Chapter 1: Deadbeat Teach

The vast, high-tech classroom buzzed with the energy of young superpowered students, each unique ability contributing to the lively atmosphere. At the front of the room stood their teacher, Mr. Hawthorne, a man with shockingly white hair, golden eyes, and perpetually worn sunglasses, contrasting sharply against his fair white skin.

Mr. Hawthorne was dressed in a casual yet oddly stylish ensemble that seemed to defy the typical dress code of the academy. He wore a fitted black leather jacket over a plain white t-shirt, paired with dark jeans and polished combat boots. His choice of attire, combined with his sunglasses and tousled hair, gave him an air of effortless cool that resonated with some students and baffled others.

The holographic displays flickered, projecting intricate diagrams of superpowers and equations floating mid-air. Soft, ambient lighting adjusted automatically to match the mood of the lesson, casting a warm glow over the sleek, curved surfaces of the room.

"Aaaand that is all, my dear students!" Mr. Hawthorne's cheery voice echoed through the classroom, drawing the attention of every student despite their varying levels of enthusiasm for the lesson. He leaned casually against his desk, exuding a laid-back demeanor that belied the complexity of the subject matter.

One student, with noticeable red hair and an aura of excitement, raised their hand tentatively. "But Mr. Hawthorne, what about that advanced technique you mentioned last week? Are we going to learn that soon?"

Mr. Hawthorne chuckled, adjusting his sunglasses with a flick of his finger. "Ah, yes, the advanced technique. Patience, my young firestarter," he replied with a grin. "We'll get there when the time is right. Remember, it's not just about power, it's about finesse!"

Another student, this one with a more skeptical expression, spoke up. "Do you even have a lesson plan, sir? Or are we just winging it again?"

The question elicited a few stifled laughs from the class. Mr. Hawthorne winked playfully. "Lesson plans are overrated, my friend. We're here to explore, experiment, and maybe blow a few things up—figuratively speaking, of course."

As the students exchanged amused glances and began to gather their things, Mr. Hawthorne straightened up, his demeanor shifting slightly to convey a hint of genuine encouragement. "But seriously, practice hard and explore your limits. And if you have questions, don't hesitate to ask. Class dismissed!"

With the students filing out, the classroom gradually emptied, leaving Mr. Hawthorne alone with a satisfied aura around him. He stretched languidly, a contented smile spreading across his face. "Now I can get the sweets from the cafeteria since all classes ended~" he said with closed eyes and a happy grin, his thoughts already on the treats awaiting him.

He started going almost weightlessly, his steps filled with a determined lightness as he made his way towards the treats. But just as he was about to reach his destination, someone brought him to an abrupt halt.

"Off to raid the sweets again, Mr. Hawthorne?" The voice of Professor Larkspur, tinged with annoyance, cut through the air like a sharp blade.

Mr. Hawthorne turned with a sheepish grin, his golden eyes twinkling mischievously behind his sunglasses. "Ah, Miss Larkspur," he said, trying to sound innocent. "Just heading to the cafeteria to treat myself. I promise to pay this time!"

Professor Larkspur, a woman in her mid-forties, stood with impeccable posture, her dark hair streaked with silver and pulled back into a tight bun. Her sharp features were softened only slightly by the thin wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. Dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that exuded authority, she crossed her arms, blocking Mr. Hawthorne's path with an unwavering gaze.

"You know the rules, Hawthorne. No sneaking off to the cafeteria during school hours," she stated firmly, her voice leaving no room for negotiation.

Mr. Hawthorne's grin widened, a hint of playful defiance in his voice. "But Miss, school hours are over. I just want to enjoy a little post-teaching snack."

Professor Larkspur sighed, recognizing the futility of arguing with Mr. Hawthorne. "Fine, but you better pay for those sweets, Hawthorne. And no causing any trouble in there."

Mr. Hawthorne beamed, already floating towards the cafeteria with renewed enthusiasm. "Absolutely, Miss! You have my word."

As he glided away, Professor Larkspur shook her head with a mix of exasperation and fondness. She knew Mr. Hawthorne's antics were all part of his... personality, even if they occasionally tested her patience.

Mr. Hawthorne arrived at the cafeteria, greeted by the sight of an empty room bathed in the soft glow of overhead lights. He scanned the space with squinted eyes, ensuring no one else was around. Satisfied, he sauntered towards the sweet section, his steps light and purposeful.

Humming to himself softly, Mr. Hawthorne began to "borrow" a few treats, his fingers deftly selecting his favorites. "Eh, they won't notice," he mused aloud, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "And even if they did, they wouldn't dare blame me, hehe~"

Just as he bit into a particularly delicious-looking pastry, a sudden, sharp voice pierced the air. "Hawthorne! Caught you red-handed!"

