Unwanted Attention [1]

Noah's pov:

In a story, there's an unspoken agreement between the writer and the reader. The reader agrees to believe in the story as long as it makes sense within its own world. When a writer shatters that illusion, the readers are rudely dumped out of that illusion. This is why happy endings matter; they provide emotional fulfillment.

But I didn't want a happy ending for my composite novel.

My novel, 'Inhuman Mystery,' is a world full of wars, deaths, and tragedies, leading up to the four cataclysms that were destined to change its course.

Technically speaking...there should be five cataclysms, but for reasons I know not, I never mentioned the first one in my novel.

As the story goes on, many wars are fought, and many people die.

But I wasn't able to finish my novel.

The epilogue I wanted to write was about the end of the world.

Thinking back on it now... maybe it's for the best that I never wrote the epilogue.

Everything I've written in the novel has come true so far.

If I had written the epilogue, it would've sealed the fate of this world, along with my own death here.

But...even if that does happen, I'm not planning to play hero and save the day.

I mean, I could try, but it'd be pointless.

There's no stopping him.

And I pray I never have to face him.

My only goal is to get the hell out of here and back to my own world...although, I'm not even sure if it's possible.

Lately, I've been struggling to keep my cool, trying not to dwell on what happened to my world.

And if I can't find a way back home...I

I don't know...

Sigh!

I checked my watch, the time read 8:35 AM.

"Still got some time before class starts," I muttered to myself.

As I stepped into the classroom, I felt the weight of several eyes land on me.

Most were from girls, their frowns hinted at less than favorable impressions.

Feigning ignorance to their gazes, I walked up to an vacant seat and sat dow— "Excuse me, but could you please sit somewhere else? No offense meant." A girl interjected me before I could even rest my ass.

I checked to see who had called— it was a girl seated to my right. She had an ebony complexion and stunning eyes.

'Isn't she Mist?'

I recognized her as Freya's friend with whom I'd briefly interacted on the first day.

But unlike the cheerful and kind attitude that she showed me the last time, she now wore a critical frown.

"Why should-"

"Move."

Another command came from behind before I could finish my question.

I turned to see a girl with an angular face, black hair, and piercing violet eyes. Despite her admirable figure, her eyes were filled with disdain.

'Freya Fretel.'

I quickly connected the dots regarding the strange situation and a frown etched itself on my face. Sigh...

Not wanting to create a scene, I got up from the seat and moved to another vacant one by the window.

I even felt the judgmental stares of some students from time to time.

"Tsk!Fucking annoying."

I could somewhat understand why Freya disliked me. But if things continued this way, I might end up getting blacklisted in the class due to my reputation.

***

"Alright, attendance is done. Everyone, head to the training ground!" commanded Professor Riya.

In a world full of magic, one'd think science wouldn't have much place, right? Wrong.

The truth is, science plays a huge role, especially when it comes to the recovery of troops, which can really turn the tide in battle. That's why advancements in medical science was crucial.

Healing magic has its limits. A healer can fix a cut or a bruise, but cancer? That's beyond them.

Plus, only the supporter class can learn healing magic. Unlike other classes that might aim for careers in the central union, as hunters, or as heroes, supporters often pursue careers in medicine-magicology, a blend of science and magic. Those who heal patients with magic are called synthecists.

Synthecists are also needed on the battlefield and are always in high demand.

Sophia Bonaparte was one such girl with the rare support class.

Though her main talent lay in support magic, she wielded a sword—a fighter's choice—training under Instructor Davis.

But she couldn't help but notice Emily Reed from time to time.

Emily was a standout first-year student, ranking high at number five. Her genius with archery made her a powerhouse among the first years.

Though Sophia and Emily were friends in preschool, Sophia felt a growing distance between them since joining the academy, mainly due to their difference in skill.

But her thoughts were quickly interrupted when she noticed some guys ogling at Emily from a distance.

They were a bunch of sword trainees under the sword Instructor Yilin, likely members of the infamous 'Emily fan club'.

"These pervs," Sophia muttered failing to hide her disgust.

Everyone in the first year knew about the Emily fan club—and not for any good reasons.

Sophia sighed. Exasperated and sweating, she walked up to Emily, who was finishing her last set of precision shots at the archery range.

"Catch!" she called out, tossing a water bottle.

Deftly catching the tossed bottle with her free hand, Emily looked sideway only to see Sophia standing there, wiping the sweat from her brow.

Emily had moved past the basics of archery long ago. Her training now involved mastering various arrow types, perfecting long-range shots, and learning tactical positioning. This advanced training allowed her more autonomy compared to the rigid structure of sword training, giving her more time on the range.

Emily quickly downed the water, her throat parched. "Thanks, I needed that," she said, offering Sophia a grateful smile.

Gesturing Sophia to follow, Emily made her way to the corner of the shooting range. Unlike the manicured grass of the range, the rest area had worn mattresses lined along the walls, bearing the marks of countless exhausted trainees.

They both collapsed onto a mat. "So, how's your training going?" Emily asked, casually setting her bow aside.

Sophia chuckled, stretching her arms. "It's going well, but I doubt I'll ever catch up to you. You're in a league of your own."

Emily blushed slightly. "Thanks, but a lot of it is because of this bow. Isn't she a beauty?"

Sophia regarded the bow, tracing her fingers along its polished surface, admiring its craftsmanship. "Yeah, your dad really spoils you," she said, eyeing the custom-made, expensive piece of equipment. "Speaking of beauty..." she added, her gaze shifting towards a group of boys loitering nearby. "Don't you think those guys over there are a bit too interested in you?"

Emily sighed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, they've been like that since freshman year. It's pretty annoying."

"Pervs. They even call themselves the 'Emily fan club'," Sophia muttered, shaking her head.

Emily giggled, albeit a bit wearily. "I wish they'd spend more time training and less time gawking at me."

Before Sophia could respond, a sudden commotion erupted near the so-called fan club.

A guy wielding a machete was engaged in a heated confrontation with Instructor Yilin, the swordsmanship coach.

The escalating situation soon attracted attention of onlookers.