บท 36: 1st Year Practical Sparring Part 1
Usually, the students of Class C would chat casually while seated in their assigned places, but today the atmosphere was different. The whole class was unusually noisy and restless.
As George entered the classroom, he noticed every student stretching and running around, trying to loosen up their muscles and prepare for something big. Unlike the rest of them, George had his nose buried in a book about wrestling as he strolled up to his seat.
Jame, on the other hand, wasn't stretching or talking with anyone. As usual, he was scribbling furiously in his notebook, words that looked like gibberish flowing across the page.
George sat down next to Jame and cast a quick glance at Akshar's seat, which was empty.
He smiled, 'Well, at least I don't have to deal with that prick today.'
Just as he began reading again, basking in the small relief, the sudden hush of the class pulled him out of his book. The silence was palpable, and George followed everyone's gaze to the door.
He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. 'No... Not today.'
Akshar walked in. Known throughout the class as "the crap of Class C," his entrance was anything but welcome. Since the barbarian's embarrassing incident during the speech, the class had been the target of ridicule from the entire academy. Never before had such a disruption occurred, and Akshar managed to set a record only he might repeat.
"He probably got dropped on his head as an infant," a student nearby whispered, followed by a short laugh. But the joke died quickly as Akshar grabbed the poor kid by the collar with one massive hand and yanked him off his feet.
"Say that… to my FACE!" Akshar bellowed, his saliva spraying as the student paled in fear as he was still angry he got knocked out by someone he didn't even know just now.
With a swift toss, Akshar sent the kid crashing to the floor, then started walking up the stairs toward George's row.
As Akshar's heavy footsteps approached, George stood up, eyes locked on the barbarian. "Trust me, you don't want to do this. I've already beaten you once, and you were humiliated. Don't make me do it again. You've ruined ninety-nine percent of your reputation already, and if you want to keep the last one percent, I suggest you sit down."
Akshar closed the gap between them, leaning in close enough for George to feel his breath. In a low, menacing whisper, Akshar growled, "You beat me with weapons. But this time, I'll beat you with my HANDS."
A shiver nearly ran through George's spine, but he forced it back down, gripping his hands tightly to maintain his composure.
The tense moment was interrupted as the Instructor walked in. "Alrighty, is everyone ready yet?"
Nods filled the room, though everyone was still watching Akshar and George's tense standoff.
"You'll be choosing three people to spar against, one by one, of course—"
"I will fight this RAT!" Akshar yelled, cutting off the instructor and pointing at George.
The instructor narrowed his eyes. "Hey, retard, I know you're on the spectrum, but could you at least let me finish?"
The class snickered under their breath. It was no secret that Class C had become infamous as the group that had tried to attack the Wizard of Oz, and the instructor's patience was running thin.
With a sigh, the instructor rubbed his temples. "Dang it... Just follow me." He gestured for the class to line up and led them out of the room.
As they walked, George felt Akshar's eyes burning into his back. The intensity of the stare was unmistakable, and George didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
The line stopped in front of a large wooden door with the name etched onto it: **Academy Martial Hall**.
"Class-A and Class-B have already completed their sparring sessions, so I expect every one of you to keep this place clean. Or else." The instructor's tone left no room for disobedience as he pushed open the door.
The Martial Hall was enormous, and as the students stepped in, their faces filled with awe.
The hall, though appearing to be made of wood, was soft underfoot like a mat. George bent down, touching the floor—it felt like wood, had the texture of wood, but was somehow soft enough to absorb impact.
"The academy bought this special wood from the East. And one more time, keep this place clean. If you don't, not even the forces of heaven will save you from the headmasters, that, I can guarantee." The instructor's words were a final warning.
"Alright, choose your first opponent." He gave the go-ahead, and the students began pairing off quickly.
The weaker students rushed to pair with each other, not wanting to face anyone too strong and risk humiliation.
"YOU!" Akshar's booming voice cut through the room as he pointed directly at George. "I FIGHT YOU NOW!"
George shook his head, a smirk forming on his lips. "It's just sparring, Akshar. And no, I'm not going to fight you now."
"What, are you a coward?" Akshar's challenge drew the attention of the other students.
George's smirk widened. "Coward? No, no. You're misunderstanding something. I'm not going to fight you now, but I'll spar with you as my third opponent."
Akshar grunted but nodded, stomping off to pair with another unfortunate student.
George, meanwhile, glanced around the hall and spotted Jame standing alone in the corner, still clutching his notebook and pen. "Dude, do you ever put that notebook down?"
Jame shook his head, unfazed. "One day, this notebook will make me rich."
"Yeah, whatever." George rolled his eyes. "Look, here's the deal. You've got no one else to spar with, and I'm not about to let you get pummeled by someone else. How about this—you spar with me, and I'll make sure you lose with as little pain as possible. Sound good?"
Jame, raising an eyebrow but nodding, agreed. "Deal."
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