The day was still young, but it was mostly spent suffering the consequences of his past actions. Vin walked to the universities tailor building to replace his torn and singed uniform. After, he strolled to a shop to purchase a temporary skateboard while his own was being repaired.

While out in about, he was approached by four strangers in suits for an interview but outright refused. His time was better spent shopping for essentials. Like, the on-campus burger joint called 'Sapphire Patties.' While out, he heard some students refer to their sandwiches as 'bitchin', so he uncovered the location using his smart device.

The dominant blue palette of all the buildings in the area should have given it away, but his GPS inadvertently led him to the school's third zone, the Shark's territory. He was wearing an unrelated sweater, so he wasn't pressed immediately. However, eventually, someone recognized him from his race with Castiel. Needless to say, he was chased out of the establishment.

Vin believed the idea of dividing students was absurd. A burger joint was a burger joint; there was no need for factions or colors regarding food. Anyhow, his phone's map detailed the stores available within the Dragon's zone, and he was able to indulge in greasy burgers from 'Ruby's Patties.'

He'd attest that the food was terrific. However, his review carried little volume since he hadn't tasted much in several years. The only blemish during the whole sit down was the students that murmured at their tables and the occasional praises he received for 'killing Lions.'

While he sat, he went over his schedule-

Class Schedule

CLASS TIME

1.Career Management (Yes, this is mandatory.)

8:00am-10:00am M/W/F

2. Competitive Skate

12:00pm-3:00pm M/W/F

3. Culinary

9:00am-11:00am T/TH

4. Competitive Arena

1:00pm-4:00pm T/TH

He did learn and became bummed out that he wouldn't officially start until the next day. Instead, the university used the start of the semester as an opportunity to introduce the school's systems to new students. The only class anyone had on the first day was 'Career Management,' which was mandatory.

Since everything else was canceled, he would miss the skate course he wanted to attend most. Though, it's not like he had his prized longboard for it.

A reminder chimed on his phone, notifying him of the start time of his introductory class. He was already within his faction's zone, so the buildings where classes were hosted were pretty close. After a short stop at his dorm to change clothes, he would be ready.

As if. Vin's digestive system was so accustomed to a liquid diet that he disintegrated whenever he ate rich and fatty foods. So, before he could get dressed, he committed an act of terror on his dorm's toilet. The walls were soundproofed, but those passing down the hall still pondered the warfare that ensured inside room 432

"Worth it," he believed. He was willing to accept the aftermath if it meant he could eat tasty food. Before getting into uniform, he showered, brushed his teeth, then laid down for a nap-

Miyo unleashed a hell of attacks on him the moment he stopped to rest. It was all too normal for him to nap when hospitalized. He could sleep whenever and wherever he wanted at the facility, so It didn't matter that he had spells of weariness. Nevertheless, he was far from the nest and had to adapt to his current circumstance.

Vin inevitably arrived ten minutes late to the academic building. It was a soft shade of brown, but the deep red banners of dragons made the facility look like cult headquarters.

He paced inside the building, which appeared far too regular considering everything the school stood for. Just an educational space with dark red staircases that led to each floor, glass rooms where some students studied, and two help desks on opposite ends.

He steered straight for the stairs with a bobbled head that bounced in a magnitude of directions. Most of the roof was glass, so sunlight beamed through on his way up. The way his heart fluttered expressed both his astonishment and slight unease.

Part of his apprehension was that things were too ordinary. It was clean and quiet and smelled like new books with hints of pine fragrances. There were no scuffles, shouting, or solicitors seeking to recruit him for races or interviews. He considered that school may actually be pleasant.

Since Vin missed his middle and high school years, he didn't know what to expect from a college course. The most significant difference was that he didn't attend five classes in succession; it'd just be two a day. He also didn't have a guardian to ensure he arrived on time, so he'd likely rack up tardy marks.

Many thoughts stocked his mind as he climbed to the sixth floor. It was unlucky that he was stationed so high up, but the frequent windows on that story made it profitable. Upon landing, he came to a long hallway that branched left and right with rooms numbered from 600 to 699. The left path started at the lower 600s, while the right began with 699 and counted down.

Vin's class was in 651, so it didn't matter which way he went; the hike would be just as long. Nevertheless, he went right to save that extra three steps. It paid off because he arrived 21 minutes late instead of what would have been 22. Fantastic.

