The tattoo didn't immediately grant Jester powers. No sudden burst of stealth. No instinctive knowledge of pressure points.
This wasn't some immediate magic bullet. The feeling was subtle. A potential. It felt like a new, unused muscle had just been identified. Waiting to be trained. The tattoo was a key. Not a fully opened door.
Jester understood. This was just the beginning.
"Return to your place, Jester." Ms. Cyantrace instructed. "Your class schedule will be provided shortly."
The remaining students were called. Their choices were made. Their tattoos were applied. Once the last student had received their mark, Ms. Cyantrace gestured to a stern-faced assistant with tight hair and sharper eyes.
The assistant began distributing new schedules. Each student received a personalized parchment. Based on their Power Class choice. Detailing their education from this day forward.
Jester took his. The top still listed standard subjects: Math, Science, Social Studies, and Common Languages. These were foundational. Applicable to any path. He had expected that. But below them, the schedule radically transformed.
Gone were the generalized Physical Education. Or History. Or Practical Arts. Or specialized subjects like Biology, Chemistry, and Literature...
In their place was a dense block of specialized Rogue training:
o Stealth Mastery: Urban & Wilderness Concealment: Covering methods to move unseen in various environments.
o Trap Analysis & Disarming Fundamentals: Identifying, understanding, and neutralizing basic mechanical and magical traps.
o Gadget Crafting: Basic Tools & Implements: Introduction to creating lockpicks, climbing gear, and rudimentary diversions.
o Dirty Fighting Techniques: Unarmed & Improvised Weapons: Focusing on exploiting weaknesses, quick takedowns, and using the environment.
o Acrobatics & Evasion: Enhancing agility, balance, and the ability to avoid damage.
o Poisons & Antidotes: Introductory Theory: Understanding common toxins and their basic countermeasures.
o Perception & Insight Training: Sharpening observational skills, pattern recognition, and detecting deception.
o Sleight of Hand & Distraction: Developing manual dexterity for misdirection and petty thievery.
Jester stared at the list. His smirk widened. Dirty Fighting Techniques. Gadget Crafting. This was it. This was exactly what he'd envisioned.
Rogue is never about 'honorable' combat. This was targeted, practical, and completely... Jester.
He pictured his Nunchaku. It should go beyond just a weapon. It should embodied the extension of these arts. Tripping. Disarming. Misdirection. Quick strikes to sensitive spots... All should fall under the Rogue's skill range.
The message was clear for him. School wasn't just about grades anymore. It was about forging specialists. For practical life confrontation.
He had chosen his path. Now, he had to walk it. He felt a surge of energy. A mix of anticipation and determination. The real game was about to begin.
He quickly reminded himself. This wasn't some fantasy. This was real. This was a curriculum built for a world that was torn open with danger.
He clutched the schedule. Anticipation was a raw knot in his stomach. But he didn't need to wait for long. The bell for the first specialized block was about to ring.
His first destination. Room 32B. Designated for Stealth Mastery. He found it down a less-trafficked corridor. Tucked away like a forgotten alcove.
The room itself was unremarkable from the outside. Just a plain wooden door. Inside, however, was a different story. The space was dimly lit. Not by design flaws but by heavy, dark curtains drawn across the windows.
Obstacles stood scattered. Crates. Mannequins draped in cloth. Even what looked like a series of tripwires strung low across the floor in one section. It smelled faintly of dust and something metallic... perhaps old training equipment.
His two other classmates were with him. Those who choose to specialize as Rogue. Finn, the lanky boy with rubber mallet as his Soulheart Gear. And Sunny, a short boy with naturally low level of presence. A natural stealth master. With even more suitable Soulheart Gear... a camouflage cloak.
...
A man suddenly emerged from the shadows near the back of the room. He seemed to appear rather than walk. No one heard him approach.
He was tall and lean. With short-cropped grey hair. And eyes that constantly scanned. His outfit, a simple dark tunic and trousers, blended into the room's gloom. He exuded an air of quiet danger. Like a coiled viper.
"Sit!" He intoned. His voice was not loud. It didn't sound loud enough. Yet, somehow, it filled the space. It demanded attention.
"My name is Husher." He continued. "I teach you how to disappear. To become air. To be a ghost."
Mr. Husher moved to the center of the room. His steps were silent. "Stealth is not about hiding. It is about not being perceived in the first place."
