Teacher's confidence

Nolan blinked. Then laughed once. "Of course. These kids don't even know how to open the comms yet, do they?"

He rolled his eyes and muttered to himself.

Then, raising his voice as the infected continued their slow march forward, he began giving instructions—absurdly long, almost comically precise instructions, like he was guiding someone through disarming an arcane bomb.

"Alright, all of you—listen very, very carefully," he said, gesturing with his finger like a teacher scolding toddlers.

"Look to the top right corner of your vision. Yes, not your real vision, your system vision. See that tiny blinking icon? No, not the battery—you're not going to die in real life. The one shaped like a coin pouch with wings. Yes, that one."

"Now, double blink twice. Not triple. That opens the auxiliary system menu. You'll hear a little chime—do NOT panic. That's just the system confirming that you're either smart… or lucky.

"A thin vertical line should pop up on your left side—it'll look like a broken thermometer. Tap that mentally. Yes, mentally. Just think you're touching it. The system registers intent more than action."

The infected began to groan louder, stepping closer. Nolan continued without breaking pace.

"Now, if you did it correctly, there should be four options in ancient script. The first one should look like a chicken bone with a crown on it.

"That's not the one you want—that's for loot sharing. Tap the third one. It looks like a goblin's ear. Yes, grotesque. I didn't make the UI."

"If done right, a golden box will appear in front of you. That's the Network Communication Protocol, or NCP. Tap the little diamond shape in the middle. The diamond will shift into a tiny circle, and when it does, chant—I'm not joking here—chant the words:

"'We who linger in realms of shards, request to connect across the spark.' Got that? Say it out loud, yes, and your mic has to be enabled through your mental settings. If it's not—well, I hope your telepathy skill's at least Tier One."

He sighed. "Now, wait for buffering. It'll probably freeze. This is a government-provided simulation, not a private-tier pocket server."

Moments passed.

"Connection error," a voice echoed in his mind.

Nolan rolled his eyes again. "Of course."

Lag.

Another error.

Still walking, Nolan waved his knife lazily at the approaching infected, as if he were greeting old neighbors he hadn't liked much.

The infected grew louder.

Crunching sounds. Wet limbs dragging. One of them began sprinting in short bursts.

"Connection failed," the system beeped again.

Until—

"…Connected… sir…" a voice came through, scratchy and nearly inaudible.

"Kera?" Nolan paused his walk, turning slightly.

"Connected!" Selin's voice joined in. Then Calien. Ruvin. Erik. One by one, the eleven students buzzed into the temporary mental conference channel.

Nolan smirked. "Good. Took you all long enough. I thought you were gonna leave me monologuing to the zombies."

"Sir! There are twenty-seven infected in front of you!" Calien's voice trembled.

"What's our timer?" Nolan asked, pulling his knife lazily from his waist again.

"1 minute and 34 seconds!" Kera shouted.

"Hmph. Still got time. I'm not even past three minutes."

He spun the knife in his hand, the blade whistling through the air. Then, with casual arrogance, he began doing slow, deliberate stretches.

He bent sideways, touched his toes, twisted his torso like he was in a morning yoga class instead of a death game.

The students panicked.

"Sir! They're getting closer! You're just… stretching?!"

"Yeah," Nolan said, cracking his neck. "Warm up is important. Keeps the soul aligned."

He began hopping in place, light bounces like a boxer preparing for a spar. "Can't show off without prepping my rhythm. That's how you sprain ankles."

"Sir, are you going to use that throwing knife again?! That momentum redirection thing—how did you do that?" Erik asked frantically.

Nolan grinned. "If you all attend the assessment tomorrow, I'll teach them to you step by step." But inside, Nolan would sneer; he might be gone by the time they arrived, and he wouldn't stay here—in this academy.

"What!? That's not fair! Just show us now and explain it to us while doing it!" Selin protested.

Nolan chuckled. "If you all attend the assessment tomorrow… I promise… I'll teach you."

Calien groaned. "You're repeating yourself!"

Nolan nodded. "Consistency is the hallmark of a disciplined teacher."

The infected began accelerating. The fast ones now mixed in. Some shrieked as they raised their clawed hands.

Selin gasped. "You're still stretching?! Sir! They're almost in your face!"

Nolan dropped to the ground and did three push-ups.

"I call this exercise: The Calm Before the Burst," he said. Then stood up, rotating his shoulders. "Remember students, it's all about poise. A warrior without poise is a clown with a sword."

He inhaled deeply. The stench of rot mixed with pixels filled his lungs.

"Sir, how can you be this calm?!"

Nolan raised a hand. "Because this is nothing."

The groans intensified.

Nolan looked at his knife.

Then his flashlight.

And slowly, he began to walk forward again.

"Alright, students," he said, his voice low, calm like a tide before a storm. "I'll reach the third floor in a split second. Just watch this… advanced technique I'm about to show you."

He raised the flashlight in one hand.

His grip on the knife tightened in the other.

The infected were meters away now.

Flesh dragging, teeth clattering.

And Nolan…

Smiled.

Then he stepped forward.

Soon, he began to run.

Not just any run—it was a sprint so sudden and powerful that his coat flared like wings behind him.

The sound of his boots striking the cracked, infected concrete echoed like war drums through the rotting corridors of the simulation's second floor.

The students, still watching everything through the system's projected observer screens, collectively gasped.

"Teacher is running toward them?!" Kera yelped.

"There's no way… Is teacher insane?" Selin's voice cracked with disbelief.

"He's not even preparing a skill! Not preparing to throw his knife!" Calien's voice rose.

The horde of infected was massive now—close to thirty, maybe more.

They weren't just the regular moaning shufflers either.

Some were fast, their limbs twitching with corrupted mana. Some were tall and bloated with muscle, veins like black cords wrapping around their arms.

Others hissed like beasts, crawling on all fours with clawed hands that scraped the pavement with metallic screeches.

They had eyes that glowed like furnaces in the night and teeth jagged like broken knives.

Yet Nolan didn't falter. He didn't slow.

He sped up.

Faster.

And faster.

The air whistled past his ears as he closed the distance—five meters… four… three…

And then—he met them.

There was no scream. No yell of defiance. No chant of a warrior spirit.

Just silence.

Then—flash.

Nolan whipped his flashlight up, a brilliant beam flaring out, directly into the faces of the frontmost infected.

Their red eyes sparked like dying lanterns as they recoiled, groaning in confusion.

Nolan ducked beneath a lunging swipe—so close it parted a few strands of his hair.

He pivoted mid-step and brought his knife into the temple of a lunging crawler with a clean, practiced motion.

Pop!

The skull collapsed, and the infected went limp. Its body didn't even fall properly before Nolan moved again.