Be humble

Calien's hand remained raised, but there was a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Professor," he said evenly, "these infected… their only weakness is the head, right?"

Some of the students turned to him, confused by the question.

Calien went on, crossing his arms as if he had something deeper in mind. "I'm not saying it's bad, but… as a Knight, I was hoping for something more. More depth. A bigger challenge. This feels more like a beginner's course. Slash the head, move on. Over and over. Kinda dull, don't you think?"

A hush fell over the classroom. Some jaws dropped. A few students even looked toward Nolan in horror.

Nolan's face didn't move for several seconds. Then—

Click.

The sharp sound of him clicking his tongue echoed across the room.

He tilted his head, slowly cracking his neck left, then right, with deliberate stiffness. His gaze never left Calien.

"Oh really?" he said, voice low, dangerously calm. "That's your grand critique?"

He stood up from his chair with an easy, measured grace, brushing invisible dust from his coat sleeve.

"You think you've got it figured out because you made it to the fourth floor once? You think the game's too simple because you saw a weakness that every six-year-old playing the demo also figured out?"

Nolan stepped forward, letting the silence thicken around his words.

"You think slashing at a head makes you a Knight? Makes you thrilled? You want thrill? Hah."

He scoffed, then turned his back to them with arms behind him like a military officer.

"You couldn't even clear the first floor without tripping over yourselves like confused pigeons. Half of you died to a single infected in a supply closet. The other half panicked and stabbed walls because your flashlight made a shadow."

The students collectively flinched.

"Oh, and the screaming?" Nolan gave a half-laugh, shaking his head. "Pathetic. And now you're standing there puffing your chest out like you've conquered something? Let me tell you how I cleared the simulation."

He spun around, his grin sharpened with contempt.

"First try. One hand."

Murmurs spread through the room, but Nolan raised his voice, overrunning them.

"One hand, no retries, no backup. Cleared the first floor with a broken mug. Cleared the second floor without ever triggering an alert. Third floor? I used a frying pan. Didn't even scratch me."

He leaned forward like a predator surveying prey. "And I was younger than all of you are now."

The students stared, stunned.

"I didn't scream. I didn't panic. And I sure as hell didn't beg some half-ranked professor to 'please teach me' because I couldn't figure out how to open a damn door quietly."

Several students clenched their jaws.

"I didn't get surrounded like a lost little kitten." He made a mocking mewling sound and mimed a weak pawing gesture. "Help me! Help me! I threw a pipe and now there are three infected chasing me, wahh!"

Snickers of embarrassment came from the corners of the room, but most of the students had their fists clenched, trying not to blow up.

Nolan wasn't done.

"You know how I learned all those tricks I just taught you earlier? I discovered them. There was no hint, no guide, no one pulling me aside like, 'Hey, use a pipe to make noise.' I had to die. I had to learn."

He stepped onto a chair, elevating himself.

"I played that game when it first launched. A glitchy, horrifying mess with zero tutorials. You kids now? You have the updated version, an interface, a minimap, optimized infected spawn logic—hell, even a built-in flashlight system. And still you cried."

The air in the room thickened with fury. The earlier camaraderie turned into seething tension.

"Now you dare to critique the infected?" Nolan added, squinting toward Calien. "You want a greater challenge? You want 'thrill'? I've fought infected whose scream made grown warriors vomit. I've watched NPCs rip their own faces off to evolve mid-chase. But sure, sure, you're bored. Headshots are too easy, right?"

His grin turned venomous.

"Scared kittens. That's what I'm dealing with."

The entire classroom rippled with agitation. Students were shifting in their chairs, glaring, whispering sharp things under their breath.

"You're joking," one finally muttered, too angry to keep quiet.

"No way."

"You didn't do that. One hand? Come on."

"Liar."

But Nolan only sat back down with a theatrical flair, throwing one leg over the other and lazily pulling out a cotton swab to clean his ear.

He didn't even dignify their protests with a response.

Just casually flicked invisible lint from his shoulder.

It was Calien who snapped the room back to focus.

The Knight student took a deep breath, forcing the heat in his veins to cool.

Then, loud and proud, "Alright, classmates! Let's clear the first, second, and third floor again. Let's show this arrogant professor—our number one enemy—how it's done!"

A ripple of cheers and laughter followed.

The mood flipped with a crack of electric resolve.

Eyes burned with vengeance. Fists clenched, ready. They were fired up now.

Nolan lifted an eyebrow.

"Eh, bullshit," he said, unimpressed.

Then he straightened a bit, tapping into the system interface with a calm smirk.

