After the orientation, I made my way toward Block-13 — the building designated for my dorm and classroom.
The academy buzzed with energy. First-year students laughed, shouted, and clung to their newly formed cliques like lifelines. I didn't join them.
I wasn't surprised when I was placed in the bottom class: Class 1-E. It made sense. I didn't stand out. My test scores were average at best. My admission was probably a fluke — a clerical error no one bothered to correct. And honestly, I didn't mind that.
Block-13 towered above the courtyard. Its halls were split between homeroom classes and dorms for first-year students, from Class 1-A through 1-E.
I headed for Room 102 — my assigned dorm. It was surprisingly spacious. A single bedroom. A desk. A small cabinet for clothes. Nothing flashy. Nothing cold, either. Just quiet. Which, for now, was enough.
After settling into my dorm, I made my way downstairs to my classroom — Class 1-E. I stopped in front of the door. This was it. The beginning of my time at Henokai Academy.
I reached for the handle and slowly pushed the door open.
The first thing my eyes landed on wasn't a teacher or empty seats. It was chaos.
A wild-looking boy with scars running down his cheek was mid-argument with someone — and to my surprise, it was the same vulgar guy I had seen earlier at the station. The one with the sharp glare and short temper. To think he ended up in Class 1-E. Of course he did.
The rest of the class reacted to the argument in their own ways. Some students ignored it entirely, as if chaos was already routine. One girl flinched and sank into her seat, clearly rattled by the shouting. And then… someone approached me.
A girl — tall, with long crimson hair that spilled past her shoulders like blood. Her expression was polite, but something in her smile felt off. It didn't reach her eyes. It was the kind of smile that could cut you if you weren't careful.
"Hey! You're a new student too, right? It's wonderful to meet you," she said brightly — too brightly — as if rehearsing it in front of a mirror.
I wasn't sure what she wanted, but I nodded slightly. "Yeah," I replied, keeping my tone neutral.
She tilted her head, watching me with unreadable eyes. "Oh, come on. Don't be so stiff. It's our first day — try to enjoy it."
I didn't answer. Her energy felt like a trap, and I had no intention of stepping into it so easily.
She leaned forward, her face just a little too close to mine — curious eyes peering under my fringe and locking onto my eyepatch. "Your eyepatch… it's interesting," she said, her tone playful but edged with something colder. "Are you, like, a gangster or something? How'd you lose your eye?"
I stayed quiet for a moment. Her question wasn't surprising, but I still didn't feel like offering her — or anyone — the real story. "I'd rather not share the details," I said calmly, trying to move past her and step into the classroom.
But before I could, her arm shot out and blocked my path — palm flat against the doorframe. Not aggressive… but firm.
She smiled again, that same uncanny curve of her lips. "My name is Monica Liona. What's yours?"
Behind us, the shouting between the two boys in class was escalating — loud enough that a fight was just seconds away.
I sighed inwardly, then answered, "Shiebe Zackaria."
Her expression changed ever so slightly, like she was filing the name away in her head — categorizing me. "Shiebe," she repeated, amused. "Cool name."
The air in the room was moments from detonation. The scarred boy shoved a desk aside, metal scraping harshly across the floor. His voice roared, but it was lost under the escalating noise. The vulgar guy from the station cracked his knuckles, stepping forward, eyes burning like coals. You could almost feel the first punch coming.
Monica leaned back, still smirking, clearly enjoying the chaos. "This should be fun," she whispered.
But before fists could fly—
Click.
The sound of polished dress shoes echoed across the classroom like a blade being drawn. Cold, sharp, absolute. A presence stepped in behind us — calm, commanding… impossible to ignore.
"Enough." The voice was stern. Smooth. The kind that didn't need to shout to demand obedience.
I turned slightly, just enough to glance over my shoulder. He looked like someone out of a high-budget film — sharply dressed in a fitted black suit, tall, lean frame, and perfectly styled dark hair that gleamed under the classroom lights. Handsome in a way that would make half the school swoon and the other half boil with envy.
The classroom fell completely silent. The tension drained in an instant, replaced by a quiet that was somehow even heavier.
Monica stepped back and folded her arms, playing it cool. "Are you our teacher?" she asked.
He didn't look at her as he answered. "Correct. Mr. Zareth. I'll be your homeroom teacher and core instructor for this semester." He walked into the classroom like it belonged to him.
The vulgar boy scoffed, muttering under his breath before suddenly barking— "Fuck this school and the shitty people that come with it!"
The scarred boy's smirk twisted into something more… unhinged. His voice dripped with madness. "Maybe you should drop out. Someone as weak as you'll never make it. Might as well serve as my personal slave until you die! HAH! HAHAAHAHAA!" His laugh echoed off the walls like nails on glass.