He didn't march straight into the room but checked inside his blazer first to ensure Miyo was comfortable. When ready, he pushed into the room, where the instructor's voice promptly halted.

He'd planned to make a decent first impression. However, he didn't anticipate the room itself to leave an impression on him.

Only three steps into the chamber, Vin paused and lamely surveyed the- barer-than-bare, devastatingly empty room.

Automated windows lined the far wall, and there was a digital board at the front of the class where the teacher wrote notes, but that was the extent of innovation. Vin took another step in, and the professor, an irked older male, held up a wooden stool. "10 points," he said.

Prone to scowling, Vin peered at the man rudely. He squinted at their face as their tan skin, brown and gray hair, and handlebar mustache rang a bell. The male, however, took it as a challenge to their authority and dropped the stool before returning a mean mug. They began to utter, but Vin cut them off as he remembered, "Mr. Dover."

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

Hughie Dover, the recruiter Vin met in his dream, the same daredevil that drove him to the campus. An eccentric man with a particular preference in women. At least, that was how the media described him, thus constructing that version of him into Vin's dreamscape.

"Of course, my reputation proceeds me," the man said, easing off his offense. "Do you want the stool or not?"

A brief glance revealed the class of twenty students sitting on the same wooden stool. No desk, metal chairs, computers, nothing. Vin was taking too long to respond, so the man snarled and stomped the floor. "What's wrong? Not quite the lavish castle you were expecting?"

"Exactly why I hate rich, self-entitled brats like you lot. You get a few YouTube followers and think you can show up late and waste everyone's time."

"Do you want the cursed stool or not!?" He shouted. Vin looked at him curiously, then remembered that his enrollment was one primarily of publicity. All of the students in what was dubbed class Z were young celebrities or influencers that would be used to boost the school's clout.

Ten points were frivolity, but Vin still inspected the object to ensure he was getting his money's worth. He held up his phone to make the purchase, and Mr. Dover did the same. "Name and Major," grumbled the man.

"Dance, competitive skate," replied Vin, recalling that his elementary teachers took roll by the last name. Mr. Dover found him on their roster, charged his account ten points, then tossed the stool at him. "Alright, hurry up and sit down."

Following a nod, Vin faced the class and scanned for his placement. While up front, he observed a range of expressions aimed at him.

"Holy- dear god, thank you for this eye candy," one commented. She crossed her legs, flipped her hair, then added, "my viewers would freak if I got a snack like you on my feed."

Another girl pointed a finger at her before growling. "There she goes again. No one cares about your mid-ass discussion channel!"

"Yea? How about you go steal some more content, burglarizing Bitch," she returned. That remark lit a fuse that drove the two into a graver argument; meanwhile, more students made remarks about Vin's few accomplishments. Mostly of how he'd zeroed three Lions all by himself. Then, how he jumped into an explosion just to kill Castiel with his own hands.

None of which was correct and blown entirely out of proportion. It continued until Mr. Dover began to lose his shit and insisted Vin took a seat before he tossed him out of the window.

"Sit next to me!" Blurted one of the class's female students, scooting her chair to make room. The boy beside her complained that he didn't want someone so unpleasant next to them. The girl denied his demand and then commented that Vin 'looks like he spanks."

It was only for a moment, but his label was immediately cast as 'Fifty Shades of Vin.' Referencing his dominant posture and intimidating atmosphere. Of course, Vin had never even heard of the book Fifty Shades of Grey, so he didn't get the joke.

From the very beginning, He felt outcasted. He presumed that everything they said and did was the 'norm' for their age while he was just defective. A large portion of their words was just 'blah blah blah' to his ears. Nothing in his brain could work out a response, a joke, or a rebuttal.

Already unsettled, Vin decided to sit toward the back near the window, away from the giggling students. He landed next to another talkative individual who introduced themself as 'Figgy 101,' their skateboarding tutorial channel name, not their government name. It was still the middle of class, so luckily, the instructor snipped the conversation to continue their lecture.

They'd already explained it at the beginning of class but needed to reiterate essential facts about themself. "My name is Hughie Dover, twelve-time NASCAR championship winner, and I hate entitled brats. That's not just limited to you all, but any adult acquiring success without hard work."