He gestured vaguely at the various obstacles. "These are just optional tools. The real unreplaceable tool is your mind. Your body. Every muscle. Every breath."
Jester leaned forward. Absorbing every word. This wasn't theoretical fluff. Mr. Husher walked them through the core principles.
"First step, Thorough Observation..." Husher began. His eyes swept over each student. "See everything. Where the light falls. Where the shadows pool. What creates sound. What absorbs it. The opponent's line of sight. Their habits. Their blind spots."
He then demonstrated a set of basic movements. They were not fast. But fluid. And soundless.
"Weight Distribution." He said. "Never shift all your weight at once. Always transfer slowly, deliberately. Feel the ground. Anticipate the give. Heel to toe, or toe to heel, depending on the surface. Find the quietest path."
He glided across a section of the floor. His feet seemed to barely touch the surface. There was no audible stepping sound. At all. It was unsettlingly fluid.
"Sound Control." Husher continued. "Simple. Don't make any. That means your clothes. Your gear. Your breathing. Learn to move without rustling fabric. Without jingling buckles. Learn to silence your own body. Control your heart rate. Your breathing. Every noise you make tells a story. Don't write one your opponents can read."
He pointed to a mannequin partially obscured by a stack of crates. "Visual Control. Use cover. Use shadows. Become part of the scenery. And be patient."
"If an opponent looks your way, and you were not in the open..." He said. "Freeze! Become a statue. A shadow. A part of the wall. Humans tend to ignore what doesn't move, what doesn't stand out."
Jester watched, impressed despite himself. This was brutal efficiency. No wasted movement. No wasted thought.
"And finally... Scent Control." Mr. Husher added. Almost as an afterthought. But with a sharp glance. "Less relevant in urban environments, but critical in the wilderness. Consider winds. Consider deodorants. Consider the natural smell of the environment. Become part of it. Mask your own."
...
"Alright. Now, your first task is simple." Husher announced. "Cross this room. From that door to this wall."
He indicated the far wall. "Make no sound. Touch no tripwire. Do not be seen by me." His eyes, like chips of flint, narrowed. "I will see you. But try not to be seen."
Finn went first. He moved with a practiced caution. But a subtle crunch of his boot on a stray pebble. A faint swish of his jacket... They betrayed him.
Mr. Husher merely pointed. "Sound. Change your daily outfit."
Finn nodded. Frustration was clear on his face.
Sunny tried next. Similar to Finn, his outfit caused problem while moving. But Jester noticed that when he stood still, his presence basically disappeared. Completely.
Then, it was Jester's turn. He took a deep breath. His mind raced. He remembered the old lessons from his previous life. The concept of a ninja, the art of blending.
He focused. He used the dim light. The heavy shadows cast by the crates. He moved with a feline grace. His tanned skin almost disappeared in the gloom. He pressed his back against a massive crate. Becoming one with its dark surface.
He paused. Watching Mr. Husher's unblinking gaze. The instructor's head remained still. But Jester felt those eyes probing the room. Like invisible laser beams.
He took another step. Slow. Deliberate. No unnecessary noise. He controlled his breathing. Making it shallow. Almost imperceptible.
He navigated around a cluster of tripwires. His foot was hovering. Then settling with the gentleness of a falling leaf. He reached the wall. His back pressed against it. Heart thrumming. He hadn't heard a sound from himself.
"Better." Mr. Husher conceded, His voice was still low. But with a hint of something that might have been approval.
He continued with his assessment. "You almost made it. But, your breathing was too shallow. Your heart beat too fast. A trained ear, a sensitive nose, or a magical ward would have picked you up."
Jester nodded. He felt a pang of disappointment. One that was quickly replaced by renewed determination.
'Almost' wasn't good enough. This wasn't a game. This was for survival. For navigating the Dungeons and avoiding the monstrous encounter in Sherra. It was for dealing with cultists and demon incursions.
The school lessons were deadly serious. He vowed to do better. Every time.
The rest of the class was spent repeating the exercise. Each student was striving to improve. Learning from their own mistakes. And Mr. Husher's curt, precise feedback.
By the end of the session, Jester's muscles ached. But his mind was sharp. Buzzing with new knowledge. Stealth was not just a skill. It was a way of being.