"How about this," he said. "Since you all want to challenge me and prove yourselves."

He waved his hand. The simulation began prepping a new round.

"If you can't clear the first floor in one minute... the second in two... and the third in three..."

He leaned forward, smiling wickedly.

"You each pay me thirty Mana Crystals."

The entire room erupted.

"WHAT?!"

"No way!"

"Thirty?! That's robbery!"

"Unfair!"

"That's practically extortion!"

Nolan raised a hand and rolled it slowly, pretending to consider.

"Alright, alright. I'll be generous," he said, that same annoying smile glued to his face.

"Let's say… twenty."

The protests only got louder. One student threw their notebook in frustration.

"Arghhh, are you serious?!"

"I'm broke!"

"That's half a month of credits!"

Nolan laughed, an airy, smug chuckle.

"Okay, okay," he said finally, holding up both hands. "Last offer."

He glanced across the room.

"Ten crystals."

His voice lowered.

"Each."

The classroom went dead silent.

A few gaped.

Others grit their teeth.

He smirked wider.

"Deal?"

The students nodded in silent unison, a resolute flame burning in their eyes.

They were ready.

"Use the timer on your screens," Nolan instructed flatly, already tapping something on his desk's glowing interface.

With a smooth flick of his wrist, a synchronized signal pulsed through the system.

Instantly, a new window opened across each student's display—bold digital numerals ticking in a countdown format: 00:00:00.

"There. Timer's up," Nolan said, arms folded behind his back. "Let's see who can walk the walk."

He didn't need to say start again.

The moment he turned around to return to his chair, every student had already tapped into the system.

The simulation surged to life—thick darkness, dilapidated buildings, the reek of infected blood, and that familiar, soul-pricking groan of the undead returned like thunder under their skin.

Each student found themselves standing in the alleyway just outside the entrance.

They didn't hesitate.

Playing individually, they restarted their playthroughs—not like before with chaotic screams and hasty rushes, but with tactical awareness.

They began by drawing infected away, knocking objects to distract or lure the creatures into choke points.

Some tossed metal scraps at dumpsters to scatter sound, others broke windows on opposite sides of the street.

A few even doubled back, luring lone infected far from the path to isolate them.

It was a longer route. Slower.

But it was working.

When they entered the first floor of the apartment building, they no longer rushed. Instead of dashing toward the stairs in panic, they hunkered down—clearing one room at a time, quietly, like shadows.

A few stabbed from behind, others waited for stragglers to enter their ambush zones.

Nolan watched from his screen, his eyes slightly narrowed, tracking each of their paths.

Each student had developed their own unique strategy.

Some used high stealth, others were more aggressive, parrying infected lunges and countering with efficient stabs.

It was a thing of beauty.

There were no screams now—only focused breathing and mechanical movement.

Minutes passed.

Soon, most of the students cleared the first floor.

One by one, they slipped up the stairs—except they didn't immediately press on to the third floor like before.

No, this time, they stayed on the second floor.

Just like on the first floor, they began clearing rooms, setting traps, making use of the objects around them.

They approached vents, waited behind broken doors, used clever flanks and well-timed smashes.

It was clear they had studied from the last session.

But here, a problem began to emerge.

Unlike the calculated and slow approach from the first floor, some of the students grew impatient.

Eager to reach the third floor, they misstepped—banging into furniture, triggering infected shrieks, turning clean encounters into panicked scuffles.

Though they weren't entirely overwhelmed, their movements lost that earlier precision.

They still succeeded, yes—but they were sloppier. Less clean.

Still, when the bulk of the class reached the third floor, they repeated the process—though the difficulty was obvious now.

The infected here were stronger, more aggressive, faster.

The moment the first loud alert was triggered, the tight corridors turned into battlegrounds.

The students fought hard, exhausted, wounded—but they coordinated without even speaking.

Some fell, reset.

Others adapted, pushed forward.

Eventually, bloodied but determined, each group managed to wipe the infected clean from the third floor.

And then—

The simulation faded.

One by one, the students returned to the classroom. Their bodies leaned back in their chairs, soaked in sweat, clothes clinging to their backs. Some gasped. Others laughed in breathless triumph. A few fell silent, eyes wide in disbelief.

But almost everyone wore a smile.

"We were fast!" one student declared, punching the air.

"We cleared it!"

Another added, "We actually worked together without speaking! It's like muscle memory!"

Selin leaned back, laughing. "That was so intense. I thought I was gonna die five times!"

Laughter and cheers erupted.

But as they glanced up at their screens again, expecting glory…

All they saw was…