A fist slammed against a wooden desk, and a loud snarky voice filled the air.
“Scout Greensfield!” a middle-aged fat man shouted. “You think this is a motherfucking playground, huh?!? Where you can just show up late because you were too busy fucking around with your girl friend?”
His gaze penetrated Xolor’s heart like thousands of daggers, and he stood with his arms crossed.
“And you! Scout Blackburn! This is unbefitting of the top student position! Are you trying to ruin your future by hanging out with filth?”
The fat man plucked one of his nose hairs and started sneezing wildly before wiping his nose.
“You’re not in the DAF yet, you punks,” he screamed, turning to face all the other recruits. “Remember this wisely. The Dragon Assault Force is our nation’s only defense against humankind’s greatest threat, but you guys…you guys are nothing but trash.”
He chuckled loudly before pointing his finger at the two latecomers.
“DSF my ass,” he continued with a sigh. “Scouts in name, but scum in reality.
Miranda glared back at the instructor with defiance and balled her hand into a fist but quickly relented as Xolor grabbed her wrist.
“I’m sorry, Instructor,” responded the young man with dignity. “I will not be late again. Miry - I mean Miranda was only late because she was helping me.”
A wide grin began to grow across the fat instructor’s face, and he inched closer to the two scouts.
“Gooooood. Gooood!” he hissed. “Then you are ready to take full responsibility, right?”
He swung the butt of his assault rifle at Xolor’s waist and kicked with full force when the young man tried to parry with his arm. As the 19-year old crumbled to his knees, gasping for air, the fat instructor stepped on Xolor’s hand until the young scout screamed in pain.
Stolen story; please report.
“This, you see, my dear scouts…,” he flaunted, waving to the class. “This is what we call dragon meat.”
Bursts of laughter erupted from the classroom, and the fat instructor ground his foot harder into the young man’s hand.
“Scum Greensfield?” he continued. “Your mission today is to scout out the Lower East Side and write me a report on the five main powers of every dragon type. Do you understand me?”
“You can’t do that, sir!” shouted a quivering Miranda. “It’s too dangerous! The Lower East Side is known to be a Class 2 zone, and…”
“Quiet, Blackburn. He wanted the responsibility. So the responsibility he gets.”
The instructor snickered and crouched down to face the groveling Xolor, foot still heavily on top of his hand.
“DO YOU UNDERSTAND YOUR ASSIGNMENT, SCOUT?” he boomed loudly. “Answer while I’m asking nicely.”
“Y-yes sir. I will scout the Lower East Side and write you a report, sir!” responded the young man.
But Xolor was only faced with the smile of the large-bodied DAF member who walked over to his desk with a smile. “Good. Now then scouts, let’s discuss dragons.”
—
Miranda looked wearily over at her crush and felt her heart twinge as Xolor nursed his swollen hand. It had been hours since the scuffle with the instructor, but the resentment for Xolor’s unjust treatment never faded from her heart.
The Lower East Side was a dangerous quarter, known for its many elder dragon appearances and clans. Though these dragons would often disguise themselves as investment bankers, restaurant owners, coffee baristas, or whatever else they wanted to be, their true nature would shine every twelve years, on the first day of every zodiaced “Year of the Dragon,” causing them to rampage and kill indiscriminately.
Despite this, dragons were not restricted to killing only once every twelve years, and depending on their territorial nature and mastery of self-control, would often aim to protect their peace by “depopulating” the area.
And to top it all off, the LES was an area that even the mightiest of dragon hunters feared given its unpredictability, and death was not really an uncommon aspect of their job. But that fat man wanted to send Xolor there as a scout?!? She had never heard anything more ridiculous in her entire life.
Miranda clenched her fists with rage and stood to confront the instructor, but Xolor solemnly shook his head and pushed her back into her seat.
“I’ll be fine, Miry,” he said, flashing a fake smile. “I run fast. Plus, I have my dragon salts.”
Miranda flicked Xolor across the forehead and crossed her arms as he winced.
“I HATE when you do that!” she pouted, pulling his cheeks side to side. “Stop trying to smile through this insanity. If you’re upset, frown! If you’re scared, tell me! I can read you well anyways.”
But Xolor shook his head and continued to pack his travel pack.
“No, it’ll be fine,” he said, attempting to reassure himself. He bit his lip and tried to divert the attention. “We must not view ourselves as scouts if we wish to reach the top, Miry. Trust me, I’ll be okay. I’ll come to see you when I’m done anyways. You have Lincoln Center, right?”
“Fine! But promise me that you’ll be safe, okay? You know that I…,” her voice trailed, and she frantically dug her nails into her palm to stop her train of thought.
“Hm?”
“Never mind, just bring me a boba after you’re done.”
“Okay, sure,” he responded, this time with a genuine smile. “See you soon, Miry.”
He slung his pack over his shoulder and took a deep breath before turning for the door. As Miranda stared at his short obsidian black hair for the thousandth time in her life, she thought, “Please, let me see him again. Please, be safe, Xolor.”