After the class ended, all the students made their way to the cafeteria for breakfast. Yes, the schedule here was rather unconventional—classes started early, and this single meal was expected to sustain us all the way until 3 p.m., the end of the final session. That's why they deliberately timed our hunger: we had to be famished enough to truly eat our fill.
Moriarty took a seat beside Tom, who sat frozen in place, staring blankly at his plates. One held a large steak slick with a translucent, greenish slime that glistened under the overhead lights. The second contained mashed potatoes, delicately infused with sweet bay leaves, while a third plate bore a roasted, mutated rabbit—its limbs slightly too long, its meat a shade too dark to be natural.
Moriarty's tray held a similar selection, though he hesitated before picking up the slime-coated steak, ultimately choosing only half a portion, his expression unreadable.
Sylvia joined us moments later, sliding into the seat opposite just as Moriarty settled in. Her sudden appearance snapped Tom from his trance, his eyes darting between us with wide-eyed confusion.
"Wait... Raymond? And that's... When did you both get here?" Tom stammered, clearly thrown off by the seating arrangement.
"Raymond?" Sylvia glanced at me, her brow arched in amusement.
"That's a nickname he gave me," I explained, gesturing casually. "I believe you two have already met, but just in case—Syl, this is my friend Tom. Tommy, this is Sylvia."
"Right… the one who took my file," Tom said, his tone flat but not accusatory.
"You literally attacked me for no reason. What did you think would happen?" Sylvia shot back, raising an eyebrow.
"Sorry about that. I was too hasty—and clearly overestimated my own abilities. That was a poor judgment on my part," Tom admitted, bowing his head slightly. The sudden sincerity in his voice caught me off guard; it wasn't like him to apologize so easily.
"I dropped it off at the lost items section in Chamberlain Hall," Sylvia replied, nonchalantly returning to her meal.
"Thanks," Tom muttered, before turning to face me. "Raymond, did you know we came here to study?"
"It's an academy. What else did you expect?" Moriarty interjected, tearing a chunk from his rabbit leg while simultaneously spearing a slice of slime-coated steak with his fork—an impressive, if slightly disturbing, display of multitasking.
"I still can't believe my dad let me skip school just to send me to… another school," Tom groaned, finally digging into his meal. "I thought I was coming here to get stronger, not sit through lectures."
"That may be the primary objective, but you can't neglect your studies just for that," Moriarty said, patting Tom's shoulder in a rare gesture of comfort. "On the bright side, you'll actually need all this knowledge. You're a Hunter, if you pay attention during lectures, you won't even have to slog through the books later."
"Huh… I didn't think of it that way," Tom admitted, scratching the back of his head. "I guess I'll survive these five years somehow… though it still feels like I've been locked in a birdcage."
"They let us go out on missions during the weekends," Moriarty added, swallowing a mouthful of mashed potatoes without missing a beat.
"…Never mind, this is better than I expected," Tom said, eyes lighting up with sudden excitement.
"That aside, I didn't expect so many people of different backgrounds and beliefs to be here," Tom said, swirling his fork through the last of his mashed potatoes. "Australians are mostly Metahumans—beast-type abilities, with a good number of summoners in the mix. Not many wizards or witches though, which is strange.
"Ravenia's crawling with sorcerers and vampires—most of them are Blood or Moon Path walkers. Central City's got a bit of everything, but honestly? Most of them are kind of dumb. No offense."
Moriarty abruptly choked on his food, thumping his chest and grabbing a glass of water while coughing violently. Tom blinked, looked at him, and added flatly, "Excluding you, of course."
"..." Moriarty silently looked at him, wiping his mouth with a tissue.
"Anyway," Tom continued. "The Eastern Sea people don't even have basic manners. I didn't think it was possible to be worse than Hunters when it comes to character, but somehow they pulled it off. Still, they're all aura users, so at least they've got power.
"Now, the folks from the Northern Plains? All aura users too, though they have a different term for raw Energy, called 'Qi.' And those Northern Buddhists... I thought they'd hate us Hunters, but they're ridiculously polite. Like, freakishly respectful."
"…You figured all that out in a few hours?" Sylvia asked, brushing the crumbs from her fingers as she pushed her plates aside.
"I asked around. Nicely," Tom said, grinning. "Well... only ten people. But you get the gist."
"I was actually thinking of introducing myself to the Buddhists," Moriarty said thoughtfully, resting his elbow on the table. "Their use of raw energy—or Qi, as they call it—is different from ours. The sects up North originally hailed from continents that were completely wiped out by the Zone Resonances. After that, they migrated to the far North to preserve their traditions and rebuild their legacies."
He paused, then added, "In fact, many of the aura techniques we use today were created by them. And their mind-strengthening methods? Even wizards and witches can learn those."
"You're planning to buy it from them?" Sylvia asked, knowing our nature.
"Well… not to sound rude, but their financial standing is the second lowest among all the Northern Sects," Moriarty replied, giving a sheepish smile. "I believe I could strike a deal if I approach them nicely."
"Wouldn't that kind of stuff be super expensive?" Tom asked, brushing his plates aside.
"I own thirty-two different types of companies," I said casually.
"He owns thirty-two different types of companies," Sylvia repeated, not with surprise—but with that same half-baffled, half-resigned tone she always used when reminded of it. No matter how often she heard it, it still didn't quite feel real.
"…Son of Mahoon," Tom muttered under his breath, staring at me like I'd just grown a second head.
"Hey, I worked for all that," I replied with a grin, puffing my chest out with pride. "Well, that aside, we should probably get back to class. Didn't realize how much time had passed."
The cafeteria gradually emptied as students began to rise from their seats, the hum of conversation fading into the quiet shuffle of trays and footsteps. Everyone was heading back to their respective classes, the air shifting from casual chatter to focused routine.
After exchanging a few casual goodbyes, we stood up and went our separate ways, returning to our classrooms. This time, however, it seemed the teacher had arrived before us.
Standing at the front of the room was our instructor—a Vasterion.
Vasterions were a humanoid species known for their reptilian grey scales that shimmered faintly under light, four dexterous arms, and two powerful legs that ended in palm-shaped feet. Their most unique feature, perhaps, was the naturally occurring non-lethal poison that coated the tips of their nails—harmless to most, but capable of numbing or irritating skin on contact. Their yellow, slit-pupiled eyes offered sharp focus in darkness but were notoriously poor in daylight or under artificial light.
She had chosen to wear formal attire: a high-collared blouse and fitted blazer paired with long slacks. Resting over her nose was a pair of black-rimmed spectacles—an old-fashioned choice, given the prevalence of contact lenses. Her posture was upright and her physique lean.
"I assume you all had a rather pleasant time chatting away during your breakfast hours," she said, her voice calm yet laced with a subtle edge that immediately brought the room to attention. "Now then, if you could settle down, we'll begin today's lesson."
She adjusted her black-rimmed spectacles with one of her lower hands before continuing, "You may call me Dr. Rose. I'll be your biology instructor for this semester—and likely for the ones that follow."