It had been a long time since Hunter had worn a backpack to class. The walk across the campus was idyllic. It was a warm, sunny autumn day. The streets and sidewalks were packed with students and academy faculty, hurrying about their morning. Despite the exclusivity of the academy, there were still thousands of students there at any given time. Many were sitting on benches, or hanging out in small groups in some of the park-like alleyways which made up the small town that the campus composed. It all felt so utterly foreign to Hunter. A backpack full of books, on his way to learn? At school? It may have been less than a decade since he had last attended a class— not counting his time at the Oberon estate— but the last time he'd been a student may as well have been a lifetime ago.
Hunter was seeing coffee cups in hands, and realized that he’d forgotten to buy a coffee press for himself. He would have to find out where he could find a cafe close to home. He debated buying a coffee on the way, but he figured he’s just rough it out until classes were over for the day. The academic courses were situated closest to the ‘soul’, the epic historical monument which Hunter had enjoyed when he and Aera had registered their attendance. It was only a few minutes' walk away, and he relished the idea of relaxing there between classes.
His first class was a consequence of his new life, having been insisted upon by Trey. He assured himself that it was nothing but a formality, but Leadership Psychology 101 felt like a big symbolic step that Hunter was reluctant to take. He knew that being an Oberon came with huge potential responsibilities, but surely Trey didn't expect him to actually step into those responsibilities?
There was an upside; that if he were to ever lead a team of artisans in research and development, perhaps a course like this would be a boon. He'd seen how various teams would sink or swim based on their ability to stay coordinated and focused during the global youth artisan competition. If nothing else, Hunter expected to get some insight into how people like Trey and Aera thought.
He'd charted the course to the lecture hall the previous day, but still managed to make a couple of wrong turns. The abundance of people seemed to paint the streets and alleys in a new light, but there were certain landmarks which Hunter used to guide himself.
Hunter made it to the hall with 10 minutes to spare before the class. Half of the seats were already taken up. He found a row that was mostly empty of occupants towards the outer edge of the room. It felt safer to sit away from the center, further from all the attention and activity. A few of the students watched him as he came in. Some were just curious about who else was taking the class, but others appeared to recognize him, pointing him out to a friend or two and making comments. Some appeared outright hostile, others sneered in contempt— nothing Hunter hadn't expected. There were a few more who seemed to look at him in anticipation.
One reaction in particular stood out. A rather handsome young man, with a confident air who was laughing with his friends. He was the kind of person that stood out in a crowd, hard to miss. The kind of person who appeared affable and approachable, a heartbreaker if Hunter had ever seen one.
A member of his group pointed Hunter out, and the look on the young man's face when turned from friendly and casual to completely focused and, Hunter couldn't find any other way to describe it, hungry. Hunter got a feeling in his gut that he hadn't felt since Seckina, when he'd have to walk past a group of Comics who stalked the entrance of his home like hyenas. It was as if the young man had just spotted his prey.
Within a second, the predatory look was gone, replaced by the affable smile he'd worn just a moment ago. He turned back to his friends, said something, and they all laughed.
Hunter noticed that he wasn’t the only one receiving such looks. Two or three times there were commotions that didn’t just catch his attention, but most of the gathering students. To Hunter, it seemed like a bold move. First day of class, throwing insults across a room? Once or twice, specific corporations or family name’s were mentioned. Hunter recognized the name Smith and LockeMark being tossed around.
At 8am sharp, a side door at the front of the lecture hall opened and a thinly built man walked in. He wore a pearlescent dress shirt and brown dress pants. His peppered hair was cut short, but neat. His face was composed of sharp angles— the poster boy for Corpos everywhere.
Hunter grimaced, realizing that he was in a drone factory, and these were going to be his peers.
He tried to comfort himself, affirming to himself that he didn’t need to worry about that. All he needed to do was get a high enough grade to stay enrolled. The only Excellence degree he was focused on was in Artisanship. If anyone here saw him as a threat, he’d do his best to dissuade them. He had no skin in this game.
