Title: Classrooms of Steel: The Teacher’s Eyes

POV: Instructor Valerie Blackwood – Blackwood Imperial Science Division, Year 5

The sound of synchronized chairs scraping the floor echoed through the metallic hall. Instructor Valerie Blackwood, draped in the deep-gray robe of educators and wearing the crimson sash of senior loyalty, strode into the classroom like a general entering a warzone.

Fifty pairs of eyes snapped to her. No one blinked. No one dared to.

She set her datapad on the podium and slowly scanned the room.

"Good morning, students."

"GLORY TO BLACKWOOD!" they chorused, voices like thunder.

"Sit."

They obeyed instantly.

Valerie exhaled. Once, long ago, she'd taught in the early days—when fear hadn't yet soaked the walls, when the Oath was a formality. But now? Now it was sacred. A student slipping up didn't just mean detention. It meant review. Rehabilitation. Sometimes disappearance.

"Today we begin quantum defense structures. By the end of the lesson, I expect all of you to be able to replicate a schematic from the Imperial Archives… from memory."

No groans. No sighs. Even if a student was terrified, they'd trained themselves to look composed.

As she spoke, Valerie watched their eyes. She didn't just teach—she monitored. She assessed microexpressions. Hand tremors. Delayed reactions.

Because every teacher was also a surveillance node.

"Unit 4," she said, pointing at a lanky student with sharp eyes. "State the quantum filtration formula used in Blackwood tank propulsion systems."

"Ma'am. QF-19. Standard filtration sequence: 1-3-9-Blackwood. Core encrypted to the Empire's command line. Failure to encrypt equals execution."

"Correct."

She glanced at her screen. That student had already been flagged once last month—for hesitation. She marked him loyal pending consistency. Two more mistakes and his family would lose meal access for 48 hours.

Midway through the lesson, an alarm buzzed softly in her earpiece.

Code Yellow – Emotional Deviation Detected: Student 17A

Her eyes locked onto a girl in the third row, barely trembling, lower lip twitching.

"17A," she said sharply. "Stand."

The student rose, pale.

"What are the three fundamental laws of Blackwood Education?"

The girl hesitated.

Silence.

"You have five seconds."

"…Obedience… Loyalty… Sacrifice," she whispered.

Valerie's jaw tightened. "You forgot the fourth."

"There's a fourth?"

The room tensed.

Valerie walked slowly over. "There's always a fourth, child. Fear. That's what keeps you alive."

She activated her datapad. Within seconds, two Black Axe Youth Officers entered the room and escorted the student away in silence. No one said a word. No one dared.

She turned back to the class.

"Let her failure be your warning. Excellence isn't optional. It is your duty to the Blackwood name."

As she continued the lecture, Valerie couldn't help but think—this is what teaching looks like now. It's not about knowledge. It's about allegiance. About watching the next generation and making sure no traitor ever grows unnoticed.

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