The Transfer Teacher
7:45 AM – The Arrival
Elias Clarke hated mornings.
Not in a dramatic, life-is-miserable way. He just found them annoyingly inefficient—waking up early, fighting traffic, and pretending to care about small talk.
But today was worse.
Because today, he wasn't just going to any school.
He was going to Blackridge High.
A school so notorious it had its own police officer stationed on campus. A place where fights weren't just common—they were part of the schedule. A school filled with gangs, delinquents, and kids who had long stopped pretending they cared about education.
And Elias?
He was their new math and physics teacher.
---
7:50 AM – Faculty Room
"Mr. Clarke, was it?"
A woman in her late forties, glasses perched on her nose, handed him a clipboard. She looked tired. Not physically—mentally. Like she had seen this routine play out a thousand times before.
"Principal Mercer," Elias acknowledged, taking the clipboard.
"You were transferred here on… rather short notice."
Elias didn't respond. He knew what she meant. No one voluntarily transferred to Blackridge.
"You read the reports, I assume?" Mercer continued.
"Yes." Elias flipped through the pages, uninterested. "Fights. Vandalism. A suspected gang presence. Overall grade performance at an all-time low. Seven teachers have quit this semester. I assume this is where you give me the 'be careful' speech?"
Mercer sighed.
"I won't sugarcoat it. This school is rough. We don't get teachers like you."
Elias raised an eyebrow.
"Like me?"
Mercer hesitated, then lowered her voice.
"You have an impressive background. Physics degree from a top university. High IQ. Private tutoring history. So why are you here?"
Elias took a slow sip of his coffee.
"...I like math."
Mercer frowned. "Excuse me?"
"Math doesn't talk back. It doesn't lie. It's logical, predictable." He sipped again. "Unlike people."
Mercer studied him.
Then sighed.
"Just… be careful."
Elias glanced at the clipboard again.
First period: Advanced Physics.
Room 3-B.
He stood up.
"Time to meet my students."
---
8:00 AM – Room 3-B
The moment Elias stepped inside, the noise hit him like a physical force.
Loud voices. Laughter. Someone throwing paper balls. A kid with headphones in, blasting music. A girl in the back painting her nails.
Not a single person acknowledged him.
Elias stood by the desk, adjusted his tie, and took a sip of his coffee.
Then, without warning—
He threw the clipboard across the room.
SLAM.
It crashed into the whiteboard, shattering the silence.
Everyone froze.
Slowly, heads turned.
Elias took another sip of coffee.
"Good. You can hear."
Dead silence.
Then—
"Who the hell are you?" one of the students, a tall kid with a buzz cut, challenged.
Elias adjusted his tie.
"Elias Clarke. Your new math and physics teacher." He glanced around. "Though judging by your attention spans, I doubt you care."
Someone snickered.
The girl in the back smirked. "Oh, he's got attitude."
Elias set his coffee down.
"Let's make one thing clear," he said, his tone ice-cold. "I don't care about your fights. I don't care about your excuses. I don't care about whatever pathetic gang hierarchy you think matters."
His gaze swept over the room.
"But if you interrupt my class…"
He picked up a dry-erase marker.
And, with terrifying precision, threw it.
It nailed the headphone kid square in the forehead.
"Ow—what the hell?!"
Elias sipped his coffee.
"Then we have a problem."
Silence.
Then—
Someone whispered, "…Yo. This dude is crazy."
Elias turned to the whiteboard and calmly began writing.
Newton's First Law: An object at rest stays at rest. An object in motion stays in motion…
He underlined it.
"That's you," he said.
They blinked.
"You are all objects at rest. Unmoving. Stagnant. Completely worthless in terms of acceleration."
He turned.
"Let's see if we can change that."
The students exchanged glances.
Some intrigued. Some annoyed.
But one thing was clear—
This class?
Was going to be different.
---
8:45 AM – The First Problem
It started with a voice from the back.
"I still don't get why we need this crap."
Elias didn't even turn. "Elaborate."
The student, a muscular kid with sharp eyes, leaned back in his chair.
"Physics, math—none of it matters. Out there?" He gestured toward the window. "No one cares about Newton or Einstein. They care about money. Strength."
Elias finally turned.
"What's your name?"
The student hesitated.
"...Zane."
Elias nodded.
"Alright, Zane. Let's say you're in a fight. A guy throws a punch at you. What do you do?"
Zane smirked. "Dodge it, obviously."
Elias nodded. "And what determines if you succeed?"
Zane blinked.
Elias stepped forward.
"Your reaction time. The speed of the punch. The angle of attack. The force behind it. The trajectory. The momentum. All physics."
Zane frowned.
Elias continued.
"You claim math doesn't matter? Then tell me—if a bullet is fired at you from 50 meters away at 400 meters per second, how long do you have to react?"
Zane hesitated.
Elias took a sip of his coffee.
"0.125 seconds."
Zane's smirk vanished.
Elias turned to the rest of the class.
"This world is ruled by numbers. Velocity. Mass. Probability. Every fight, every decision, every move—math decides if you live or die."
Silence.
Then—
Someone muttered,
"…Damn."
Elias adjusted his tie.
"Now, open your books."