They could have all of the academic Excellence degrees for all he cared. And there wasn’t any guarantee that anyone present would get one at all. They were awarded to people who distinguish themselves above and beyond their peers in a certain field— in the various fields of academia, artisanship, martial arts, and other elective fields.
The professor approached the middle of the white board at the front of the hall, and wrote his name.
“Professor Bellamy. Rule number one, my name is not ‘bro,’ it’s not ‘bud.’ I understand that many of you might be somebody, or most likely the child of somebody. But that doesn’t matter here—”
Hunter heard a barely-suppressed snicker from whoever was seated behind him. If the professor heard, it apparently didn’t bother him.
“—As long as we are on this campus, I am Professor Bellamy, and you will refer to me as such. I will accept Mr. Bellamy as well. There is no other option. Now,” Mr. Bellamy said, pulling out a large tome and placing it at the desk at the front of the hall. He leaned over the table.
“What is Leadership Psychology?” he asked the class.
“You’re asking us?” someone called out, Hunter couldn’t see who.
“Rule number two,” Mr. Bellamy said, “you will raise your hand before speaking, unless otherwise instructed. And to answer your question, yes. I’m asking you,” he said, pointing at someone in particular. Hunter assumed it was whoever had unknowingly broken rule number two.
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“No answer? Well now, that is telling me something. How many of you, show of hands, have any idea why you’re here?” the professor asked. Out of the hundreds of hands in the room, only a couple dozen were raised.
Mr. Bellamy nodded.
“For those of you who know, welcome to class. For those of you who don’t, we’ll both hope that you’re not wasting your time. I promise you, the moment it seems like we are, I will be having a chat with you in private about your future in my class. The only people I want to be here, are the ones who want to be here. That’s rule number three: I expect nothing but your best effort. That doesn’t mean I’m heartless, if you have a very, very good excuse as to why some of your work may not be up to standard, I will forgive you. Fair warning, the amount of times that has happened in my ten years at this academy can be counted on one hand,” he said.
“With all of that out of the way, welcome to Leadership Psychology. The answer I was looking for is— you’ll want to write this down” he said, following his own advice and uncapping a marker underneath the whiteboard and writing as he spoke, “the understanding of self and other with the intent to inspire optimal performance.”
For a man that oozed the death of personality that seems to come from corporate life, Mr. Bellamy had a very commanding presence. Hunter wrote it down.
“What exactly that means will be different for some of you. Any of you who find yourself in a leadership roll will find yourself faced with many obstacles, but the biggest ones will not come from the outside world. Who are you working with? What do they want? Let me tell you, it better be what you want. A lot of that can be filtered through the hiring process, but many of you will be working with people who inherited their positions, or are being tracked to other departments, staying in yours while they gain some requisite experience. You might be one such individual yourself. Any idea about what that means? Yes, in the blue shirt,” he said, pointing to a student who put up his hand.
“Does it mean we need to learn how to treat people fairly?” the student asked, “being mindful of where they’re coming from and where they’re going?”
“Where they’re going? No. Where they’re coming from, maybe. Fairness is relative, and its a tool. Sometimes, being an effective leader means being unfair. Especially when you get higher up the chain, and your decisions can effect more people,” Professor Bellamy said. That wasn’t exactly what Hunter had expected to hear.
But, then again, should he be surprised that the premier school of Corporate excellence was teaching that fairness is relative?
“I know some of you bleeding hearts are going to be finding yourselves disagreeing with me— I don’t care. My career is public knowledge, look me up. I was a company flipper. I would buy broken, hemorrhaging, failing businesses and turn them into successes. I flipped 40 companies, five of which are worth billions each, and another dozen which are worth hundreds of millions. Believe it or not, I'm not teaching this stuff for the money. Why am I telling you this?”
He scanned the hall. A few hands went up, but he ignored them.
“I’m telling you because I need you to know that what I’m teaching is what works. I’m going to be teaching you how the world works, through the lens of how people work, why people work, and how to get them to work more effectively. My hope is that you’ll take what you learn here over the next year, and apply it not only to yourself, but your friends and your families— where applicable, I'm quite aware of some of the names I’ve got on my attendance list. Some of your family’s are doing just fine,” he chuckled.
