Chapitre 28: The Lowest Rung
"So," The instructor, Mathis began, voice low but commanding, "this is Class D. The bottom of the barrel. The scraps."
A ripple of unease spread through the room. Some students exchanged nervous glances; others stared at the floor, their cheeks reddening. The red-haired boy's grin faltered, and even Raine stiffened slightly beside Khalil.
"You're all here because you're weak. Unremarkable. Untalented," Mathis continued, pacing slowly along the front of the room. "The academy didn't put you in Class D because they saw hope in you. They put you here because they saw nothing."
A few students visibly bristled at the words, their fists clenching atop their desks. The timid boy in the back hunched lower in his seat, his bond nuzzling him in silent comfort. Khalil remained silent, his expression unreadable as he listened. Deep down, he couldn't deny the truth in his words.
"I didn't come to this academy," Mathis said, his voice rising slightly, "to waste my time on trash like you. You're the lowest of the low, the forgotten and the failures. Frankly, you don't belong here."
That was the breaking point.
"Take that back!" a voice burst out from the middle of the room. All heads turned to see the red-haired boy standing, his face flushed with anger. "You don't even know us! Who are you to call us failures?"
Another voice joined in, this one from a girl near the front. "Yeah! We earned our place here just like everyone else!"
Mathis stopped pacing and turned to face the class, his lips curling into a cold grin. "Oh? You think earning your place means anything here? In this academy, strength and skill are everything. And you have neither."
The red-haired boy looked ready to argue further, but Mathis raised a hand, silencing him with an imposing glare.
"Let me make one thing clear," Mathis said, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. "I didn't choose to teach you. I was assigned to you. And since I'm stuck with you lot, I'll make sure that by the time I'm done, even the S-Class students will have no choice but to acknowledge you. But…" His grin widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "My training isn't for the weak-hearted. If you don't believe in yourselves or me, or if you're too scared to endure what it takes to rise above your pathetic state, leave now."
The room fell silent. Mathis's challenge hung heavy in the air, daring anyone to move.
Then, slowly, one student stood—a boy with a downcast gaze and trembling hands. Without a word, he walked to the door, his bond trailing behind him with a mournful whimper. Another followed, then another. By the time the door closed behind them, five students had left.
Mathis turned back to the remaining students, his expression cold. "Anyone else?"
No one moved. The tension in the room was palpable, and a few students sucked in sharp breaths, grateful they hadn't stood up. Khalil remained still, his gaze steady on Mathis, who nodded slightly as though satisfied.
"Good," Mathis said, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "For those of you who stayed, remember this: those who walked out just now are expelled. Not just from this class, but from the academy. They weren't fit to be here, and neither are you—yet."
The collective intake of breath was deafening. Expelled? The gravity of the situation hit like a thunderclap, and a heavy silence fell over the room once more.
Mathis's grin faded, replaced by a stern, almost menacing look. "This is your one and only chance to prove you belong here. My training will break you if you're not ready. But if you survive, I'll make sure you're strong enough to stand toe-to-toe with the best this academy has to offer. Do not waste my time. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," a few students murmured, their voices shaky.
"I said, understood?" Mathis barked, his bond letting out a low, menacing growl.
"Yes, sir!" the class echoed louder this time, the fear and determination in their voices unmistakable.
Mathis nodded once, satisfied. "Good. Class begins now."
"Follow me."
The students hesitated only briefly before rising from their desks, the scrape of chairs on the floor echoing through the tension-filled room. No one dared question Mathis further after his declaration about expulsion, though the weight of his words hung heavily in the air. A few students exchanged glances, unsure of what to expect but too afraid to voice their concerns.
Khalil and Raaine silently fell into step with the group as they followed Mathis out of the classroom and down a series of winding corridors. The instructor's boots clacked against the stone floor with an unwavering rhythm, a stark contrast to the nervous shuffling of the students behind him.
Mathis didn't speak, and his silence only heightened the tension. His bond, Ryn, coiled loosely around his arm, sensing the unease in the air. Raine walked just ahead, her sharp blue gaze flicking to Mathis's back every so often, while the red-haired boy from earlier muttered something under his breath, his bond trotting beside him.
They emerged into the open air, and the students blinked against the sudden brightness of the sun. Khalil's breath caught as he took in the sight before him. At first glance, it looked like a stadium—oval-shaped with high stone walls enclosing a massive field.
But on closer inspection, the place was in shambles. Overgrown weeds sprouted from cracks in the stone, and the wide terrain inside was uneven and littered with rocks and debris. Rusted training dummies and splintered wooden poles leaned haphazardly against one another near the far end.
"This," Mathis announced, spreading his arms dramatically, "is your training ground. Class D's very own arena. Fit for the scraps, don't you think?"
The red-haired boy clenched his fists again, but he kept his mouth shut this time. A few other students exchanged uneasy glances. Khalil's gaze swept over the terrain, noting the faint remnants of old markings on the ground—likely from past drills or formations. It was clear this place had been abandoned for a long time. Didn't the previous D class use this place?
Mathis stopped abruptly and turned to face them. His sharp eyes swept over the group, assessing each one of them with a predatory gleam. Then, he raised his voice to a booming shout.
"LISTEN UP!"
The students immediately straightened, their bonds shifting nervously beside them.
"You're going to run!" Mathis barked, pointing to the wide perimeter of the field. "Around this entire arena. No shortcuts, no slacking. You'll keep going until I tell you to stop. Understood?"
A few students opened their mouths to protest, but one look at Mathis's stony face and the glint in his eyes had them reconsidering. The memory of the five students who had walked out—and been expelled—was fresh in everyone's minds.
No one wanted to be next.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone