"Please, hear me out," Michael said, his smile warm in a way that made it hard to tell whether it was comforting or terrifying.
"We summoned you from your world to aid us. This realm—known as Twilight—faces a grave threat. The denizens of Twilight are strong, proud, and resilient… but the enemy they face cannot be defeated by their strength alone."
His wings shifted, light and shadow weaving together behind him.
"That is why you are here."
The class shuffled uneasily. Some swallowed hard. Some looked ready to faint. A few of the otakus looked almost excited, which honestly scared everyone else more than Michael did.
"There is a way for you to help them," he continued. "A path that only outsiders like you can walk. A role only you can fulfill."
He paused, letting the silence settle.
"But before we go deeper into what that means—before we speak of the enemy, your conditions, or the duties you may accept—I will allow questions."
He raised a hand, palm open toward the group.
"Ask what you wish to understand. Anything troubling you. The purpose of this summons, the threat we face, the conditions you must meet… all of it. Please, speak freely."
The students looked at each other.
Someone's breathing got loud.
Someone whispered, "This is actually happening…"
Someone else muttered, "Bro, I didn't study for this."
And finally—one hand went up.
"Yes, young lady," Michael said, gesturing gently. "What do you wish to know?"
The hand belonged to her.
The most popular girl in the class. Honestly, probably the whole school. Blonde hair perfectly framed her face, and her dark blue eyes had that noble, sharp look you'd expect from a high-ranking character in a fantasy webtoon. Even here, in a realm made of light, she somehow looked like she belonged.
She stepped forward, chin held high.
"I'd like to know why all of us were brought," she said, clear and confident. "If the threat is truly so severe, you wouldn't summon teenagers. You'd bring capable warriors. Or bless your own people with divine power."
Murmurs spread through the class.
She wasn't wrong.
"And if we do help," she continued, voice steady, "we'd like to know whether we'll get what we want… or if we'll just be chained to this place like dogs."
That one hit harder. Even Michael's wings stilled for a moment.
The class stared at her with wide eyes. Some impressed, some shocked, some wishing they had her guts. She'd voiced what everyone was thinking… but the way she kept saying "we" made it clear she was talking mostly about herself. The whole class didn't elect her as their spokesperson—she just naturally acted like their queen.
And honestly? No one was brave enough to contradict her.
Michael smiled again, but this one was different—more thoughtful.
"Those are fair questions," he said softly.
"You will all be given what you want," Michael answered, voice gentle but firm. "Of course, only within the limits of what our world can grant. We cannot, for example, provide cellphones or technology from your realm."
A few students groaned quietly at that.
"As for blessing our own people… some of them are already blessed. Many, in fact. But even with their strength, the threat persists. What we face now cannot be solved by simply making our warriors stronger."
His six wings whispered through the air as they shifted.
"We also cannot summon older individuals. Their potential has already settled. Their bodies and minds are no longer at the age where growth is fast or flexible. We require youth. People with ambition, adaptability, and"—he smiled faintly—"spunk."
Some of the class perked up at that.
Others looked like they weren't sure whether to feel flattered or used.
"If that answers your concerns," he continued, "then allow me to move on."
He raised his hand, and the golden gate behind him pulsed softly.
"When each of you arrived, you were automatically assigned a class and a skill linked to that class. Your class tier determines your growth, your potential, and the depth to which your skills may evolve."
The students shifted nervously.
Michael's smile widened.
"It will be a delight," Michael murmured, almost to himself. His wings folded in slightly, as if he was ready to finally move things forward.
But then—another hand went up in the crowd.
Michael's expression flickered. Just a tiny bit. Annoyance, quickly smothered under divine politeness. He clearly wanted the briefing to continue, not turn into a Q&A marathon.
"Yes," he said, voice thinning at the edges. "What is it, young man?"
A boy stepped forward from the cluster of students. He looked pale, nervous in the way someone gets when the spotlight hits them unexpectedly. His hands twitched at his sides, his shoulders tense, like he half expected the universe to laugh at him for speaking up.
His voice cracked as he tried to steady himself.
"I… I just wanted to ask something," he said, eyes darting around as if he desperately wished someone else would take over for him.
The class watched him with a mix of curiosity and relief—because thank goodness it wasn't them standing there.
Michael sighed softly, wings rustling.
"Very well," he said. "Speak your question."
The boy stepped fully into view, and for a moment some of the class blinked in surprise. Dark, messy hair, dark green eyes, sharp facial features… on paper he should have been one of the cool guys. A popular face. A heart-throb protagonist even.
But reality had other plans.
He wasn't popular.
He didn't get girls.
He wasn't a top student.
He was quiet, painfully average, timid to the core.
Not a hardcore otaku, but close enough.
Not hated, but overlooked.
Lonely in a way that felt like a permanent status condition.
Loneliness: Max Level.
If someone asked, they'd call him "the perfect timidity."
He swallowed, lifted his chin slightly, and forced his voice out.
"Let's say… someone's class is low," he said. "Or they don't get one at all. Would they be discriminated against? By the people there, I mean. And wouldn't that go against what you said about us being treated well?"
It was a good question.
A brave one, especially for him.
Even Michael paused.
The angel studied him quietly, noticing the way the boy's fingers shook, how his voice wavered even though he tried to steady it.
Ah, Michael thought. This one is afraid… yet he still speaks. That takes more courage than the loud ones ever show.
The boy stared at the ground, breaths shallow.
He was nervous. Terrified even.
And yet—everyone was waiting for Michael's answer.
Michael moved without warning.
One heartbeat he was floating above them, wings spread in perfect symmetry…
The next, he was standing right in front of the boy, close enough that the boy flinched back in surprise. No wind and no flash. Just instant presence, like reality politely stepped aside to let him appear.
"What is your name, boy?" Michael asked, his voice soft but resonant.
The boy swallowed hard. His entire posture screamed please stop looking at me, but he forced the words out anyway.
"M-my name's Arthur," he said, barely above a whisper. "Arthur Park."
A small shock rippled through some of the students.
Park? Arthur?
Not exactly the type of name you'd expect on someone who could barely hold himself together right now. To also think they never knew his name despite being classmates.
Michael nodded slowly, studying him with an expression that was impossible to read. Not pity. Not judgment. Something else—something like curiosity… and respect.
"Arthur Park," Michael repeated, letting the name hang in the glowing air. "A good name."
Arthur stiffened, unsure how to react.
The class held its breath.
Was Michael about to praise him…?
Scold him…?
Ignore his question entirely…?
Instead, Michael's wings shifted behind him as he leaned in just slightly.
"You spoke honestly despite your fear," he said. "That alone carries weight. And your question is one that deserves a clear answer."
Arthur looked up, eyes wide, surprised that he was being taken seriously.
Michael smiled faintly.
"Very well. Allow me to explain."