterested in responsibility. A few ambitious ones straightened their posture just a little too much.
"These positions are not ceremonial," Heather added, his voice firm. "The president and vice president will act as representatives for this class. They will be responsible for coordination during joint training, communication with faculty, and judge the final decisions during the eventual mock raids. Choose poorly, and you will feel the consequences."
That shut everyone up.
"I will not interfere in your choice," he continued. "This is your class. How you govern yourselves reflects your growth."
He tapped the tablet once.
"For now, you have the remaining fifty minutes to interact with each other. Familiarize yourselves. Learn names. Learn tendencies. And learn to work with each other."
His stern eyes flicked briefly toward Tasora.
"Any further questions?"
No one raised a hand.
Heather nodded once, satisfied, and turned toward the door. Without another word, he left the room, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hall.
Only then did the classroom finally breathe again.
Almost immediately, Finster's voice rose from the front rows.
"I'm telling you, that bet was rigged from the start," he said, leaning back in his chair and pointing accusingly at Maku. "You never once mentioned you were rank four."
Maku laughed, resting his chin on his palm. "I said I was on the lower end, but I did not mention my standards of low. You assumed the rest."
"That's not how honest bets work."
"That's exactly how smart bets work."
Their bickering continued, sharp but oddly relaxed. There was no hostility behind it, just Finster being salty and Maku enjoying every second of it. A few students nearby listened with amusement, some even laughing along. To anyone watching, it looked like nothing more than harmless banter between rivals who already knew each other well.
Meanwhile, a different group had gone quiet.
Azalea's expression had sharpened, her eyes scanning the room instead of Finster. Solaris had stopped chatting entirely, her posture even more rigid than before. Kenth still faced the window, but his reflection in the glass showed awareness rather than detachment. Tasora sat stiffly beside me, her fingers tapping lightly against the desk in an uneven rhythm.
And me.
If I had not read the novel, I would not have noticed anything at all.
I reached for my coat and blazer and calmly took them off, folding them neatly before placing them on my desk. The fabric was already starting to feel heavier than it should. Warm.
Nagi noticed the movement and tilted her head. "Huh? Aren't you cold?"
"Not really," I replied casually.
She looked at me for another second, clearly confused, but shrugged it off and returned to socializing with a group a few rows down. Laughter bubbled up around her as introductions continued, names exchanged, ranks compared. On the surface, everything was normal.
Too normal.
Time passed. Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty.
Then someone wiped sweat from their forehead.
"Is it just me," a boy near the center asked, "or is it getting hot in here?"
At first, it was subtle. A warmth that could be dismissed as nerves or crowding. Then it grew heavier. The air thickened, pressing down on skin and breath alike. Heat crawled across the room in slow, deliberate waves.
Polaris frowned. Without a word, faint shards of ice formed around her, floating gently in the air. The temperature near her seat dropped noticeably, frost crystallizing briefly along the edges of her desk.
That was when panic began.
"What's going on?"
"Did someone mess with the temperature ?"
"Why is it so hot?"
A few students rushed toward the doors, hands slamming against them. The handles refused to move.
"Hey. It's locked."
"That's impossible."
Someone else tried the windows. A Nagi tried to punch the window, and a sharp crack sound echoed as a fist struck the glass, followed by a dull thud. Not even a scratch.
A barrier.
Stronger than expected.
The room grew louder. Voices overlapped. Anxiety spread faster than the heat itself. Sweat dripped onto our desks. Breathing became labored for some.
Then.
Clap.
The sound cut through the chaos cleanly.
Everyone turned.
Azalea stood at the center tier, one hand still raised from the sharp clap, her expression composed but serious.
"Calm down," she said firmly. "This is a test."
The room stilled, just enough for her words to sink in.
"As Professor Heather said earlier, we have two agendas today," she continued. "The first is the class election. The second was never mentioned before he left."
Murmurs rose again, quieter this time.
"The fifty minutes he gave us were not just for socializing," Solaris added. "It was for us to observe. To think. To act."
Azalea nodded, and her eyes swept across the room, meeting gazes one by one.
"What he probably meant," she went on, "is for us to figure out what's happening before we get roasted alive."
A sharp pause.
"We are the top twenty for a reason. Let's figure this out perfectly."
Silence followed.
I leaned back slightly in my seat, exhaling through my nose.
Right on schedule.
The heat continued to rise, steady and relentless. Not fast enough to kill, but fast enough to force decisions. Exactly the kind of pressure Heather orchestrated.
Tasora leaned closer to me, her voice barely audible. "So this is it."
"Yeah," I replied quietly. "This is the second agenda: Survive. I just told you right, to not underestimate Excelia."
Around us, students began to regroup, panic slowly giving way to forced composure. But among them, one clueless protagonist remained perfectly fine despite the rising heat, looking more confused than bothered.
Finster leaned back in his chair and glanced sideways at Maku, who was already shrugging out of his coat and folding his blazer with deliberate care.
"Is it really that hot?" Finster asked, genuine confusion in his voice.
Maku paused mid-movement and looked at him oddly. His eyes lingered for a second longer than necessary, as if reassessing Finster from the ground up. Then a slow smile formed.
"I knew it," Maku said lightly. "You're more interesting than you look."
Finster blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"