The vulgar boy's outburst still echoed faintly in the silent room when Mr. Zareth raised one hand, his fingers still wrapped loosely around the sleek black tablet he held. Without even glancing at the screen, he spoke— "Ken Kazaukai."
Ken flinched like he'd been struck. "Huh? How the hell do you—?"
"And you—Natsuki Skyward."
Natsuki's smirk vanished. His crazed eyes narrowed, calculating.
Zareth finally looked up, locking eyes with both of them. Calm, precise, and terrifyingly collected. "This is your only warning." His voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. Every syllable landed with the weight of a hammer. "Disrupt my class again, and I'll make sure neither of you ever step foot in this academy again. Not as students. Not even as janitors."
Ken gritted his teeth, fists clenched. "…Tch."
Natsuki tilted his head, still half-smiling, but he didn't say a word.
Zareth slid his tablet under one arm and continued walking to the front of the room. "Now take your seats. I won't repeat myself."
No one dared challenge him. Chairs scraped against the floor as the two troublemakers—grudgingly—complied. The room still buzzed with unspoken tension, but now it was tamed. Caged.
Zareth turned to face us once more. "Welcome to Class 1-E," he said, with the faintest ghost of a smile.
As I followed Monica to open seats near the middle of the room, my mind stayed locked on Mr. Zareth's voice. The calm precision. The way even maniacs like Ken and Natsuki shut their mouths when he spoke. That kind of control wasn't normal.
Monica sat beside me, crossing her legs like this was all entertainment. I sat quietly, letting my eyes drift across the room.
Ten students total.
Ken slouched with his arms crossed, scowling like a cornered animal. Natsuki leaned forward at his desk, still grinning like he knew something we didn't. The rest… quiet. Uneasy. Eyes lowered or flicking between the stronger personalities like prey waiting for the lion to pick its target.
This is Class 1-E. The lowest of the low. And yet… somehow, I didn't feel disappointed. If anything, I was… intrigued.
In a class full of volatile strangers, with a teacher who held the room like a general, and a girl next to me who smiled like she could poison someone and laugh while doing it— It seems…kinda fun.
Mr. Zareth turned to face the entire class, his voice calm but carrying an undeniable weight. "Welcome to Henokai Academy, Class 1-E. I am your homeroom teacher, Mr. Zareth. Before we begin, I want to make one thing clear — this school is unlike any other."
He paced slowly, eyes sweeping across the students. He tapped a few times on his tablet, and the classroom lights dimmed. A holographic display emerged from the board behind him — five letters appeared in bold gold text: E - D - C - B - A.
"The school functions under a class hierarchy system," Zareth continued. "You are all currently in Class 1-E, the lowest of the five. Classes do not shift in position — if you're in Class 1-E, you'll stay there for the remainder of your first year. The points you earn can change the meaning of your class, though."
Ken muttered something under his breath. Zareth ignored him.
He paused, letting the silence grow heavy. "Henokai Academy is more than just a school. It's an experiment. A training ground designed to forge warriors who can survive and dominate."
The room tensed.
"You will face challenges beyond academics. Some will test your strength, others your mind. And some... will test your very will to live. Students will be tasked with expelling others — by force, by strategy, even by lethal means."
Whispers broke out, but Mr. Zareth raised his hand.
"This is all part of the terms and conditions you agreed to upon enrollment. Survival is the ultimate goal. Those who endure all three years, alive and standing, become unstoppable."
As the words sank in, my mind drifted back. The killing clause had been buried deep in the terms and conditions. I'd skimmed over it at the time, not really believing it could be real. But here we were. All of us — willing or not — preparing to become murderers for our own reasons. For some, it was power. For others, revenge. I just wanted to find something... anything... that made this boring, empty life worth living. I glanced around the room. In this crucible, maybe I'd finally find my purpose.
Zareth stood tall at the front of the class, hands clasped behind his back, his voice firm but not unkind. "Make no mistake — this school will break most of you. You'll be challenged physically, mentally, morally. Some of you won't last long."
He let that hang in the air.
"But I will be your guide through it all. Your instructor. Your judge. Your executioner, if it comes to that."
A sharp breath passed through the room. Even Monica's smile faded slightly.
Zareth's eyes narrowed, glinting with something almost proud — or maybe dangerous. "But if you want to survive… truly survive… you'll need to do something that many here will find harder than anything else."
He pointed at them all. "You'll need to work together. As a class."
The silence that followed was cold. Uneasy.
Ten strangers. Some arrogant, some broken, some unreadable. And yet, we were supposed to become a team. Class 1-E.
