Ranking

The classroom was nearly full—thirty seats in total, each occupied by a future powerhouse. Carved into the door was a single phrase:

"FOR YOU ARE STRONG, BUT ARE YOU STRONG ENOUGH?"

One by one, the students of Class A entered. Elizabeth. Yinka. Precious. Each had earned their place. The seats filled quickly... except for one.

Michael's seat remained empty.

Whispers spread across the room. Where is he? And more importantly... who is our teacher?

Their thoughts were cut short as the air shifted. A single fly buzzed across the room. Then, before their eyes, it transformed. In its place stood a light-skinned, muscular man, grinning as he threw his head back in laughter.

"Gets them every time."

Silence fell.

Within minutes, the class grew serious. The man straightened, his gaze sweeping across the students before he spoke.

"My name is Mr. Ali. Or Miss Ali. For I am whatever you perceive me to be. Now... where is the owner of the empty seat?"

Laughter erupted.

After all, this was Class A—the strongest among them. They didn't see Michael as a threat. To them, he was nothing more than a broken child with no sense of etiquette.

And that was a mistake.

For Michael Ozor was a broken child...

But a broken blade still cuts.

The lesson began with simple introductions. One by one, students stood to speak, until it was the turn of a boy named Oyegbula—Bula for short. He rose confidently.

"My name is Bula. My purpose here? To chase beautiful women. And my dream woman... is Elizabeth."

A collective murmur swept through the class—half amusement, half anticipation. But before anyone could react, the door creaked open.

A boy entered.

Drenched in sweat.

Bleeding from his head.

His uniform, torn.

Michael.

He stepped inside, his piercing gaze locking onto Bula. Every fiber of his being ached to rip the boy apart—after all, the hellish training he had just endured under that demon, Mr. Bola, had left him on the edge. But he had struck an agreement.

Control yourself, the voice echoed in his mind. If you act on impulse, be ready to fight me again.

One move, and Bola would appear.

So Michael ignored them all. Without a word, he walked to his seat, sat down, and finally spoke—his voice cutting through the room.

"My name is Michael Ozor, Miss Ali."

A flicker of shock crossed the teacher's face. Two pronouns. Yet, he had chosen correctly. How did he know?

But she kept a straight face.

She would not let a mere child see through her.

Without another word, she turned to the class.

"Class is over."

Miss Ali would be their teacher until the day they left this school—until they became true Emoxians and chose their paths. But for now, their time was their own.

And then, the announcement came.

"STUDENTS OF EMOX! NOW THAT OUR NEW RECRUITS HAVE BEEN ENROLLED—RANKING SHALL BEGIN. BE READY TO FIGHT YOUR WAY TO THE TOP."

The real test had just begun.