Chapter 02: I think my homeroom teacher is a marionette.

(Mysterious lightning bolt crackles somewhere in the distance)

Welcome to Fearcraft Academy! Dreamsdale's prestigious, unnerving, pulse-spiking institution for nightmare crafters.

It was founded by the Council of Horrors (COH), a board of bureaucratic dreadlords who live, love, laugh quarterly stats and emotional damage.

They established Fearcraft Academy with four noble, totally-not-sinister objectives:

One: To educate every unemployed and/or underaged nightmare weaver (ages 16–20) on how to professionally whip up terror.

Two: To create a platform for acquiring industrial experience throughout the academic session.

Three: To grant top-scoring candidates exclusive job placements, and let them swim in Otherkin currency like they run the world.

Four: To inflate student reputations until they're shiny enough to attract big-name sponsors (because who doesn't want a brand deal from an unknown entity?)

Surprisingly, Fearcraft Academy didn't always exist.

It was birthed from panic as a direct response to the economic pandemic plaguing the Nightmare Faction: the dreaded demand–supply dip.

Despite churning out an estimated 876 billion nightmares per year, Dreamsdale still struggled to satisfy the Otherkin's twisted appetites.

These ultra-mysterious, couch-bound interdimensional beings had one job: stream human dreams like premium content.

They left comments. They threw virtual gifts. They reacted to nightmares with emojis that were probably cursed.

But lately? They'd been slacking.

Viewership dropped. Engagement tanked.

Terror stock prices were in freefall.

So, the COH pulled out its biggest gun: education.

They proposed the birth of a proper academy. One that would mold amateur weavers into terror tycoons.

The idea was that a well-groomed generation of nightmare artists would close the demand gap and reignite Otherkin interest across all seven streaming portals.

Through this implementation, productivity output was predicted to increase from a sad little 100% to a whooping 340%!

Yep. You read that right.

The Council of Horrors had high hopes for their young adult population.

If only said young adults shared their enthusiasm.

And by "young adults," we mean one person in particular.

Our peculiar, banana milk-loving MC.

Gulp.

Zev swallowed thickly as he took a tentative glance around his new classroom, carefully avoiding all direct eye contact as though eyeballs were currency and he was bankrupt.

Welcome to Classroom C. Zev's latest spawn point.

It was spacious, organized, and well-lit enough to commit crimes without consequence (not implied literally.)

The black desks and chairs created a visual harmony with the students' uniforms—red blazer jackets over white shirts, paired with black trousers or skirts depending on personal anatomy preferences.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that sounded like a rumor had gone around: If you breathe too loud... POP! You'll spontaneously explode.

Zev's palms were slippery puddles of shame.

'Ugh. I'm so anxious. My hands won't stop sweating. I wanna fart.'

He gulped again and focused his eyes forward, forcing himself to behave like a functioning student.

His assigned seat was in the middle row. The cursed in-between. Border territory between Nerdland and Slacker City.

Then came the bell's chime from somewhere in the distance, echoing like the final warning in a horror movie.

Footsteps began to approach and soon enough, the classroom door slammed open with enough force to make Zev jump.

In walked their presumed homeroom teacher.

And wow.

She was stunning in a way that made you question your sense of safety.

She had long silver hair with cropped bangs, black eyes that glinted in the classroom's surplus lighting, a single mole beneath her left eye, and what could only be described as clown-inspired makeup—minus the red ball nose.

Zev gawked at the black tear-shaped streak ran down her cheeks. 'How's that even allowed?'

Then his gaze slid down the rest of her.

She wore a crisp white blouse tucked into a pencil skirt, paired with sheer black pantyhose and stilettos that seemed to attract more lingering eyes than she intended.

And it appeared that she wasn't in a good mood because her initial expression was sour.

Then—flip!

A wide, sinister smile cracked across her face like it was stitched in manually.

Zev froze in his seat.

'What the?!'

