"LQCT DT—"
His forearms pushed him up from the bed of sweat he believed to be the abyss trying to swallow him. He checked his chest and neck; nothing was out of the ordinary except for the dampness of his skin.
But would a month of repeated irregularities, every day, eventually be classified as ordinary?
The receiver of these nighttime visits would certainly answer "No" by default, for he denied their very existence. Still, he picked himself up from his sloth and trudged to fulfill the social contract he had set for himself.
He was a man dressed meticulously in brown, smooth and without scratches. His hair had mostly grayed, but vigor remained present in his amber eyes. Good for a man in his sixties.
He stood in a room similar to the one in his first semester: seats and desks arranged on rising steps. Yet, the scale was vastly different. The chamber itself was physically larger, and with the roster halved to thirty students, the available space for each individual had expanded exponentially.
The desks were rounded, handcrafted by artisans, a meter across and a half-meter deep. Another half-meter separated desk from desk, creating ample empty space for movement.
"Welcome to Semester Two in the Honor Class. I see that there are some new faces, so I'll reintroduce myself. I am Ludolf Clive, one of the Head Instructors at the Academy, and I will be your primary instructor in every class outside of Academics for the next four years," the man announced.
"Well? Introduce yourselves. We'll start with you, our most prized student."
Who is he referring to? He isn't using his finger to point, or even his eyes.
Head Instructor Vigo would never act like this…
Five hundred milliseconds passed, and Clive's eyes made it a quarter around the room.
Placing an open palm onto the polished table at the front, Arthur stood straight and finished the scan of the room that Clive began.
"Cedric Drevayne, Continuing Student; Rank One. I look forward to the next four years we'll be spending together."
This is what he would say, right? I needed to assert my superiority to them, but maybe I should add some depth as well.
As he lowered himself back into his cushioned seat, all watched as he displayed a false weakness of sorrow—or at least what he believed to be false. That motion somehow made the room fall quieter. Those who witnessed death themselves were touched at their heart; the nobles that made up the majority of the room even felt their own sort of empathy.
There were two, however, who were not affected in the way he had hoped: one of great familiarity with this trick, and another who seemed to not have heard him at all, buried deep in her limbo between dreams and reality.
"Continue on, Continuing Students," Clive ordered.
"Vicktor Vulivar, Continuing Student, Rank Nine," the boy declared, emphasizing the last word with a spiteful look.
And they continued, stating their family names, exam status, and class rank. The contents of their speech were so meaningless and repetitive that little would change if it was not said at all. The wise man seemed to know this as well, and his eyes did not leave the book whose page he turned every twenty-or-so seconds.
However, after another page turned with no new voice, he placed a brownish-red stick in the inner margin of the book.
"I counted twenty-five."
His eyes moved with precision around the room. "Five new students? The Academy is usually not so wrong on scouting talents. You'll find that I hate to waste words."
"Reto Hay, New Student, Rank Thirty." The boy sat down as quickly as he got up.
"Alice Noctiliene," she said from above in a melodious voice, tucking her long, straight hair delicately behind her softly curved ears. "Incoming Student, Rank Eleven."
She turned to the direction where the most students took residence and bowed twenty degrees from upright.
Then, another stood. He looked around and spoke no word until all eyes looked to him.
What is he doing? I know we planned to humble the kids in the Honor Class, but surely he doesn't mean to make enemies of the entire class on the first day!
"Derrick Dunwell, Incoming Student, Rank Four."
He lifted his lips into a warm smile. "I hope to become friends with you all."
Arthur did nothing but feel the chill creep slowly down his back; Derrick was looking fixedly, directly at him. A swallow of spit morphed into a smile and a wave.
Has he really figured me out? Already?
But why does he look so antagonistic? He knows that I would never fall for such silly provocations.
That's not it; no.
"Are we going to talk about how you're Rank Sixteen?"
Huh?
Arthur's head turned left, eyes glancing upwards at a student sitting in a row behind him.
"I did a lot better in the midterm than I thought; my rank rose a whole ten places!" another said.
Arthur turned to his right to see it. Then once more as another voice chatted, before the rest of the room began contributing to the murmuring. He thought it best to leave it at that.
So this is the culture of the Honor Class; it's exactly what we imagined it as, Derrick: Ignorant children engaging away in social conversation, with no regards to mannerisms, respect, or efficiency.
They're all just a waste of talent; it's clear why ranks two, three, and four belong to new students—but I can still make use of them.
I must say: I am intrigued at who those new Rank Two and Three are. I didn't think there was anyone better than Derrick in our generation that wasn't already in the Honor Class.
Clive knocked the ground with his cane—Tap-tap—and the seated turned their bodies straight at once.
"It appears Rank Three has just left the Academy," Clive said.
What a shame. Well, I guess that confirms he is some kind of high-aristocrat if he's able to come and go as he pleases. We've been in the air for more than a day though, so why does he look like this is the first time he has heard of it as well?
Could he have jumped?
Arthur imagined looking at himself through a mirror, shaking his head at the ridiculous thought. No, there's no way that can be it.
"You may resume now, lady–half asleep in the back," Clive called out.
"Thank you, Mr. Clive!" A voice sparked from the back of the room at a decibel rivaling Clive's.