As I walked to my next class, I took note of the reactions of other students passing through the halls. They were indifferent to my presence, which meant I blended in to some extent.

  Attracting attention was the last thing I needed with my language barrier, and I already had the unwelcome suspicions from the old man.

  Looking around, it gave off the familiar vibes of school in my past life. You’d see students everywhere you look whenever you walked around the campus, having whatever conversations they could between periods, or standing alone and fidgeting with magic to pass the time.

  Normally, smartphones or portable game consoles would be the go-to for idling, but I guess culture here is different in a world with magical powers.

  Eventually, I stood before the entrance to my second classroom and walked in. When I saw what was inside, I immediately realized this class would be much more involved than my first period.

  Fuck!

  The layout reminded me of the labs in my chemistry class. Coupled with the glass receptacles of varying sizes and shapes, I was instantly reminded of the different labs and procedures I’ve learned and applied in my past life. Contamination, caution, hazard, measurements, and precision; those were the concepts I had learned that were a part of the bare minimum required to be a chemical researcher, pharmaceutical drug manufacturer, or pretty much anything demanding controlled substances in a lab setting.

  Even if I’m a new student, there’s a limit to how forgiving they can be when I make a mistake. Careless mistakes in this field can easily hurt someone for the rest of their life. Maybe I can convince Mr. Blonde to drop this class from my curriculum?

  Chemistry is always strict about its procedures. Early on, it’d be a lesson, but later down the line, it’d be career-compromising. I’m sure there’s also a bunch of chemistry jargon that can only be explained through words.

  Damn it.

  The only way I picture myself making it through this class is if I let someone else do all the work. I really don’t want to have that kind of attitude in this class.

  Do I have to act like a bully for this class just to pass it?

  More students who were idling in the classroom were chatting with their friends before class started. I took the little time I had to examine the room to the extent that a light touch could lead to glassware shattering.

  So many shapes. I wonder what purpose was in mind when they were being formed?

  I knew that glassware for the chemistry field had very specific purposes, but I couldn’t figure it out alone just from their shape.

  Then, I heard some words being shouted in the room. Curiously, I turned to the source. The only other 2 students in the classroom were shouting at me.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  What in the world do they want?

  Whatever syllables they were saying were being directed at me with increasing volume.

  I just met you. What in the world do you want with me?

  Knowing the violent nature of people here and the potency of magic from my first-hand experiences, going over to them would be a bad idea.

  Throwing a dodgeball could only make them angrier. I should prepare bricks instead. If they suffer a concussion, their fault for escalating.

  I prepared a mental image of bricks flying straight at their faces. If they dodged it, I’d follow up with cinder blocks straight to their chests, at double the speed I sent the bricks.

  One of the students got up from their seat, casually walking toward me. I made a halting hand gesture, telling them to keep their distance.

  If they ignore this, I’m sending bricks at them. No going back.

  I focused on the bricks and cylinders I visualized.

  They spouted a bunch of words I had no interest in memorizing.

  Suddenly, I was focused on their necks.

  Maybe a grabber claw would be a better option. I’ll have to study the mechanism for it when I’m in my summoner’s room.

  The student closest to me suddenly stepped forward, and I took a step back. They saw this and sped up their pace towards me.

  On instinct, a dodgeball was sent flying at their face, bouncing off it before landing on the floor closer to the center of the classroom.

  I didn’t know why I made a dodgeball instead, but whatever. That’ll be my ammunition for this confrontation.

  I produced a second dodgeball, ready to throw it at them. They backed off, tone changing from assertiveness and command to apprehension that another dodgeball would be sent at them. Then that student moved to their friend, and they ran out of the room.

  It was then that I realized my mistake.

  If they tell the teacher, what the hell can I say?

  Even if I am in the wrong, they yelled at me unprompted. I simply didn’t want to take any chances of becoming a victim of another violent mage in this school.

  I then thought of the bricks and cinder blocks I mentally prepared.

  How the hell would I explain that?

  The dodgeballs aren’t lethal, and I didn’t throw so hard that they would break bones.

  I’ll just have to sit through getting scolded. It’s not like I’ll actually understand what the teacher will say.

  True to the law of accountability, a different teacher in Mr. Blonde’s hierarchy walked into the room and immediately took notice of me. It was the 3rd teacher on the 3rd layer of the pyramid, next to the old man and the history teacher. A woman who looked to be in her 40s with black hair and a coat so long that its tail dragged across the floor. It was a wonder that she somehow didn’t trip walking in that thing.

  The two students who fled out of the room followed in after her, with those same apprehensive looks in their eyes.

  The woman shouted at me, pointing to the student I threw a dodgeball at. From the way she shouted, I’m guessing she’s looking for confirmation that I, in fact, threw a dodgeball at the student.

  I produced a red dodgeball, holding it with both hands. Her expression shifted, from that of fury to astonishment.

  In that brief moment, her expression reminded me of the old man’s face.

  I trembled.

  All of a sudden, I saw the teacher walking toward me. Instinctively, I stepped back. Then I suddenly fell backward.

  Huh?

  The teacher rushed forward and grabbed my hand, stopping me from falling to the floor.

  Am I that scared of him? I know fear can worsen your ability, but to this extent?

  Whatever words came out of the teacher’s mouth suddenly sounded more gentle, before going right back to scolding the person I threw a dodgeball at.

  Wait… she’s the victim. Why is she getting scolded?

  After that, more students entered the room, and the class began. Thankfully, today’s class also wasn’t as hands-on, only being a pop quiz, based on the back and forth between the students and teacher. So, I faked paying attention and looking engaged.