Classroom of the Elite

By the time they arrived on campus, the sun was already blazing overhead, casting sharp shadows on the ground. Clip's mind was already focused on his upcoming lecture, trying to prepare for the endless hours of mind-numbing equations that awaited him.

They parted ways at the entrance, Kattie giving him a quick, teasing salute before skipping off to her own class. Clip watched her go, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. She always had that effect on him. She somehow always lightens the weight of the world with just a few well-timed jokes.

Clip opened the door to the lecture hall and took a deep breath. It was a large room with rows of seating stretching up toward the high windows. At the front of the room stood his professor, Dr. Ringo Moore, his presence larger-than-life towering over the students who had already taken their seats.

Ringo was menacing as ever, his sharp eyes surrounded by thick glasses. He looked bored and indifferent, but Clip would be smart never to underestimate him. The professor's reputation was well-known—he didn't suffer fools gladly, and his expectations were sky-high. Clip hurried to his seat.

"Alright," Ringo's voice cut through the quiet hum of the room, "I think we've waited long enough."

He walked to the front of the lecture hall for the first time, and all sound was crushed by his spiritual pressure. Standing tall at 6'1", he loomed over the class, commanding the attention of every student with his brown skin and imposing frame. His short black hair was styled neatly; his pitch-black eyes surveyed the room like a predator sizing up his prey from behind the large round glasses perched on his nose.

A cigarette hung loosely between his lips; the smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling as he sipped from a cup of coffee. Despite his laid-back posture, the dark bags under his eyes betrayed the weight of his work. Clip could tell the man hadn't slept properly in days, but Ringo carried himself with the air of someone who didn't care about trivial matters like sleep.

After all, as Ringo often reminded his students, "This pays the bills."

Clip slid into his seat, tucking himself into the upper corner of the room by the window. He preferred isolation, away from prying eyes and idle chatter. The room grew quieter; the anticipation was palpable as the students waited for Ringo to speak.

The professor locked the door behind him with an audible click, his slow, deliberate movements influencing the mood. Immediately, students began knocking at the door from outside begging to be let in, their cries bellowing down the hallway. Ringo kept on speaking as if nothing happened at all; he was entirely focused on the class.

"Welcome to theoretical physics," he said, his voice a smooth monotone that held the attention of the entire room. "I'm Professor Ringo Moore. I hate being called 'Doctor,' and I especially hate being called 'Moore.' So you can all call me 'Professor Ringo.'"

Clip leaned back in his seat, watching the professor with a mix of curiosity and wariness. He wasn't sure what to make of him yet. Ringo had the air of someone who had seen too much of the world and didn't care to explain it to anyone. And yet, there was something about him that kept Clip from writing him off entirely.

Ringo took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke swirling lazily around his head. "Now, I know you all paid good money to be here. That's great. But I'll tell you now: this class is optional. Attendance is optional. I don't care if you show up, and I don't care if you leave early. But remember this—this class is for the elite. So, you'll be held to elite standards."

The room shifted, students exchanging uneasy glances. Ringo walked back to the door and unlocked it. "If you can't even get in on time," he continued, "take that as if you've been dropped from the class. That's standard number one."

He returned to the front, the clicking of his shoes the only sound as the students who had been knocking hurriedly found seats.

"Standard number two," he said, turning to the chalkboard. "Failure is not tolerated. You fail a single exam, you're out. And finally—" He scrawled something on the board with quick, sharp strokes. The number five stood out in bold white chalk. "If you fail to impress me... well, you're dropped from the class."

Clip watched as Ringo stepped back, eyeing the number. Five. Five souls would be gone before they even had a chance to beg for salvation.

"Five," Ringo said, turning to face the class. "That's the number of students I've already dropped. That's the number of you that will pass my class."

An air of anxious energy filled the room. Some exchanged looks; others sat frozen, their faces pale. Clip, though, felt an involuntary smirk tug at the corner of his lips. He wasn't like the rest of them. He knew he could meet Ringo's standards, and more.

Ringo's gaze settled on Clip, a glint of something sharp in his pitch black eyes. "But look, you've got the child prodigy with you. Isn't that right, Mr. Hiyoka?"

Clip's smirk widened slightly. "Luck is for the weak," his voice was steady and measured as he spoke. "My ability is mine alone. But if they're as good at studying as they are at gossiping, they'll be fine."

A ripple of tension spread through the room, amplified by Ringo's laugh that seemed to bounce off the walls, unsettling the students further. "How unfortunate," the professor replied with a smile. "This class will be more entertaining than I thought."

Clip crossed his arms, unfazed by the attention. He wasn't here to make friends, and he certainly wasn't here to babysit his classmates. Let them sink or swim. It wasn't his problem.

Ringo's laugh eventually faded, but the weight of his challenge hung in the air. The room was heavy with a mix of pride, resentment, and fear, as the other students glared at Clip, their eyes filled with unspoken challenges. But no one dared beg for his help.

"Alright, enough of that," Ringo said, dismissing the tension with a wave of his hand. "Let's get started with today's lesson."