Zon Guntam

From an objective standpoint, nothing untoward should have happened to Durman as long as he was within the premises of Imperial Secondary School.

Imperial School was one of the most reputable educational institutions on Zefi 528-AB. Since its students were children of the aristocracy, the upper class, as well as some of the most brilliant youths on the planet, it was built in a high-security district with military-tested defences. The security measures were such that even Level C draugrs couldn't get past its second force shield without disintegrating.

And yet, Durman Bluhzy managed to walk straight into a deadly situation whilst being inside such a secured environment….

•••

That day started out like any other.

Durman's wrist was numb from trying to match his teacher's ungodly writing speed. If he failed to get all the notes down before his esteemed scholar of a teacher erased the projection screen, he would be forced to ask a classmate for their notes—and that was absolutely out of the question! So, Durman had no time to wonder where the fuck Zon Guntam had picked up this bad habit of erasing two metres-worth of explanation the moment he was done jotting it done, his imposing back hiding more than half of it as he busied himself writing whilst explaining!

Seriously, Zon Guntam may have mastered the art of using four of his six arms when writing, but what about mere humans like Durman, who not only were born with just two arms, but also only possessed the ability to write with a single one of the two?!

No, such thoughts had been rehashed too often already, and it never failed to annoy the crap of Durman every single fucking time. Durman rather concentrated on working his wrist limp instead of losing valuable time over useless feelings. At least then he would have something to comfort himself later when he sat down to massage his innocent victim of a hand into resuscitating.

"The final examinations of this year will take place two months from now—as you ALL are already aware."

Zon Guntam's piercing hawk-like eyes glared at the students as though he was afraid purposely stressing out those words might not be enough for the warning to integrate.

Durman didn't mind, though. The more this Honourable Zartrek Scholar wasted time reminding them how they better pass his class or else, the more time Durman had to finish the notes.

By now, his handwriting was a wavy mess, the letters going from big to small to tiny in places where there was not enough space to cram in entire words.

Turning the page to continue on the next, Durman was once again glad he kept clean and organised notebooks for each subject on the side. Right now, all he had to do was ensure his handwriting—as crappy as it was—was readable.

There was absolutely no way in hell he would willingly spend hours of the time he could spend lazing around instead trying to decipher a hieroglyphic-type of nonsense outside of class hours.

"…which is why next week will mark the start of Projec— What in Glorious…"

Zon Guntam's brows furrowed as he passed by a certain white-haired boy's table and accidentally gazed at his writingpad. Such a handwriting… No wonder the boy avoided failure by a mere 13 to 26 points each time.

Zon Guntam turned his head subconsciously as he tried to make sense of what was being written. The more he looked, the more his head turned like the hands of a clock, yet no matter how much his head turned clockwise and anti-clockwise, he still couldn't read a single word.

Was this even the common language used on Earth? Was the boy writing in another language maybe? No, Zon Guntam had learnt 7393 galactic languages, and none came close to whatever was on this child's pages. Could it be some sort of a code? One decipherable only by himself?

Although the child barely passed each time, the fact that he passed remained an unchanged constant. Zon Guntam could only conclude that his method, though a headache to look at, must work.

Durman lifted his head in confusion when the silence continued for a few seconds too long, and the moment he did, he found Zon Guntam's head rotating like an owl straight out of a horror movie.

Fuck! Nearly scared me to death!

Durman was sure he would need to rinse his brain out with a concentrated cleansing potion if he ever wanted to get the unsettling image out of his mind.

He shook his head slightly, the move not really succeeding in getting the chilling imagery out of his mind, and resumed writing, but… Zon Guntam still didn't move an inch. When Durman glanced up at him again after bracing himself for the nightmarish sight this time around, he realised his teacher was staring at his notes. No, not staring, rather, Zon Guntam appeared to be trying to…read them?

Durman looked down at the stained pages on his desk. His handwriting wasn't that bad, was it?

He looked up at his teacher. His teacher looked down at him. Two pairs of eyes stared into each other, then… Durman received a look filled with unconcealed pity before his teacher shook his head and moved away from him.

No matter how much Durman stared at him afterwards, Zon Guntam refused to glance his way for the remainder of the period.

Had it been any other day, Durman would be elated after leaving Zon Guntam's classroom with all the explanations successfully captured on his writingpad. Today wasn't like any other day, though. Today, Durman's mood was sour, and it wasn't even because he'd just learned that the dreaded "Project Fortnight" had been scheduled to begin next week due to the school's sudden decision to have Year-6 students partake in the Yearly Mandatory Defence Training originally designed for Year-7 and Year-8 students only.

What the hell was that look for?! And what was up with that depressed expression on his face? Fuck, just thinking about it makes me feel like I actually hurt his feelings…

Durman's feet brought him to a secluded wing of the school as his face darkened further and further with every step he took. Mixed with the feeling of having been wronged was a tinge of guilt toward his teacher who was also famous for being a master in the art of calligraphy.

…There were even tears starting to pool in his eyes when he turned away from Durman earlier.

Fuck, my handwriting is not that bad, okay!