This… is where it begins.
The room fell still. The hum of overhead lights, the faint tapping of someone's foot, the slow creak of a chair shifting — that was all that filled the silence.
Mr. Zareth stood at the front with the same calm, calculated air he always had. "You may take this time to get acquainted with one another," he said, his voice firm yet unbothered. "There are no formal lessons today — only homeroom. Make good use of it."
With that, he stepped toward the door, hands in his coat pockets. "And remember," he added before leaving, "the sooner you learn to function as a class, the higher your chances of survival."
The door clicked shut behind him. A moment of stillness. Then silence. Everyone just sat there, waiting. Watching. No one spoke.
The class was… unique, to say the least. Looking around, it was easy to tell this wasn't going to be some happy-go-lucky group project team. Personalities clashed just by existing in the same room. "Getting along" felt like an overambitious dream.
"So?" Monica's voice broke through my thoughts like a scalpel. "What do you think of him?"
I blinked. "Who?"
She rolled her eyes and leaned closer. "Mr. Zareth, obviously."
Zareth. Yeah. He definitely left an impression. A man who didn't need to raise his voice to dominate a room — that alone said a lot.
"A man who knows what his job is and how to get it done," I said flatly.
Monica frowned. "You're so boring… quit talking like that! You sound like a government press release."
I sighed, brushing off the jab. Seemed like we were still the only ones whispering. Not surprising. Most of the class sat still, guarded. Tension still lingered from earlier.
To my left sat a girl with a hood draped low over her face — the same one who flinched during the earlier scuffle. Quiet. Withdrawn. Probably trying to disappear.
Ahead of me, a male student with square glasses sat perfectly upright, his back ramrod straight like he was being graded just for posture.
I didn't dare glance behind me. Socializing was one thing; awkward eye contact with a stranger? No thanks.
Monica, on the other hand, had no such qualms. Her eyes darted casually around the room, collecting information like it was a game.
Toward the front, Ken sat by the window — arms folded, head tilted, a storm quietly building behind his eyes. One seat behind him lounged Natsuki, his expression unreadable, but that crazy gleam hadn't left his eye.
Yeah. This was going to be interesting.
Suddenly, the silence cracked like glass.
Monica stood from her seat with a grin that could only mean trouble. "Eh?" I blinked at her. "What are you doing?"
She clapped her hands together dramatically and turned to face the rest of the room. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it? This awkward silence is unbearable. I think it'd be best if we all introduced ourselves!" Her voice was loud — not yelling, but bold enough to demand attention.
No one replied. Not immediately, anyway. A few glances were exchanged. Ken groaned quietly.
Monica continued, unbothered. "I'll go first then!" She placed a hand on her chest, smiling sweetly — too sweetly. "I'm Monica Liona. I hope we'll all get along in the coming years!"
Some students raised their brows, some stayed completely still. The atmosphere didn't exactly warm, but it shifted — slightly.
I slouched in my seat and muttered under my breath, "Bold of her to take the lead like this…" But even I couldn't deny it: she'd opened the floodgates.
To my surprise, someone actually responded.
"Heh…" A low chuckle came from the front. It was Natsuki Skyward — the boy with the scarred face and unpredictable eyes. He leaned back in his chair, his feet kicked up on the desk like he owned the place. "I like that idea," he said, voice raspy but weirdly amused. "Why not? We're all trapped in this freak show together, right?" He stood up without warning — his movements sharp, almost twitchy — and spread his arms as if presenting himself to an audience. "I'm Natsuki Skyward! The one and only Child of War!" He gave a grin that was far too wide to be comforting. "People like to call me crazy — and they're not wrong. Just don't get in my way, and I won't be forced to turn this place into a battlefield. That's fair, right?"
A silence followed — a thick one.
The tension from Natsuki's introduction still lingered in the air, but someone else stood up next — the boy with glasses sitting in front of me. He adjusted them with a quiet confidence, pushing them up the bridge of his nose as he rose to his feet. His presence was the opposite of Natsuki's — calm, calculated, and strangely refined. There was no theatrics, no exaggerated smile. Just composure. "My name is Maz Yuvana," he said, voice smooth and steady. "If you've heard of me, I'm not surprised. I've published three tactical theory essays before the age of fifteen and was invited to Henokai for my academic talents as well as my execution potential."
Some students blinked. Others glanced at one another.
"While many of you may seek power or excitement, I'm here to sharpen my mind and seek something greater — understanding. Of this system, of this academy, and of each of you." He gave a light, courteous nod to the class. "I look forward to learning from you… even if it's through your mistakes." Then he sat down quietly, as if he hadn't just declared intellectual dominance over the entire room.
