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### Chapter 103: Showtime
🕑 Added 2025-07-25 13:36:01 +0000 UTCThe twins exchanged loaded glances, disbelief written across their faces. Sure, early admissions happened—but starting halfway through the academic year? That was unheard of.
Russell could practically see the gears turning in their heads. Either he was some bigwig's spoiled brat who'd waltzed in through the back door, or he was talented enough to make Northgate University bend its own rules. After that monstrous entrance display, they were clearly leaning toward the latter.
"Well then," Heath said, his entire demeanor shifting from cautious to eager. "Welcome to Northgate! Let me see that address again."
Keith read over his brother's shoulder, his thin frame practically vibrating with excitement. "Cardmaking Department, Class of 2024... Class 1."
"That's our class!" Heath exclaimed, then caught himself. "I mean—what are the odds?"
At the door to Classroom 1, Russell turned to his impromptu guides. "Thanks for showing me the way."
"No problem!" Heath waved off the gratitude. "We were heading here anyway. Besides, we're classmates now!"
Keith nodded silently, though Russell caught the curious gleam in his eyes.
The trio entered to find several students already seated, early birds who preferred claiming their preferred spots. The moment they saw the twins with an unfamiliar face, the questions started.
"Who's the new guy?"
"Heath, Keith, what's going on?"
Heath opened his mouth, closed it, then scratched his head sheepishly. "It's... complicated. Ms. Hazel will probably explain when she gets here."
"You think she'll actually explain?" Keith's dry tone cut through his brother's optimism.
"Well..." Heath deflated slightly. "Good point."
Ms. Hazel? Russell's stomach dropped. No. There's no way they'd let someone with severe social anxiety work as a counselor. Then again, if she was already teaching at Northgate, adding counselor duties wouldn't be that much of a stretch. It wasn't exactly a high-interaction job.
As nine o'clock approached, more students filtered in, each doing a double-take at Russell's presence. The whispers grew louder, speculation running wild.
Then, precisely as the clock struck nine, a familiar figure glided into the room. Turtleneck sweater, intellectual air, and an expression that suggested she'd rather be anywhere else.
Of course it's her. Russell buried his face in his hands.
Hazel's eyes found him immediately, lighting up with something that might have been excitement on anyone else. Her lips parted as if to speak, then pressed together in a thin line.
"Russell," Heath whispered urgently, "don't let Ms. Hazel's appearance fool you. She's actually really nice! Super generous with leave approvals—"
But Russell was already standing, cutting through the awkward silence like a blade.
Every eye in the room tracked his movement as he walked to the front. "Senior Sister, shall I introduce myself?"
The classroom erupted in confused murmurs. Senior Sister? What senior sister?
Before anyone could process that bombshell, Russell turned to face the class with easy confidence. "Hello everyone. I'm Russell, from New Metro. I'm grateful to Northgate University for this opportunity. Starting today, I'm your classmate. Please take care of me."
The silence that followed was deafening. Then, like a dam breaking, the whispers flooded back.
"A transfer student?" "Whose kid is he?" "This is insane—I've never seen anything like this!"
Russell returned to his seat, unperturbed by the storm of speculation.
"Russell," Heath leaned in, voice pitched low, "what did you mean by 'Senior Sister'?"
"Exactly what it sounds like." Russell's shrug was casual. "Director Blake Whitmore is my teacher."
Heath's jaw dropped. "WHAT?!"
One Day Later
News traveled fast in the Cardmaking Department. By Tuesday morning, everyone knew Russell was Blake Whitmore's newest disciple, which explained both his unusual admission and his relationship with their socially anxious counselor.
Standing at the base of the mountain, Russell gazed up at the winding path. "So our practical class is held up there?"
The Aethelgard campus was unique among universities, with actual mountains incorporated into its grounds. The Cardmaking Department had claimed one entirely for their use.
"Not just on the mountain," Heath corrected, puffing out his chest with pride. "The entire mountain is our classroom."
Keith, ever practical, added, "Though first-years mostly stick to the summit. We're not quite ready to reshape entire mountainsides yet."
Russell filed that information away. From his observations, most first-years were bronze-level, with only a handful reaching silver. Heath himself was apparently close to breaking through, which seemed to be the norm for ambitious students.
"Come on," Keith called, summoning a massive mastiff that looked more bear than dog. "Class starts in five minutes."
Russell watched him scramble onto the creature's back before calling forth Pidgeot. The symbiote-enhanced bird drew appreciative stares as they ascended.
At the summit, Russell finally understood how someone with Hazel's condition managed practical instruction. She stood beside a massive blackboard, letting her writing do the talking:
[A Cardmaker's Method of Self-Protection in Wild Battle]
"Oh, shit." Keith's face went pale. "Why today?"
"What's wrong with this topic?" Russell asked, noting similar expressions of dread on other students' faces.
"This exercise teaches survival in real combat situations," Heath explained, looking queasy. "The catch? We can't use any cards that act independently. Just us versus..."
A figure materialized beside Hazel—a middle-aged man in traditional Taoist robes, fingers already weaving symbols in the air. With a gesture, he summoned a Yellow Turban Warrior that made the ones at Hazel's manor look like children's toys. This one radiated controlled violence.
The warrior strode to the center of the clearing, muscles rippling beneath its yellow garb. "Who will go first?"
The summit fell silent. Students suddenly found the ground, the sky, their shoes—anything but the warrior—fascinating.
Finally, a voice piped up from the crowd. "Ms. Hazel, why don't we let Russell go first? We're all curious about his capabilities."
And there it is. Russell felt every eye turn to him, could practically taste their skepticism. They thought he was a connected rich kid playing at being a cardmaker. They hadn't considered why someone like Blake Whitmore would accept him as a disciple.
Hazel's gaze found his, questioning.
Russell sighed and stepped forward. "Fine. I'll go first."
The crowd parted, creating a rough circle with him and the warrior at its center. Students jostled for the best viewing positions, phones discretely appearing to record what they expected to be a humiliating beatdown.
The Yellow Turban Warrior bowed deeply. "I apologize for the offense, young master."
So it recognizes me through Hazel, Russell noted. Doesn't mean it'll hold back.
The warrior vanished.
One heartbeat.
The reappearance came with a thunderous fist already carving through the air toward Russell's face, fast enough to blur, strong enough to shatter stone.
Time seemed to slow.
Then two voices spoke in perfect synchronization—one calm and controlled, the other gleefully unhinged:
"I've really been underestimated, Senior Sister."
The mountaintop held its breath, waiting to see what would happen when that devastating fist made contact with the mysterious new student.
(End of Chapter 103)
Comments
Raphael Espinoza Angulo
Sentry
Raphael Espinoza Angulo
I wonder if at some point he will consider creating Knull, Sentey or a celestial.