His hand flew over his heart, which was currently racing at a thousand miles per hours.

He hadn't even made it past orientation and he was already getting jump-scared.

The lady strutted to the front of the classroom, picked up a piece of chalk, and began scribbling on the board.

N-A-Y-O-M-I, it read.

Still wearing that unsettling smile, she turned around and introduced herself in a voice that sounded like Siri's evil twin.

"I want to officially welcome you all to Fearcraft Academy. I am Nayomi," she said, voice smoother than a balding head. "Your homeroom teacher and course adviser for this semester—and for the many semesters of psychological unraveling to come."

A few students blinked. One coughed. The air now tasted like impending doom.

Nayomi wasted no time. She launched straight into the orientation.

"Being seated here today means only one thing: The Board of Education has seen potential in you. Well, that or," she added with a shameless smirk, "you're related to someone of frightening reputation within the industry."

Zev felt invisible fingers pointing right at him.

"So, as students of this noble institution, you'll be responsible for mastering six essential nightmare components over the course of your academic program."

She turned to the board, picked up the chalk, and began writing with dramatic purpose:

- MEM 101 — Memory Echo

- EMO 102 — Emotional Catalyst

- DIS 103 — Distortion Agent

- SEN 104 — Sensory Amplification

- AVA 105 — Avatar of Dread

- ESC 106 — Escape Doors

"These form the backbone of your training and will remain with you throughout all nine semesters. Every year, the course difficulty rises. Every semester, the stakes multiply. And your sanity? Hmm. I guess we'll see~"

She turned back, smile still stitched in place.

"Your professors—who specialize in each component—will introduce their syllabi over the next few days. I'll be your anchor, your coordinator, and your occasional voice of reason. If your schedule looks terrifying, that means I did my job."

She randomly pointed at a few unsuspecting students, Zev included, as if pre-assigning victims for extra credit.

"Timetables will be distributed tomorrow. Practical sessions begin next week. Attendance is mandatory. Failure means dream detention... and possibly therapy."

Zev's felt lightheaded.

The student beside him was scribbling notes with precision that bordered on sorcery. Pen gliding. Wrist swooping. Eyebrows doing jazz.

Zev, on the other hand, had only managed to write "Memo Ecco?"

He blinked at his blank notebook, feeling like a useless collection of limbs. 

'Is it too late to fake my death and escape to WhimsyCast? Mum, dad, and Kai don't deserve me anyway.' 

Nayomi continued, shifting gears without mercy.

"You won't just be graded on academics. Your reputation matters too. Fearcraft is more than skill. It's poise. Prestige. Presence. You are the future trauma technicians, the architects of emotional meltdowns, the influencers of subconscious horror!"

Zev swallowed air that felt like swallowing a brick.

"Also, you'll be assessed at the end of every semester. Nine in total, spread across your three-year program. These exams will determine your next class tier."

A few students visibly panicked. The semester hadn't even started, and there was already talk of exams?? One tried to casually write "how to drop out" in cursive.

"The metrics for the rankings are as follows: academic score, practical aptitude, behavioral record, and individual potential. Ignore any one of these, and you'll find yourself demoted... or worse, forgotten."

Zev's brain was twitching. So much info. So much pressure. No banana milk.

"And finally, we have the internship semester. Your final act. You'll be assigned live human targets. Dreams will be broadcast to the Seven Streaming Portals. The Council of Horrors will watch. The Otherkin will comment. Your performance will be measured by your Fright Potential Rating, unofficial version."

Nayomi dropped the chalk. It clinked ominously.

"Information regarding target assignments will be delivered later. For now, focus on not failing the basics. Unless you want to repeat your first year and be the first ever Hall of Shame kids."

'Ah geez. That's probably going to be my future,' Zev thought, mentally sobbing into a handkerchief.

"And now, with all that said..." Nayomi smiled, "We've reached the end of the orientation. Any questions?"