Finally, after twenty agonizing minutes of running in silent, panicked circles, James stood before a simple green door with an insignia attached to it.
Grade 10B was inscribed neatly upon it.
His chest was pounding with punishing severity, caught between the urge to rush in and the terror of being seen.
After several seconds of contemplating, he gave in and opened the door.
He was instantly met by the gaze of a man in his mid-thirties, dressed in a sharp white shirt, a jacket, and black trousers. This was Eric Brayden, the Biology teacher.
As James stood paralyzed at the entrance, the man's eyes locked onto him, shooting daggers that accelerated James's frantic heartbeat.
"Why are you just entering my class?" Eric demanded, his face chillingly calm, showing no signs of the storm brewing underneath.
"I-I..." James was lost, the words drying up in his throat.
"You must be one of the notorious ones! Is this your first time? I haven't seen your face before. Show me your tag!" Eric fired all words that came to his mind with brutal speed, the storm finally escaping.
"I'm so sorry, sir. It's my first time in Braxton, so I had trouble locating the class, and I-I also forgot my tag at home," James managed to stammer out, beads of cold sweat trickling down his forehead.
"Forgot your tag? Preposterous! Just... have your seat and don't let this repeat itself!" Eric sternly warned him. "Bring out your Biology textbook and open to page 135," he recomposed himself and added.
'I'll just have to check with the school administrator later,' Eric thought, then continued his lesson with a theatrical flair.
"Earlier, we were discussing the association between living things, and I went over the different types before a certain person interrupted," Eric continued with his gaze falling shortly on James before facing other students.
"Now, does anyone know what parasitism is? Tagless guy, can you explain that? Do that, and introduce yourself." Eric smirked, clearly enjoying the public pressure.
'Is it me, or is this teacher being a jerk?' James thought, a flare of defiance igniting in his gut. 'Well then, I'll just prove to him I'm not a nobody. It's a good thing I studied ahead.'
James stood up, his posture instantly shifting. "I'm James Craig, an ex-student of Middleton... Parasitism is an association whereby one organism, the parasite, benefits from another organism—the host—while simultaneously causing it harm. A clear example is the tapeworm, the parasite, and man, the host."
Eric's eyes widened, his jaw nearly dropping.
He had not expected such a precise, textbook-perfect explanation, proving James's knowledge was genuine and not just some memorized fluff.
"Impressive!" Eric recomposed himself, forcing a smile. "I must say, you explained it just as I would have."
James returned to his seat, a small, exterior smile on his face, but his mind was seething.
'What the fu**? He was just acting like a jerk, and now he's praising me? What a weird man.'
The class continued, with numerous questions volleyed toward James, all of which he dispatched with effortless brilliance.
"James!" Eric called before leaving. "You're a great example of the adage not to judge a book by its cover. I look forward to our next meeting," he finished with a genuine smile before sweeping out.
With the teacher gone, the classroom erupted into chaotic noise, students forming groups and dissolving into loud chit-chat and even some loud whispers about the exceptionally intelligent new boy.
'How can they be idling? Shouldn't the next teacher be here?' James thought, annoyed by the wasted time. He stood to check the timetable and was met with the explanation: it was a free period.
After sitting alone for twenty minutes and clutched by the fingers of boredom, James decided to sketch in his drawing book. He reached for his bag behind him, and his gaze snagged on a familiar face: a blonde with stunning, symmetrical features, dazzling blue eyes, and round pink lips.
Her blue dress hugged her curves, radiating confidence and brilliance. It was Priscilla Barnes, the girl from the taxi.
"Hi, I'm sorry..." James began.
"It's alright! I understood what you meant," Priscilla cut him off, a warm smile on her face. "Will you keep saying sorry?"
Despite her reassurance, James still felt the familiar stab of guilt. He was no pervert, but the previous encounter had made him look like one.
"So... do you mind giving me a tour around the school since we're not in a lesson now?" James asked, the hesitation barely audible.
