"I'm going to be late!" Logan's focus flickered wildly between his wrist and his surroundings, watching for any sudden movements whilst simultaneously being careful of how long it was taking him to make his way across the street.
Distantly, a sharp shrill hollowed out the incessant noise of honking cars and embroiled bystanders—a common trait of San Francisco, the city he was based in. The noise jutted out from the same direction that Buford Academy was in, ringing a second, then third time in five second intervals. It was the morning bell, marking the three minute transition period for students to enter their classes before being marked as tardy.
"Shit!" he gritted, throwing his arm in the air like he'd been striking someone. Without a moment to waste, he closed his eyes.
As if tugging on a thousand-pound weight, he looked to his core, hoping to receive even just enough scraps to hasten his gait, but to no avail. A stupid ploy—one that he wouldn't try again.
Ahead of him was an endless odyssey of cars, street corners, and bystanders. He tried best to maneuver through every city block as efficiently as possible, but with each red crosswalk light, he felt the subtle hope deep within his chest begin to diminish.
Then, with one final act, he slammed past the school gates—over and through the guards before they could verify his I.D.—paced over to the stairwell, ran up its steps, and turned the corner just to the right to a sign that read "3-F."
"You're late, Logan—woah, who are you? I think you may have the wrong class," a voice echoed, coming from the front of the class.
His posture was strong, accompanied by a nicely hanging black vest and a tidy dress shirt underneath. With blue jeans, black shoes to fight the bright color scheme, and loose, stark black hair to cover most of his nape, his only negative quality may have been the way his brow curved out, crumbling like an old man's aged skin. His furrowed eyebrows, clenched lids, and puckered lips constantly made his face take on a sour complexion, like he'd just heard news of his dog's death.
"It's me, Logan Reed. Do you really not recognize me, Professor Wilhelm?" Logan responded, stepping forward to his left where all the seats—and students—rested. Like a volcano randomly getting set off, the classroom erupted into a sea of chatter and confused remarks.
"No way that's the school's 'training dummy,' right? I mean, his face was this big... like a balloon."
"This is simply unbelievable. Not even the best body transmorphers can do a job this good in such a short time period."
"It must be liposuction. There's no other way!"
With crossed arms, Logan almost found himself distraught at how his stomach no longer pushed back against him, being able to nicely rest them on his abdomen, flat. Of course, this must've been what sent his classmates on such a ride. He'd forgotten just how drastically his body changed, so it was no surprise that he was the center of attention.
"I'm sorry, but I'll have to see your ID." The professor standing still with his arm suspended in the air, Logan stepped forward to meet his inquiry. He didn't bother speaking, instead reaching for his pocket.
Venomously, the professor swiped the card from Logan's hand, turning around away from his gaze. Almost amusedly, Professor Wilhelm's vision kept jumping between the card and Logan, getting faster and faster as major details like hair and eye color remained the same.
"Is it truly you, Logan?" he asked, handing the card back. "Because if it's not, this 'game' of yours will have to be reported to the Dean's office."
Logan chuckled. "It's me, professor." Then, with not even half of the flair that the professor had when grabbing his card, he retrieved the ID, moving to the leftmost column of seats in the room.
"Wait," the professor blurted, "you still haven't told me the reason for your tardiness. If it's invalid, you'll have to get a pass at the front office."
Smiling, Logan turned around. "Well, I got held up last night. You see, a succubus attacked me when I got home, drained me half to death, then I barely survived and ended up awakening my Gift, only to almost lose my sister and have to make a contract with that same succubus to save her." Catching on to the largely unsatisfied look in the professor's face, Logan pointed his finger up. "Oh, and traffic got heavy this morning. Can't forget that."
Eyes twitching and fists gripped tightly, Logan could almost see the ripples of fury making way through his chest. "So you think you're funny, huh? Go ahead and get that pass during lunch. This class is too important for you to miss it."
'Wonder why he didn't take the excuse,' Logan asked himself, entirely serious in his surprise. What he said was the truth, though he probably could've worded it better.
As he seated himself, he felt the back-left metal leg of the chair begin to creak, bending its shape further back than the other back leg. Plastic flays drooped from the backboard, while the desk itself had splinters of wood biting the air.
This was a normal occurrence in Class F—constantly having to deal with decayed material and subpar instruction. It only made things worse that of the three F rooms in the entire school, the one Logan occupied was the lowest.
"Hey, Logan, how'd you do it?" a voice asked, coming from his left. It was a girl—Cecile, as he recalled—her nightly dark-purple hair concealing her entire face, save the lowest bits of her lips.
"What do you mean?" He fixed his attention to the front of the class, trying not to make it obvious he was speaking during class time.
"All that weight loss. It must've been a job by one of the top notch transmorphers of the Federation. I mean, there's definitely no way that you could've got rid of all that fat naturally, right?"
He didn't know what to say. Of course, he could go the route of lying and agreeing with her hypothesis, but something inside of him regurgitated at the notion of living a life of deceit. There was also the option of simply not responding, but his relationship with his peers was bad as-is. There was only one choice.
"I awakened my Gift," he stated.
"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!?"
The one that roared their surprise was not Cecile, but, instead, the entire class.