Mr. Hawthorne spun around, mouth full of pastry, to see the Lunch Lady, an elderly woman with a scowl that could curdle milk, bearing down on him. Before he could react, she had him by the ear, her grip surprisingly strong for someone her age.

"Ouch! Ouch! Miss Gertrude, it's not what it looks like!" he protested, his voice muffled by the pastry.

Miss Gertrude, the lunch lady notorious for her short temper and no-nonsense attitude, stretched his ear further. "Not what it looks like, eh? And what, pray tell, does it look like? Stealing sweets again, are we?"

Mr. Hawthorne winced, trying to wriggle free. "I was just...uh...sampling! Quality control, you know?"

"Quality control, my foot!" she snapped, giving his ear another tug. "How many times have I told you? These treats are not for free! You've got to pay just like everyone else."

He sighed dramatically, finally swallowing the pastry. "Alright, alright, I'll pay for them. Just let go of my ear, please!"

Miss Gertrude released him, but not before delivering a stern look. "You better. And if I catch you doing this again, there'll be more than just ear pulling, got it?"

Mr. Hawthorne rubbed his sore ear, nodding meekly. "Got it, Miss Gertrude. You're the boss."

She huffed, muttering under her breath as she walked away, leaving Mr. Hawthorne to hastily pull out his wallet and pay for his ill-gotten treats. As he left the cafeteria, he couldn't help but chuckle softly, despite the throbbing in his ear. "Just another day at the academy," he murmured to himself.

Aetherium Academy for the Gifted was no ordinary school. Nestled in the heart of New Arcadia, a bustling metropolis, this prestigious institution catered to young individuals born with extraordinary abilities, known simply as "gifts." Established to harness and cultivate these powers, the academy aimed to guide its students toward mastering their unique skills for the greater good.

Superpowers, or gifts, had become a significant part of human evolution in recent decades, leading to the founding of specialized schools like Aetherium Academy. While there were many such academies around the world, Aetherium was renowned as the top institution for gifted individuals. Students here pursued a rigorous academic curriculum alongside intense training designed to refine their abilities.

Aetherium Academy was also a safeguard for society. It served as a place where young people could learn to control their abilities, ensuring they wouldn't inadvertently cause harm. The academy employed the most powerful and skilled Gift Users as teachers—seasoned veterans who had mastered their abilities. Their guidance was crucial in helping students navigate the complexities of their powers.

The academy's mission was to equip students with the knowledge and skills needed to use their gifts responsibly. The curriculum balanced traditional academic subjects with specialized training sessions. From manipulating elements to mind-bending psychic abilities, the students' gifts were diverse, and the faculty's teaching methods matched this diversity.

The need for such training became even more critical with a sudden, global phenomenon. Across the entire globe, mysterious structures began to erupt from the ground: these were known as Dungeons. Dungeons acted as portals, bringing forth creatures from other dimensions. These creatures were destructive and posed a severe risk to society.

In response to this threat, Aetherium Academy prepared its students to become Dungeon Clearers. These were specialized teams trained to enter the Dungeons, neutralize the threats within, and close the portals. Dungeon Clearers were essential in maintaining safety and preventing the spread of chaos. The academy's students played a crucial role in these efforts, often leading the charge in the most dangerous and high-profile missions.

In a world where the extraordinary was becoming increasingly common, Aetherium Academy stood as a beacon of hope and progress. Its role in training the next generation of gifted individuals was vital in maintaining balance and safeguarding humanity's future.

And now, enough about the Academy.

At this moment, we find Mr. Hawthorne strolling outside the Academy grounds, his steps light and carefree. He whistled a catchy tune, embodying the hyperactive spirit that defined him. As he ambled along, he noticed a figure sitting under a tree, knees drawn up to his chest. The boy was clad in the Academy uniform, clearly one of the students.

Despite his reputation as a deadbeat, Mr. Hawthorne had a keen sense of empathy. He could tell something was wrong with the young man. Without hesitation, he approached, his golden eyes softening behind his sunglasses.

"Hey hey hey, what's wrong, my guy?" Mr. Hawthorne called out.

Change of POV

"Hey hey hey, what's wrong, my guy?" The energetic voice of a young adult broke through my thoughts.

I looked up with a deadpan expression to see the ever-enthusiastic Mr. Hawthorne grinning down at me.

"What," I replied flatly.

Mr. Hawthorne squatted down to my level, his golden eyes twinkling behind his sunglasses. "You look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders. Want to talk about it?"

