Basic Warfare

Donovan leaned against the wall outside Class C, eavesdropping on the lecture about the basics of warfare. He could barely keep his eyes open—everything the instructor was saying brought back memories of his own days as a student. 

Back then, it took everything he had to understand even a single page, and his natural lack of intelligence hadn't helped.

Mason Wolfe appeared at his side, looking a little worn from making the rounds between Class B and Class A. The distance between the classes was intentional, emphasizing the hierarchy in the academy. His sweat-drenched clothes were proof of the effort. 

"Anything?" Mason asked, wiping his brow.

Donovan shook his head. "Nothing. The kid's quiet. I mean, look at him." He pointed through the window at George, who was intently listening to the instructor, scribbling down notes without a second's distraction. "He'd be considered a nerd by my calculations."

Mason smirked. "I can see he's a nerd, but I don't know about you doing any calculations."

Donovan glared. "Hey… Sigh. Anyway, what about the others? The strong ones?"

Mason shrugged, adjusting his jacket. "They're fine. Nothing suspicious so far. But we've got four years to make sure they stay safe."

With that, they strolled back toward the Class B section to keep an eye on the higher-ranking students. Little did they know, someone was watching them.

Peyton, seated in the back of the classroom, had noticed the two Emerald City guards lingering. He had been keeping his eye on them for the past minute, trying to figure out why they kept staring at George Sterlinguard. While most students in the class assumed it was routine—just guards doing their usual rounds—Peyton couldn't help but feel that something was off. 

'Why are they so interested in him?' he wondered, narrowing his eyes at George. 

---

An hour passed, and the lecture came to a close. The students knew their lessons weren't on par with those in the higher-ranked classes, but the material in the textbooks was mostly the same. If they focused, some of them might even outperform the weakest students in Class B.

"That's it for today's lecture on Basic Warfare," the instructor announced, her voice weary. Dark circles under her eyes made it clear she wasn't thrilled to be there. "Please complete your assignments. And remember, at the end of the month, there will be a competition. You'll be fighting each other for a chance to move up in class."

The class collectively perked up at the mention of the competition. This was their chance to rise through the ranks, a golden opportunity. 

For everyone but George.

'The only reason I passed the admissions test was because I ran for five minutes straight,' George thought, dreading the upcoming fight. He knew this competition would pit him against the best Class C had to offer—and if he hoped to move up to Class B, he'd have to fight, not just survive.

He glanced over at Jame, who was packing his bag, ready to leave.

"Hey, James," George called.

Jame corrected him with a smile. "It's Jame."

George chuckled awkwardly. "Right. Uh, does this academy have a gym?"

Jame's eyes lit up. "It does! I'm actually heading there to test some things out before the night lecture. Wanna come with me?"

"Lead the way." George followed, ignoring the curious stares from his classmates. The rumors had died down, but there were still enough eyes on him to make him uncomfortable. He'd rather keep a low profile for now.

---

When they arrived at the gym, George couldn't help but gawk. It wasn't what he had expected.

There were no machines, no weights—nothing like the gyms he knew from Earth. Instead, rice bags hung from the ceiling, and smooth, hand-carved stones lay scattered around the room.

Jame, however, seemed delighted. "The best money can buy," he said, his voice full of pride.

George stared at him, incredulous. "The best money can buy?" he repeated, struggling to keep his voice down.

"Yeah, of course," Jame replied, his confusion evident. "These stones are carved to fit perfectly in your hands. And the sandbags? They're woven with high-quality material so you don't hurt your knuckles too much when you punch them."

George gritted his teeth in frustration. He had painstakingly prepared a workout plan, remembering everything from his high school P.E. lessons and Advanced Athletic Bodybuilding class. He had even written it down, but without proper equipment, it was useless.

'If only they had dumbbells…' he thought, annoyed. He muttered something under his breath, then started scribbling a revised plan for bodyweight exercises.

As George turned toward the exit, Jame called after him, "Wait, leaving already?"

George stopped. "Yeah. I need something to boost my energy before I start."

Jame tilted his head. "And what's that?"

George turned back, smiling wryly. "Anabolic steroids."

Jame blinked, clearly not understanding, but he nodded as if it made perfect sense. "Oh, okay. Cool." 

George shook his head and left the gym, wondering what he'd gotten himself into.