"I'm only here teaching because I couldn't fulfill a certain scouting quota. For the death of me, I could not authorize daft punks like you to enter this esteemed university."

His dialogue became less clear as he began to grumble under his breath. "Though, they ended up allowing the likes of ya into the school anyways."

"Anyways!" He exclaimed. "Don't think you're getting any special treatment here."

As a- sign of power? He withdrew and lit a cigar at the front of the class. The windows were open, but there were still sour groans about the musk. Mr. Dover said something along the lines of, "if you don't like it, just try and butcher me."

At this university, teachers were also chipped, so if their health points reached zero, they'd be fired from their jobs. At first, students attempted to terminate any professor they disliked. But, they soon learned their assigned teacher was quite capable. The higher the class letter, the more challenging the teachers were.

After threatening them, Mr. Dover continued with whatever lesson he had arranged. It was primarily introductory knowledge about the school, starting with why their class was so devoid.

'From Zero' was a concept the college worshipped. Aside from starting points, students began with zero belongings. No furniture in their dorm or classroom, no additional clothing, food, technology, nothing. It had to be purchased on their own accord; this taught responsibility and finance.

Classes were divided by faction, so only Dragon students would mingle with each other during courses. This drove a competitive barrier between the three sections, further preparing them for their future careers with teams and agencies.

Mr. Dover laid out his role in their school experience. Career management professors were like guidance counselors and herders for their classes. They were with the same students until the day they dropped out or graduated. Furthermore, their group was assigned a letter grade based on their expertise. One that updated every semester based on performance.

By then, the previous class, Z, had advanced up the leaderboards while the new group of burning rubbish was crammed with influencers and other notable figures.

After his talk, Mr. Dover dropped the smart-pen that allowed him to write on the digital board, sat on the edge of his desk, and began stroking his graying mustache. He quieted while taking a smoke break, glaring outward toward the seated students. Their faces hinted at their aggravation, but none bothered to speak against the teacher.

As the man's gaze waved over the room, it glimpsed an individual whose head was motionless and drooped downward. Still silent, Mr. Dover rose from the desk and grabbed one of the mundane wooden stools. He strolled over to Vin, placed the seat in front of him, and sat with his legs wide apart.

The man wasn't in a hurry to wake them. No, he waited for the rest of the class to be in observation, then he took a long, calm draw of his cigar and blew the smoke into Vin's face.

"I agree, this is boring," uttered Mr. Dover. He leaned far in, turned his smoke stick upside down, then continued, "boring or not, if anyone is going to be drooling in my class, it's going to be me."

Following his promise, he lowered his lit cigar onto Vin's knee, which burned a hole in his slacks; however, it didn't wake him. Instead, a petite black flame sparked and quickly whipped the man's large hand. The sudden burn startled him, and he bucked his hand away from the source to prevent further injury.

"Hell was that?" he said, standing and observing his aching fingers. Those in attendance held observation of the situation. which was bad news for Mr. Dover, who intended to make an example of Vin in front of everyone.

"A defensive power, eh." The man slipped his foot under his stool, kicked it up into his grip, then hurled it outward in prep. "Defend against this."

There was brief input from the male sitting at Vin's left, 'Figgy.' His short, syrup tone hair was unkept, and he had a slim build that the teacher could snap in two. Nonetheless, they told the lecturer that he was going too far and that smacking a sleeping student with a chair was unethical.

The professor denied their desperate gaze but peered at Vin while pulling the stool back. "I'll be the one to decide what's 'unethical' in this class."

Mr. Dover, unhesitant, blasted his weapon toward the side of Vin's upper body. With the purpose of harming him, the man followed through until the class door unexpectedly launched open.

He paused the wooden stool only inches away from Vin. Likey, just to ensure there wasn't a cameraman entering the class with a live broadcast. Mr. Dover pivoted toward the entrance, where he spotted two students. The leading male had messy, sandy hair and looked on the verge of sleep. He wore a pale yellow, beat-up teddy bear print sweater over his uniform and was tall and slender.

There was nothing odd about a teenager entering his classroom; however, he soon discerned that they boasted the crest of the Lion faction. Being a mile away from their territory, he knew nothing good would come out of that surprise visit.