Stupid gods Again?

"Today we're going to continue our study of the old gods," Mrs. Lee announced as she entered the classroom. She was the Director of Studies at School Central—a woman in her forties with graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses that she constantly adjusted when she was nervous.

Truth is, I'd never liked mythology before, but today I was eager. There was something about gods and power that suddenly felt... relevant.

Stupid gods again? Who's even interested in this garbage?

That wasn't me thinking—it was someone else from the back, and I heard it as clearly as if they'd spoken aloud. I was starting to realize that teachers never liked teaching after break time because students were always restless, unfocused, their minds wandering to everything except the lesson.

"I hope you all did your research over the weekend," Mrs. Lee said, but she didn't seem confident. Her posture was tense, and she kept glancing at her notes like she'd forgotten something important.

I need enough time to settle. Let me choose one unprepared student and ask them about their research. Her eyes were already scanning the room, and I felt a familiar dread as her gaze locked with mine.

No, no, no. Don't tell me I'm the chosen victim.

"You," she said, pointing directly at me. My blue hair always made me the target—a beacon for every teacher who wanted to make an example of someone. "Come and share with the class what you researched about the old gods."

You fail to prepare for classes and you think you can just—

"You got this," Caleb whispered, sliding a piece of paper across the desk as I stood up.

I hadn't done any research, but this wasn't new. From O-level onward, I'd always faced this kind of ambush. This wasn't the first time the blue-haired kid was about to be humiliated in front of the class.

I walked to the front while Mrs. Lee settled into her chair, clearly expecting to watch me crash and burn. It was time to embarrass myself again. I looked out at the sea of faces, and suddenly I could hear fragments of their thoughts—a chaotic jumble of voices I couldn't control.

Most of them were ready to laugh. Even Derrick had that sympathetic cringe on his face. But as I stood there, feeling the familiar fire stirring in my chest, something else stirred too. Knowledge. Ancient and powerful, like a voice whispering from deep inside me. You know more than you think you do, Ernesto.

"Good morning, class," I said.

They laughed immediately. It was already afternoon. Poor Nesto. That was Derrick's voice in my head.

I needed to concentrate amidst the noise of the class's collective thoughts. But then something clicked—a pattern I hadn't noticed before. Wait a minute. I only hear thoughts of people I lock eyes with. Bingo.

I looked above their heads, focusing on the back wall instead of their faces. The laughter died down, replaced by curious silence.

"My name is Ernesto Mela," I said, my voice steadier now.

"We know your name!" shouted a group of back benchers in unison. We just want to hear what crap you're about to say.

But I had something they weren't expecting. Knowledge I shouldn't have possessed—memories that felt both foreign and familiar.

"I researched about the old gods," I said, and suddenly I had their complete attention. They seemed genuinely surprised—this wasn't the usual stammering, unprepared presentation they'd come to expect from me.

"I'm going to speak about Ramaphosa, the god of fire."

The moment I said the name, Mrs. Lee's eyes widened slightly, and I realized she recognized something in my voice. Something that shouldn't have been there.

You haven't heard anything yet.

"I would like to illustrate how the gods look, but it's hard to put into words," I continued, feeling more confident with each sentence. The knowledge was flowing through me now, unstoppable. "First, everything that happens in this world first happens in the spiritual realm. The spiritual realm controls what we see."

That's my boy. Derrick was caught off guard, actually invested in what I was saying.

"There was a god called Ramaphosa, and he was in charge of keeping peace. The other gods trusted him completely." I paused, feeling the weight of ancient betrayal in my chest. "And guess what?"

"What?" Even Camilla was leaning forward, genuinely curious.

"He turned out to be the very enemy of the galaxy. He destroyed planets like Mars and countless others. He caused wars that lasted centuries. And by the time the other gods interfered, he was about to destroy our Vezia. We were in the middle of World War Six, fighting for reasons we didn't understand, all because of one corrupted god."

The classroom was completely silent. I could feel their attention like a physical weight. But more than that, I could feel something else. Part of me wondered if this was how Ramaphosa had felt when he first discovered his power over others.

I looked directly into Mrs. Lee's eyes and saw through her—deeper than I'd ever seen into anyone's mind before.

Lovely kids, how can we do this to these kids? What if they were our children? What if we're sending them to die in the—

I lost eye contact before I could hear the rest, but it was enough. The revelation hit me like a physical blow.

"Do you guys know that gods can die?" I asked, my voice slightly shaky now.

I wasn't making this up. The knowledge was flowing through me from somewhere deeper than memory, older than my own existence. It felt like accessing a part of myself I'd never known existed.

"Thank you, Ernesto," Mrs. Lee cut me short, but her voice was different now. Respectful. This was the first time she'd ever called me by my actual name instead of just "you" or "Blue."

"You'll continue tomorrow."

The class erupted in applause as I walked back to my seat. Real applause, not the polite clapping they usually gave to failed presentations. You haven't seen anything yet, School Central. This is the real Ernesto, baby.

But my mind wasn't settled. Mrs. Lee's interrupted thought kept echoing in my head: What if we're sending them to die in the—

Sending them to die where? What was really happening to the students who graduated?

"Your seat's… still free, if you want," Camilla Mendy whispered as I passed by her desk, she said, not quite meeting my eyes. Like she wasn't sure why she said it, but needed to.

I stopped, stunned. Camilla Mendy—the girl who'd publicly humiliated me that morning—was asking me to sit with her? I ain't no fool.

"Wow!" Mrs. Lee said from the front, genuine admiration in her voice. "Let's give Ernesto another round of applause."

More applause. I looked around the classroom, seeing my classmates in a new light. For the first time in my life, I wasn't the freak with blue hair. I was someone worth listening to.

But as I sat down next to Caleb, Camilla settling into the desk infront us, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just revealed more than I should have.

What if they start asking questions I can't answer? What if they want to know how I know things about gods that aren't in any textbook? Screw that.

"That was incredible," Camilla whispered, looking back so her voice carried to both Caleb and me. "How did you know all that about Rama—? I've never heard about him before."

I looked into her green eyes, and for a moment, I heard her thoughts clearly:

There's something different about him. Something powerful. I want to know more about him. And he's actually kind of attractive when he's confident.

"Just... research," I said weakly.

But we both knew that wasn't true. And as Mrs. Lee began the next part of her lesson, I realized that whatever was happening to me, whatever I was becoming, it was accelerating. And I was starting to love what I was becoming, even if I didn't fully understand it yet.