The classroom was exactly what I expected and nothing more.
Twenty desks arranged in a perfect grid. Four rows of five. A blank whiteboard dominated the front wall, flanked by a television screen that probably hadn't displayed anything interesting since its installation. Lockers lined the back. The faint smell of floor wax hung in the air like the ghost of a janitor's overtime.
Home sweet home.
I stood in the doorway and surveyed the battlefield. Because that's what this was. Every classroom in every school across the world operated on the same fundamental principles of territory and hierarchy. The question wasn't who you were.
The question was where you sat.
Front row was for the try-hards. The kids who needed teachers to notice them, whether because they genuinely cared about education or because they'd been conditioned to believe proximity to authority equaled success. Either way, sitting there was basically painting a target on your forehead that said "please call on me for every question."
Hard pass.
Middle rows were a social kill box. You couldn't zone out without someone noticing. You couldn't observe without being observed. It was the worst of both worlds.
Which left the back row.
My eyes found it immediately. The corner seat near the window. The holy grail of strategic laziness. Perfect sightlines to the door, the teacher's podium, and every other student in the room. Window access for daydreaming when lectures got boring. Which they would. Because lectures always got boring.
I walked down the aisle, ignoring the handful of students who'd already claimed their territories. A quick glance at the nameplate on the desk confirmed what I'd hoped.
VALENTINE, XAVIER
Someone up there liked me after all.
I dropped my bag next to the desk with a satisfying thud and slid into my seat. The chair was exactly as uncomfortable as institutional furniture should be. I turned my head toward the window and stared at nothing in particular.
The desk in front of mine was already occupied.
I noticed her spine first. It was straight enough to make a ruler jealous. Her uniform was tailored so perfectly it looked like it had been sewn directly onto her body. Forest-green hair cut in a sharp pixie bob. The back of her head radiated an aura of concentrated superiority.
She hadn't acknowledged my existence yet.
Good.
I watched her for a moment longer than I should have.
At least she's nice to look at. In a terrifying, step-on-me kind of way.
Her shoulders shifted slightly, and I caught a glimpse of her profile. Sharp features. Ruby-red eyes. Full lips currently pressed into a thin line of disapproval at something only she was aware of.
Yep. Definitely trouble.
I returned my attention to the window.
The view wasn't spectacular. A courtyard with some trees, a fountain, other buildings in the distance. But it was better than making accidental eye contact with any—
"YO! XAVIER, MY MAN!"
Abdul Johnson arrived at his desk with the subtlety of a controlled demolition. The chair groaned in protest as he threw himself into it, his massive frame somehow making the standard-issue furniture look like dollhouse props.
"Looks like we're neighbors!" This is gonna be a 10/10 year, I can already tell. The vibes in this classroom are immaculate."
"Are they."
"Absolutely! Look at all these potential brothers! So much untapped soul energy!"
I wasn't sure what "soul energy" meant in this context, and I was afraid to ask.
The girl in front of me, the princess with the spine of steel, turned her head just slightly. Not enough to fully face us. Just enough to make her disdain known.
"Must you be so crude?"
Her voice was exactly what I expected. Low. Imperious. The kind of tone that made you feel like you'd tracked mud into Buckingham Palace.
Abdul's grin didn't falter for a second.
"Hm? Did you say something?"
"I said," she repeated, slower this time, as if speaking to a particularly dim child, "must you be so loud? Some of us are trying to collect our thoughts before class begins."
"Oh! My bad, my bad." Abdul lowered his voice to what he probably thought was a whisper. It was still loud enough to be heard across the room. "Anyway, Xavier. Quick question. Since we're gonna be brothers-in-arms and all that."
"What's your type of woman?"
The princess made a disgusted noise. A "tch" that carried more contempt than entire paragraphs of insults.
"Unbelievable," she muttered, turning back to face the front. "Thrown in with animals."
Abdul leaned toward me conspiratorially. "That one's got fire. I respect it."
"You have a death wish."
"Nah, man. I just appreciate strong souls. Even if they're a little prickly on the outside."
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
"So?" Abdul prompted. "The question still stands."
"I don't have a type."