“Alright. The rest of this class is to give you an overview of what you’ll be learning. We’ll probably get you out of here 30 minutes early, there’s really not that much to go over. How’s that sound?”
A small round of clapping and soft cheers broke out, with Hunter joining in, but it soon died out when we saw the cheerless smile on Mr. Bellamy’s face.
“You all just broke rule 2. You get one warning,” he said, holding up a single finger to the class to emphasize his point.
Hunter realized a couple of things in that moment.
The first was obvious; he'd been baited.
The second was that that wasn’t the first time that the class had been baited.
This guy was good.
Hunter was starting to like this Professor. He didn’t just talk the talk.
Mr. Bellamy turned to face the whiteboard and started writing down the various modules he’d be going over during the next year. He’d been right, it didn’t take too long at all, and Hunter left the lecture hall feeling refreshed. That was nothing like the classes he remembered. Having to see the same teacher day after day, week after week, month after month. Stuck in the same desk around the same people. He’d heard that high school was supposed to be a bit different, but he never went, so this was still new and interesting.
With plenty of time before his next class, Hunter decided that he might be able to sneak in a coffee after all. He asked a passing student where the nearest cafe was, and they told him to keep heading west. Hunter didn’t know west from east, but he headed in the direction the man pointed until he found a building with the world ‘cafe’ on it. He headed in, pleased to find that there wasn’t a large line up. He ordered the largest coffee on the menu, and started shoveling in the sugar.
The door to the cafe opened, and a small bell above the door rang to let the barista know that they had a new customer. It caught Hunters attention, and he suddenly felt a sense of impending drama. He felt like he was in that cafe back in the Oberon Capital, and David Nettle had just shown up. Hunter sighed as he poured in his cream. The young man went to order a coffee, and Hunter felt that maybe there wouldn’t be any drama after all. As Hunter started to leave, the young man called out to him.
“You’re Hunter, right?”
He silently asked himself, and any deity which may have been listening to his inner monologue, why trouble seemed to follow him around so much. And why cafe’s?
Hang on, he thought, had he literally been followed? This could spell a very unfortunate start to the year— especially if this was a sign of how the rest of the year was going to go.
“That’s right,” he said, “look, I'd love to talk but I'm busy—”
“I just wanted to introduce myself,” the young man said, holding out his hand for Hunter to shake, “the name’s Pippen. Pippen Visgold.”
He’d said his last name as if Hunter were supposed to recognize it. It did ring a bell, but he couldn’t place where he’d heard it before.
“Hunter,” Hunter said, shaking the hand, “Koar—
“—Oberon Koar, if I'm to understand correctly. What an upgrade, eh?” Pippen asked, his handshake firming into something a bit like a vice grip. The young man’s eyes had a hard look in them— that focused, intense gaze that seemed like he was a starving man staring at an incredibly tempting meal. Hunter cleared his throat.
He already hated Pippen.
“Sure,” Hunter said, trying to pull his hand free, but Pippen’s hand wouldn’t budge, “Look, I’ve got to go.”
Suddenly, Pippen released his hand, and laughed, slapping Hunter on the back— and Hunter knew it was going to leave a bruise.
“You seem like a fun guy to be around, Hunter,” Pippen said, turning to leave, his voice light, as if he hadn’t just temporarily shifted into a psycho, “I’ll see you around.”
Hunter had been feeling good. Professor Bellamy seemed great, and for the first time since ever, Hunter was looking forward to being at school.
But there was always someone around who wanted to shit on his parade— and it was never because of Hunter himself. It always had to do with his name. If it wasn’t because of his father, now it would be because of the Oberon's.
He left the cafe, wondering if all of this was worth it. But he recognized where those thoughts were going and decided to nip them in the bud.
Those kind of thoughts weren’t going to earn him Excellence. He wasn’t a vulnerable child anymore, he wasn’t fending for himself. Now, he was an Oberon. That meant something. David Nettle wouldn’t have bothered and Oberon— but this Pippen Visgold did. That meant something as well.
And Hunter couldn’t figure out how he was supposed to deal with that. Who were the Visgolds?
He’d have to ask Aera at their evening session.