A week passed in a flash of purchasing the necessary textbooks and protective gear for his respective classes. In this time Roosevelt had taken the time to familiarize himself with both his dorm mates and the dorm itself. The room next to him on the left was occupied by a small mouse-like girl who after repeated questions and threats of torture managed to squeak out that her name was Milia. The room to his right, however, was vacant, the occupant having been killed in a hilarious explosion.
Roosevelt never really talked much to others in his dorm, mostly because of the fact that his most viable option for conversation was a shut-in and he really couldn't be bothered to walk down the hall for social interaction.
It was because of these very circumstances that caused Roosevelt to find himself sitting alone and in the top left-hand corner of his lecture hall waiting impatiently for Professor Urbane Shiek to come and deliver his class. It gave him time to reflect on the rest of the day.
It had started relatively well with his customary pleasant conversation with Ome before being warped off to his first class, Guide to Becoming an Evil Genius. The class and the professor were spectacular, both being engaging and interesting, teaching the basics of antimatter and singularities in a way that made Roosevelt believe that some kind of time dilation device was in effect. No the class itself was fine, good even. It was the people that were awful.
When he had decided to enrol in an academy for villains he had expected the people to be a bit evil, that wasn't the problem. The problem was the fact that they were so goddamn cliquey. It seemed that everyone had a specific territory and god save the fool who intruded upon it. As such he had been forced into the corner for each and every one of his lectures. It was quite irritating. Worse was the fact that he couldn't do anything about it.
It wasn't because of some fear of expulsion or being restrained by the school security that stayed his hand, no he was quite sure that the school even encouraged such behaviour. It was the fact that compared to the majority of the people in his classes he was relatively weak. He had no acid spraying glands or eyes that could turn you to stone, he was just your garden variety human, it was infuriating.
The most fun part of his day though would definitely have had to have been the lunch hour. Sitting apart from the rest of the first years Roosevelt had, had a good view of when an altercation between two different distinct groups turned violent in a spectacular manner, with laser and fur flying everywhere. By the end of it not only did the entirety of both groups need to be taken to the infirmary but so to did 15 bystanders. One of which was viciously pushed into the fray by Roosevelt himself. Just because he was weak didn't mean he didn't hold grudges and that guy had been a dick to him all day.
After the excitement at lunch hour and the fact that he was slightly blueballed by not being able to take part in the hostilities safely, as such he was almost salivating when the professor for combat instruction had said the words sparring practice.
Roosevelt was put up against one of the 'un-enhanced beings' it was the term people used for those with lower than average physical capabilities. He took great pleasure in the cathartic act of beating another being senseless. That bug man didn't know what hit him.
But now, knuckles still bruised from his stress relief he sat, bored out of his mind waiting for the professor to enter so he could get this over with and go to the lab.
Roosevelt was strangely excited for extended lab hours, science had always been his favourite class in school and after the day he had, had he was quite eager to see the specific biological changes that he could make to himself. Most people would be more wary about abandoning their humanity on a whim. Roosevelt imagined choking such people with his newly enhanced body. It was a delicious thought.
"And here comes, the most handsome and punctual professor any of you shall ever know!" Declared a loud voice from outside the class heralding the arrival of a man. Shirtless and with absolutely zero hair on his body he walked in wearing ripped jeans and little else before sitting at his desk, putting his feet up and promptly ignoring the class.
"Um, excuse me, professor." Spoke a small and meek voice from beside Roosevelt.
"You must speak up child. From you diaphragm, it is the best and most stylish way to talk, for what good are words if no one hears them!" He boomed into the hall eliciting the sound of pens scratching on paper.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Roosevelt looked around confused, people were actually taking notes on this twat?
"Um sir, are you actually going to teach us anything!" Squealed the small girl as her face became more and more red with each word, causing Roosevelt to wonder why she took style in the first place if she has so much trouble in talking to people.
"Girl if you have not yet noticed my lessons then please leave this class!" He boomed as he swung his feet down from his desk in an exaggerated fashion before slowly stalking towards the girl and by proxy, Roosevelt.
"First, always arrive fashionably late. It makes people both wait for and think about you and is the perfect way to become the life of the party. Second, always speak loudly and with confidence, if you sound like you know what you are talking about then people will believe you do!" He roared directly into the girls face damaging both her and Roosevelt's ears.
"What is your name stupid girl?" He said scathingly whilst looking down his nose at her.
"Milia, sir." She said weekly before being cut off mid-sentence.
"Wrong, a name means nothing unless delivered like you were screaming it from the top of a pile of corpses. Now earn you name girl!" He said turning away from her dramatically.
"My name is Milia sir!" She screeched as Roosevelt winced, he was seriously going to have to reconsider his classes if the professor was always going to be this high energy, I mean he was always up for enthusiasm as it was a helpful tool to unsettle people. But there was a limit.
The man then turned back around with a manic glint in his eye, probably in preparation to yell more lessons at his students. He wouldn't get the chance however as a loud crackle of thunder in the distance and the beginning of an ominous violin song signalled the end of class.
Roosevelt, eager to leave, summoned Ome and was soon hurtling through the comforting blackness he had come to associate with travel in this school.
Soon and again with the disorientation from being cruelly transitioned from place to place with no warning, he found himself standing in an old-fashioned macabre hospital room, surrounded by a small knot of around 10 - 15 people. The first years that choose the class.
Soon two upper-class men in their characteristic sashes burst through the far doors each in a pair of surgical scrubs and the introduced themselves as the caretakers of the lab.
The next 20 or so minutes was an introduction to the various machinery in the place, its uses and the ways that it could kill you, described in graphic detail by their supervisors. Then, immediately after the safety warning and some advice on where the project books were kept the upper-classmen both portaled out of the room and left the freshman to their own devices in the lab. This is going to end well Roosevelt thought as he saw the mad looks that many of his fellow labmates now held.
What followed could only be described as a mad dash for the book closet in which held the varying tomes depicting several profane and other more tame experiments and rituals.
Roosevelt did not reach the closet first but he also didn't reach it last, having taken just enough time to grab a large retort stand and begin clubbing other students in the head with it before reaching and plundering the closet of its spoils. Now, arms laden with books he began to wriggle his way through the writhing crowd before scampering back to one of the further away desks. He had done it.
That was when he began to hide books across his body and workstation, taking great pains to ensure that he couldn't be robbed later on.
Pulling out a large, leather-bound book from within his trousers he began to read the title and his eyes widening as he did so, it read Beezlebub's Guide to Inhuman Transformation. Perfect. Roosevelt became enthralled within the pages, reading about ritual after ritual before finally settling on a special something called the Ritual of Monstrous Energy. Quite simply it dictated the practice of placing the blood of a void being into your veins, allowing a person to draw upon it in times of need giving them the ability to perform great feats of strength for a limited time. He set about preparing the ingredients.
Roosevelt was terrifying in his single-minded progress, shutting out the rest of the world and managing to complete half the ritual in only a few hours, a feat that would usually require several days. This had a downside, however, one that made itself painfully known as a large, blunt object collided with the back of his head. He didn't even see it coming.