I leaned back slightly in my chair, already certain — this guy was dangerous in a completely different way than Natsuki. "Sharp," I muttered under my breath.
After Maz sat down, the room seemed to hold its breath again. Then, a soft but confident voice broke the silence. A girl stood slowly, her eyes scanning the class with a gentle intensity. She wasn't flashy or loud like Natsuki, nor cold and calculating like Maz. Instead, there was something almost otherworldly about her. "My name is Liliana Serika," she said, her voice calm yet filled with purpose. "Humanity is fragile — and divided. If we don't come together, we will fall. I'm here to bring people together, to find unity in chaos." Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. "I believe that true strength lies not only in power or skill, but in understanding one another." She gave a small, warm smile, then quietly sat back down. I caught Monica glancing at her, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "She's different," Monica whispered. "I like her." I nodded slightly, feeling a strange sense of respect toward Liliana's quiet conviction.
The room remained still for a moment after Liliana's introduction. Then, another stood up with sharp eyes that seemed to cut through the silence.
"I'm Sora Halden," she said, her voice steady and commanding. "Don't give up. Because if you do, I'll have no choice but to leave you behind." Her words weren't just encouragement — they carried the weight of expectation, a demand for strength and resilience. Without another word, she sat down, leaving a quiet tension hanging in the air.
The tension in the room thickened, and just as it began to settle, Ken Kazaukai slammed his fist on the desk, making everyone jump. "Enough of this touchy-feely bullshit!" he spat, glaring around the room with blazing eyes. He stood up, muscles tensing, his voice dripping with venom. "I'm Ken Kazaukai. I don't care about making friends or playing nice. I'm here to survive, and if you're in my way, you'd better watch yourself." His words hung heavy in the air like a challenge. He sneered in my direction, and I caught the sharp edge in his gaze — the kind that warned he was not to be underestimated. With a heavy scowl, he slammed back into his seat.
The room quieted again, the air tense after Ken's outburst. Then, from near the back, a steady voice broke through.
"I'll go next," said a tall girl with a proud posture and sharp eyes that seemed to cut right through the noise. She stepped forward gracefully, a knight's calm confidence in every move. "I'm Mona Liona."
A cold realization settled over me. The last name hit me like a punch. Could she really be…?
Before I could voice any internal thoughts, she continued, "I'm not like my sister. I fight for freedom, not manipulation." Her gaze locked on mine for a brief moment — a silent challenge or maybe a warning. Either way, I knew this was someone I couldn't ignore. The class shifted uncomfortably at her words. Monica's smirk had vanished, replaced by a flicker of something unreadable. I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of that moment. Mona wasn't just any student—she carried a history, a rivalry maybe, and that made things complicated. Still, I nodded slightly. "I see."
Mona returned to her seat with a confident stride, ignoring the whispers that rippled around the room. The tension in 1-E thickened, but I couldn't help feeling a strange curiosity about her—and what it meant for the time ahead.
As Mona sat down, the quiet was broken by a soft, tentative voice from my right. "I'm Zaneff Feriona," she said, pulling back the hood that had hidden her face. Her light blue eyes met mine briefly before she looked down again, cheeks flushed with nervousness. She then sat down.
Before anyone else could speak, a sharp voice cut through the room.
"I'm Eros Dioma," he said, standing tall with a glare that seemed to challenge anyone who dared meet his eyes. His dark hair fell just above his piercing gaze, and there was a cold edge to his presence that made it clear he wasn't here to make friends. "I'm here to win. Not to play games or waste time." His tone was blunt, almost harsh, and it sent a ripple through the class. I could feel the tension rise as everyone sized him up, wondering if this was someone to fear or simply ignore.
When it came to my turn, I kept my voice calm and steady, betraying none of the turmoil inside. "I'm Shiebe Zackaria," I said simply.
There was no need for grand speeches or false bravado. I didn't need to prove anything — not here, not now. My eyes scanned the room briefly, taking in the faces of my classmates. Each one had their own fire, their own reasons for being here.
Each of us had spoken. Not much—some with bravado, some with hesitation, and some with malice barely hidden beneath the surface.
Ten students. Ten completely different people. All trapped in the same room.
Ken let out a loud yawn before slouching back in his seat. Natsuki mumbled something to himself and chuckled darkly. Liliana had already returned to quietly praying—if that's what she was doing. And Monica? She was watching me again with that unreadable grin of hers.
Mr. Zareth hadn't returned yet, but I could already tell… this wasn't going to be an ordinary school experience.
I glanced around at my classmates once more. Something about this place stirred something inside me. A purpose I didn't quite understand yet.