"Sure! Just give me a sec." Priscilla quickly arranged her books and packed her bag.
The two headed out, but they weren't alone. The moment they stepped into the hall, a short, blue-haired boy bolted after them, his tiny legs pumping furiously.
"Hey! Wait up!" The boy screamed. He caught up to them, a single bead of sweat glistening on his forehead despite running only a short distance.
He had only 'sprinted' twenty meters, but his short, stubby legs made it look like a hundred meters to him.
"I want to talk to you, James," the boy gasped.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" James asked, his eyebrow raised.
"He's Kelvin. He calls himself Kin..." Priscilla started to inform him before the boy cut her off.
"Yeah! I'm Kelvin, Kelvin Brooks. I'm the king of books!" Kelvin declared, puffing out his diminutive chest. "You see, I was astonished by your brilliance. It's been long since I've seen a student this knowledgeable!"
"Every other students that come to Braxton always seem like they had their brain vaped or something..."
"The only one who has been able to keep up with me is Priscilla there," he paused, smiling at Priscilla. "And I'm tired of competing with the same girl every semester. In short, I want you to be my rival! We compete every semester for the best student in academics." Kelvin's eyes sparkled with the hungry intensity of a dog sighting a dangling bone.
James grinned. He stretched out his hand for a handshake and accepted the challenge.
"Sure! As long as you're not another Jeremy."
◇◇◇◇
Meanwhile, miles away, a chilling scene unfolded inside a massive mansion.
Outside, the property was a monument to decay—gargoyle statues crumbling, giant iron gates rusted shut, and stains of dried blood marring the floors.
Scattered access the floor were large bones of different parts, each telling a terrific story.
The building looked abandoned, save for a disturbing insignia carved everywhere: two crescents placed oppositely, cradling a paw print in the middle and some weird symbols inscribed below.
But the interior was a radiant, stark opposite. A sharp contrast to the horror displayed outside the edifice.
Candles blazed everywhere. Marbles and sparkling crystals embedded in the walls gave the huge inner hall a blinding, radiant glow. It was meticulously clean.
In the sitting room, an imposing figure sat on an oversized, obsidian chair, tapping his foot with manic anxiety.
A man suddenly rushed in, moving so fast the wind from his passage extinguished several lit candles.
"I always tell you not to blow off the candles!" The man roared, his voice a deafening boom that echoed through the marble halls.
The very sound extinguished more flames and violently whipped the gelled hair of the man who had just arrived.
"Tell me, Stark! What news do you have?" the booming voice demanded.
The rushed man—the same elegant figure James had seen on his lawn with the faint yellow eyes—was named Stark.
"Master! I'm sorry for the candles, but I rushed in because of the urgency!" Stark exclaimed, his enthusiasm overriding his fear.
"Tell me, what is it? Don't keep an old man waiting!" The voice boomed again.
"The stone! It's in his possession, sir. The Moonstone, I think it's in Jim's son's possession," Stark reported, his voice shaky but elated.
The master leapt from his chair, crossing the distance in a single, impossible instant to seize Stark by the collar.
Cracks instantly spider-webbed across the floor where his feet had been.
"Are you sure about this? Did you see it with your own two eyes?" the booming voice thundered, vibrating through Stark's body.
"I—I didn't... see it with my very own eyes, but I felt the immense power. I recognized the feeling, and I—I think it could only have come from the stone, sir," Stark gulped, stuttering out his answer.
"Jim! I can't believe it. So, after all these years, the stone was in your son's possession?" The master muttered, his voice dropping low, yet still horrifyingly audible to Stark's hyper-sensitive ears.
He dropped Stark, his booming voice returning with lethal intent: "Very well then. We shall send Jeremy to do the job."
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The moment we've all been waiting for is coming sooner than you think. I'm more than excited... just stick with me.
What are your thoughts, specifically about the flow of words and transition of scenes?