I sighed, debating whether to brush him off or let him in. "It's nothing," I muttered, staring at the ground.

He tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. "Come on, I know 'nothing' when I see it. And that's definitely not it."

Reluctantly, I spoke up. "It's just... this whole 'gift' thing. Everyone else seems to have it figured out, but I can barely control mine. I feel like I don't belong here."

Mr. Hawthorne nodded, his expression softening. "Ah, the old 'square peg in a round hole' feeling. Trust me, we've all been there."

I looked at him skeptically. "Even you?"

He chuckled. "Actually, no. I was a prodigy, so it was different for me. But I've seen plenty of students struggle, and I can tell you it's completely normal."

I frowned, my frustration bubbling up. "Normal? Everyone in my class calls me 'Money Waste.' I can't even get through a day without breaking something or losing control. How is that normal?"

Mr. Hawthorne sighed, sitting down beside me. "Look, being a prodigy has its own challenges, but it also means I had to learn how to help others who weren't. Each person's journey is unique, and yours is just starting. The important thing is not to give up."

"Easy for you to say," I mumbled. "You never had to deal with this."

He leaned back, looking up at the tree branches swaying in the breeze. "No, I didn't. But I do understand what it's like to feel overwhelmed. You know, there was a student a few years ago, just like you. Couldn't control his powers, always breaking things. Everyone called him a disaster."

I glanced at him, my face blank. "What happened to him?"

"He worked hard. Really hard. Had a few mentors, found ways to cope with the stress, and slowly, he started to control his gift. Today, he's one of the top Dungeon Clearers."

"Really?" I asked, my tone flat.

"Really," he nodded. "His journey wasn't easy, but it was worth it. Just like yours will be. You have to believe in yourself, and don't be afraid to ask for help. That's what we're here for."

"But what if I never get it under control?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Mr. Hawthorne smiled reassuringly. "You will. It takes time, patience, and a lot of effort. But I've seen enough students make it through to know you can too. And remember, you're not alone in this."

I remained silent, processing his words. "..."

He patted my shoulder. "By the way, I don't think I've caught your name."

After a pause, I finally replied, "Ethan."

"Ethan, huh? Well, Ethan, anytime you need to talk or need help, just find me. Even deadbeats like me can be useful sometimes."

I gave a small nod. "Sure, Mr. Hawthorne."

"Anytime, Ethan," he said, ruffling my hair before standing up. "Now, how about we grab something to eat?"

"I don't want to. But thanks for the offer," I declined, keeping my gaze fixed on the ground.

"Meh, your loss, more sweets for myself then. Bye bye, Ethan. Remember, you can ask for advice anytime!" Mr. Hawthorne said cheerfully, his voice trailing off as he walked away, already lost in thoughts of sweets.

...

To think that a deadbeat teacher like him could have some empathy. It was unexpected, to say the least.

...

"So... I can do it? I can control my power to not break things?"

I mulled over Mr. Hawthorne's words, unsure.

"...I suppose that's a possibility."

I sighed, frustration evident in my tone.

"This Gift of mine is just a hassle. I can't even join the baseball team because of how my gift works... It's passive, so I can't turn it off or on."

I kicked at the ground, contemplating my next move.

"I need to buy a new baseball bat."

I stood up, heading towards a nearby sports shop.

"I still have money, so it's alright..."

Change of POV

Meet Ethan Ardaik. He's not your average high schooler, mostly because of his Gift that sets him apart from the rest. His ability enhances all his physical attributes passively, which sounds impressive, but there's a catch—he struggles to control his strength. This often leads to unintentional damage, earning him a reputation as someone to be cautious around.

Despite the challenges his Gift presents, Ethan has learned to cope by keeping to himself and adopting a detached demeanor. He avoids drawing attention and interaction, preferring to be seen as aloof rather than vulnerable. This approach has earned him a solitary existence at school, with few connections but also fewer complications.

Known among his peers as "Money Waste," a mocking nod to the items he unintentionally breaks, Ethan navigates his high school days with minimal fuss. He finds solace in solitude, focusing on his studies and avoiding situations where his Gift might cause trouble.

As Ethan made his way to the sports shop, his thoughts lingered on the frustrations of his unique ability. It had effectively barred him from joining sports teams like baseball, a passion he silently cherished but couldn't openly pursue. Yet, he was resigned to this reality, finding a strange comfort in the predictability of his solitary routine.

Entering the shop, Ethan maintained his composed façade as he examined the baseball bats. Each selection was scrutinized for durability and potential for damage control. It was a routine he had mastered, a silent acknowledgment of his need to adapt and manage his Gift without drawing unnecessary attention.