Chapter 21 – Classroom of Irregulars (Part 2)
Zane paused just inside the classroom, his eyes drifting over each student with clinical precision. There were seven in total—four boys and three girls. Five of them were clustered around a table in the center, speaking in low voices. The remaining two sat apart from the group, silent and uninterested in the chatter around them.
It didn't take long for Zane to notice that something was... off.
These students were unlike the ones he'd seen on the way to school. They didn't just stand out—they radiated presence. Not necessarily physical strength, though the boys were tall and well-built, and the girls striking in appearance. It was something else. Something intangible.
An aura.
Each one of them gave off a strange energy that made them feel inherently different. Superior. The way they carried themselves, the way they looked at everything like they were above it—it unsettled him.
"This isn't just a coincidence." Zane narrowed his eyes, hands in his pockets. "Every single one of them... It's like they're part of a separate species altogether."
He didn't let his gaze linger too long. Instead, he mentally recorded each face. The boys were all tall—absurdly so for their age—and the girls had the kind of beauty that came with a built-in layer of arrogance. Their expressions, posture, even their stillness carried the same message: Don't waste my time.
Their attire also looked quite expensive and high-quality, confirming the fact that they weren't just regular people. Their background was bigger than one might assume, and it was clear in their behavior.
He filed it all away in silence, then made his way further into the room.
"I don't know what this class really is, but it's best not to draw too much attention right now." He scanned the desks as he passed, eyes flicking to the engraved nameplates until he found his—last row, middle seat.
Not in the spotlight, but not hidden either. Just the way he preferred it.
"Hm. This'll work." He dropped his bag on the desk and took his seat with a soft sigh, casually exhaling as he leaned back and glanced around the room again.
Whispers began almost immediately.
He could feel their eyes on him.
At first, he thought it might've been curiosity. But as he looked closer, the expressions weren't mocking or suspicious.
They were... impressed?
He blinked.
'What the hell?' Zane frowned inwardly. 'Why are they looking at me like I just did something incredible? That can't be right… unless I'm misreading their faces.'
The entire situation had the flavor of a setup he hadn't been briefed on and it felt quite odd and confusing. And considering he'd fought a melting, skinless monster just hours earlier, that was saying something.
'I wonder if it's in relation to the hateful looks I received earlier. Perhaps the story of this boy's-'
Before he could stew on it any longer—
SLAM.
A sharp, violent sound cut through the classroom as a chair scraped back. Zane looked up calmly to see one of the boys from the group standing, now walking toward him with long, deliberate strides.
The guy was enormous.
At least 185 centimeters, maybe more—and that was no exaggeration. He towered over everyone else, broad-shouldered, and lean like someone sculpted from stone. His long brown hair was tied into a messy bun, and a rose tattoo climbed up the side of his neck like a creeping vine.
If he hadn't been in a school uniform, he could've passed for a full-grown adult. Easily.
Zane noted how the atmosphere shifted the moment the boy stood up. The whispers faded. The expressions on the other students changed from curiosity to something else—amusement mixed with pity.
Pity for him.
'That's not a good sign."'
Then, the boy smiled.
"Zane… Is that really you?" His voice rang out, warm and cheerful, far too friendly to be genuine. Zane wasn't blind to that expression he showed at first. It was far too clear and deliberate to be ignored.
Zane didn't answer. He studied the boy's face as he approached, his expression unreadable.
"I can't believe my eyes, man! Where have you been?" the boy continued with open arms, as if greeting an old friend. "We thought something happened to you. It's good to see you again."
He stopped in front of Zane and extended a hand for a shake, still grinning.
Zane stared at it for a moment, his mind working quickly.
'Ah. So that's the game.'
He'd already pieced it together. The pity. The false friendliness. The way the others were watching with half-suppressed smirks.
'This guy is the bully.'
Damian. The name floated to the front of Zane's mind, mentioned by those kids yesterday. The one who made "Zane" a punching bag before the reset. He was most likely the one responsible for this boy's misery, or at least a major reason for it.
However, Zane's expression didn't change. Slowly, he reached out and took the boy's hand, shaking it calmly.
"Thank you for your concern," he said, voice even. "I was sick. Needed a bit of time to recover."
"Oh? You're feeling better now?"
SQUEEZE.
The pressure on his hand increased. It wasn't playful. It was a test.
"Hm. Much better," Zane replied, completely unfazed. "I would say I made a full recovery now."
"That's great to hear."
SQUEEZE.
The boy's grip tightened further, his muscles flexing. If the first squeeze was a test then the second one was definitely ill-intended. It was meant to hurt—meant to make Zane wince, maybe yelp. A show of dominance.
But Zane didn't even blink.
In fact, he looked bored.
'Is this supposed to scare me?' he thought. 'This must've worked quite well on that boy, it's an old tactic, but an effective one on weak targets. He isn't half bad at selling that friendly-intimidating mix to scare him even more. But now? I've fought beasts that could tear through steel. You're just a tall kid with anger issues.'
Damian's smile faltered. He noticed the lack of reaction from his target almost immediately.
'Hm? Why is he not crying already? Am I not using enough strength?' He mused. It was the first time this happened, and he wasn't sure if he was mistaken. So, he did the logical next step.
He applied more strength—enough to make most grown men flinch.
Still, nothing.
Zane looked down at their joined hands. Then up at Damian.
"How long do you usually shake hands for, Damian?" he asked casually.
The classroom went still.
Damian froze.
"I don't usually go past ten minutes," Zane added, voice laced with dry sarcasm. "It's a weird personal preference of mine, you see. So... would you mind letting go?"
His tone dropped at the end—sharp, commanding, cold.
The temperature in the room might as well have dropped ten degrees. Zane's stare was flat and penetrating, his voice filled with quiet menace.
Damian's eyes widened. He yanked his hand back instinctively, stumbling one step in retreat.
Zane didn't even glance at him again.
"Now, if you'll excuse me," he said, pulling his backpack onto the desk. "I've got some reviewing to do."
He unzipped the bag and pulled out a textbook, flipping it open with practiced ease.
The room remained quiet. The other students stared in stunned silence, whispers forgotten. Calling their reaction 'shock' was an understatement. They couldn't believe their eyes. Zane, the weak, timid boy who wouldn't even speak when talked to, was looking straight at Damian and ordering him to release his hand.
It was simply unheard of.
Nobody was angry, not even Damian. They were all simply stunned beyond words.
But that shock eventually started shifting into anger... A very deep anger. After all, the worst thing you can do to an arrogant bully is to scratch their ego, and the reaction to those things is always... strong.