"Everyone's got a type! C'mon, brother. Be real with me. Tall? Short? Tsundere? Kuudere? Big sister energy? Little sister energy? Wait, not that last one, that's weird."
"I like women who don't talk to me before 10 AM."
Abdul's laugh was loud enough to make the princess's shoulders tense.
"That's the funniest thing I've heard all day. You're alright, Xavier. You're definitely alright."
Movement caught my attention across the room.
Belle had entered at some point during Abdul's interrogation. Her ash-blonde hair caught the fluorescent light as she scanned the classroom, purple eyes searching for something. For someone.
Our gazes met.
Her face lit up like someone had flipped a switch. That smile, the one that had trapped me on the bus, appeared in full force. She started weaving through the desks toward my position, clearly intent on invading my carefully constructed fortress of solitude.
Here we go.
I braced for impact.
But then something wonderful happened.
A girl materialized out of nowhere and intercepted Belle with a flying hug that nearly knocked them both over. Red hair whipping through the air, voice pitched at a frequency only dogs and teenage girls could properly appreciate.
"Belle! Oh my god, I didn't know you were in this class too!"
"Aurora! Same! I'm so happy!"
They bounced around each other like excited electrons. And then, because the universe had decided to spare me today, more people appeared.
Cheon Hae-Won drifted over , inserting herself into the conversation with a casual flip of her blonde hair.
Belle was swarmed.
Her own charisma had tackled her at the five-yard line.
A moment of silence for our fallen soldier, lost in the trenches of small talk.
I turned back to the window, a small smile tugging at my lips.
"Hey." Abdul nudged my arm. "You know her?"
"Who?"
"The cute blonde who was looking at you."
"We met on the bus."
"Ah." He nodded sagely. "She's got good energy."
"That's one word for it."
The room continued to fill as more students trickled in. I cataloged them passively, assigning threat levels based on first impressions.
The guy with the spiky blonde hair and red contact lens from the gymnasium took a seat near the middle, still muttering about "ancient prophecies" and "sealed powers." His nervous attendant sat beside him, looking like he wanted to disappear into the floor.
The murder-faced blonde, Lukas, claimed a seat in the opposite corner from mine. Our eyes met briefly across the room. His glare promised violence. Mine promised apathy. We reached an unspoken understanding and looked away.
A guy with messy brown hair and a perpetually hopeful expression tried to start conversations with anyone who would listen. Nobody would listen. He kept trying anyway.
A girl with dark brown hair in a neat braid and red-framed glasses sat near the front, her posture almost as rigid as the princess's. She was already reviewing what looked like a study guide.
And there were others. More faces. More potential complications.
I stopped cataloging.
The final bell rang, a sharp electronic tone that silenced the room's chatter like a guillotine dropping on conversation.
Students scrambled for their seats. Bags hit the floor. Chairs scraped against linoleum. The atmosphere shifted from casual to expectant in the span of seconds.
And then I heard it.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
Every head in the classroom turned toward the door.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
The footsteps stopped right outside.
Silence.
Then the doorknob turned, and the door glided open.
The first thing I noticed was her figure. She was wearing a white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing just enough to be interesting without crossing into inappropriate territory. A tailored black blazer hugged her shoulders. The black pencil skirt she wore was probably regulation length, but the way it fit her hips suggested regulations were merely suggestions.
Dark violet hair was pulled up in a messy bun. Amethyst eyes swept across the room, half-lidded with what could have been boredom or could have been something more dangerous.
She walked to the podium at the front of the room, her heels continuing their rhythmic announcement with each step. A single folder was placed on the surface. Then she turned to face us, leaning one hip against the podium with the casual confidence of someone who had absolutely nothing to prove.
Her gaze moved across the room, assessing each student in turn.
It lingered on me for a fraction of a second.
Then moved on.
"Good morning, Class 1-E."
Her voice was exactly what I expected from someone who looked like that. Low. Husky. Dripping with a world-weary sarcasm that made you feel like she'd already figured out every stupid thing you were going to do and had already decided not to care.
"My name is Isabelle Sinclair. For the next three years, for better or for worse..."
She smiled. It didn't reach her eyes.
"I'll be your homeroom teacher."