Beacon

The room was decent, if barren.

More than wide enough for a single person, with a bed, a desk, and a window.

"A temporary room," Goodwitch had said, for me to stay in "until further notice." 

She wouldn't hear any complaining from me. 

After all, it was a privilege to be here, one I didn't count on when I sent that letter...

The air hummed with anticipation, a silent challenge echoing through the sterile space.

Beacon Academy, the best in this whole Remnant of a world...huh?

A new chapter awaited.

.

.

The duffel bag was unzipped, revealing its contents.

A waterproof pouch was removed first, from which a toothbrush and toothpaste were extracted and placed into designated compartments.

Travel-sized shampoo and soap followed, arranged by height and label orientation.

A comb was placed beside a miniature mirror.

Next, the clothing items were removed.

Socks were paired and rolled into cylinders, undergarments were smoothed and folded with hospital corners, and a spare uniform was folded identically to the one on the chair.

A leather-bound journal was placed atop the desk, followed by a fountain pen with its cap screwed on.

A silver locket was briefly held, then placed in the top desk drawer.

A set of throwing knives was then removed from the bag. Each blade was inspected before being sheathed and placed on a shelf with handles facing outwards.

The duffel bag, now empty, was folded and stowed beneath the bed, and then I was finally done with decorations.

My OCD might have been acting up a little but I blamed my Atlas upbringing for it.

.

After organizing my very few belongings, there was no need to wait around twiddling my thumbs, so I whipped out my scroll and checked my schedule for the day.

9:00 AM - Introduction to Combat Class - Professor Port

11:00 AM - Weapon shop: Melee weapons

1:00 PM - Lunch

3:00 PM - Dust Theory - Professor Peach

5:00 PM - Combat Training- Professor Goodwitch

The clock read 8:45 AM, fifteen minutes before the first class. A head start seemed prudent. Exiting the spartan dorm room, the contrast I saw was striking.

The hallways whom were silent a few hours ago when I arrived, now buzzed with energy. Laughter echoed, conversations overlapped, and the rhythmic tap of footsteps resounded in my ears.

Navigation through the bustling crowd was effortless, my Beacon uniform blending seamlessly with the sea of students.

Each step was measured, and I had to fight off the grin threatening to appear on my face as I used my semblance on everyone I saw, with them none the wiser.

.

Eventually, despite the winding hallways' best attempts at making me walk in circles, my destination was reached.

I entered the classroom, where a burly man with an incredible mustache whom I assumed had to be Professor Peter Port, was already busy preparing for the lesson.

A quick scan of the room confirmed no other early birds. It seemed the professor and I were the only ones present.

Professor Port seemed to notice this and gave a slight nod of acknowledgment before returning to his preparations, which seemed to include clearing his throat a thousand times consecutively.

I didn't dare interrupt him.

.

As I questioned the decisions that led me here, to this place, right here and now, a few other students trickled into the classroom, taking my lead and arriving early.

None questioned my presence.

None claimed the spot beside me either, so my existence was clearly duly noted.

I shrugged internally as I continued shamelessly using my semblance on all new arrivals, ignoring the empty desk beside me, or the flashes of half-forgotten dreams about the fate of this world I suddenly recalled as I saw the faces of some of my female colleagues.

There was a time and place for that, but the place wasn't here and the time wasn't now.

.

Five more minutes passed, and the classroom filled up quickly, with new students trickling in one by one and finding their seats amidst the murmur of hushed conversations.

As the room grew more crowded, Professor Port surveyed the class, his gaze wandering over the early arrivals.

He gave a subtle nod of approval before beginning his lesson.

His booming voice echoed through the room, signaling the start of class. "Good morning everyone!" His tone was enthusiastic, yet commanding.

"Welcome to the Introduction to Combat class. I am your professor, Professor Port, and I will be guiding you on your journey to becoming skilled Huntsmen and Huntresses."

He paused, allowing his words to sink in, ignoring the confused looks on everyone's faces to look directly into my eyes.

As if wanting to reassure me once again, that yes, indeed, he was talking to me specifically, even though I would have had to be deaf, blind, and retarded to not realize that.

I didn't flinch nor did I break eye contact though.

No one who had faced Grimm with their bare fucking hands would ever be intimidated by so little, after all.

The Mustache man smiled the tiniest bit.

"Now, before we delve into the finer points of combat," he continued, his eyes scanning the room with practiced ease, "We have a new addition to our class today, a transfer student coming all the way from Atlas to attend our beautiful academy. I'd like you to get to know each other a bit better...so why don't we go around the room and introduce ourselves?"

...this was going swimmingly...