"Take out your cultivation manuals, we're starting class."
The teacher's dry voice cut through the room. The whole Survival class sat up straight, wooden chairs creaking. John Markus pulled the booklet from his bag and set it neatly on the desk. A faint scent of fresh paper mixed with the musty air of a long-unused classroom.
The atmosphere felt different today. Just months ago, Survival class had been all about dull lessons like pitching tents, spotting monster tracks, or how to run for your life in the woods. But now, three big words covered the blackboard: Government Technique.
John glanced to the left, where a boy snorted.
"See? Told you. No more of that useless crap."
The kid beside him nodded.
"Yeah, it's all cultivation now. Survival in the field? The technique's got that covered."
Laughter rippled across the row, but it died fast when the teacher smacked his ruler on the desk.
"Focus. From now on, every theory class revolves around government technique. This is your foundation. Don't get cocky just because it looks simple."
John bowed his head, eyes glued to the page. He wasn't surprised. He'd already guessed this would happen.
But the real surprise came near the end of class.
The teacher suddenly closed his manual and stood.
"Stay seated. I'm going to get something."
The class exchanged puzzled looks.
"What's he bringing?"
"Maybe some cultivation gear?"
"Bet it's another practice test…"
Chairs scraped. Whispers spread. John leaned back quietly, watching. There was a weight in the teacher's voice.
The door swung open. The teacher returned, hauling a metal case half the size of the desk. The steel gleamed under the fluorescent lights, cold enough to raise goosebumps.
"Damn, what's in that thing?"
"Secret documents, maybe?"
"No way, it looks like something straight out of a movie."
Murmurs piled on top of each other.
The teacher set the case on the podium. The two locks clicked. The air went taut like a drawn bowstring.
The lid sprang open. A soft blue glow spilled out, lighting twelve pairs of wide eyes. Inside, glass vials stood in neat rows, each filled with liquid that shimmered like shattered starlight.
One frozen second. Then an explosion of voices.
"Holy crap, level-1 energy solution!"
"A whole case of it?!"
"Don't tell me… we're getting those?"
No one could sit still anymore.
The teacher lifted his head, voice firm.
"That's right. This is level-1 energy solution provided free by the government to all final-year students. Distribution will happen once a month."
The words hit like a bomb.
Cheers erupted down the hall. Other classes screamed in joy, the shouts colliding, echoing through the building. Inside, twelve faces glowed with delight, eyes shining.
A girl turned to her friend, almost in tears.
"I don't have to worry about money anymore!"
A boy at the back laughed loud and rough.
"The government's going big this time! That's thousands of dollars a month!"
The room buzzed like a festival.
Only John stayed quiet. The blue light flickered in his eyes, but deep inside was a heavy shadow.
Three thousand dollars a month, multiplied by every senior student in the country. The number was insane. Taxes hadn't gone up. The budget hadn't grown. So where was the money coming from?
John pressed his lips thin. He pieced together the news he'd read, the hazy battle reports on TV, and found the cold answer:
"The warfront's bleeding too fast. Espers are dying faster than they can train replacements. They're forcing us to grow up overnight."
His heart thudded. Nobody else in class saw it. They just cheered like kids getting birthday gifts.
The ruler smacked again. The teacher shut the case, speaking slowly.
"Today, Survival class has all twelve students present. That's been consistent for three months now."
Twelve pairs of eyes met, proud. At a school notorious for absences, keeping perfect attendance was rare.
"There are twenty-five vials in this case," the teacher went on. "Those who skip class have already decided they have no future, no contribution to humanity. So the extras will be divided among those present today. Anyone with objections can come see me."
The room erupted again.
"That's more than one extra vial each!"
"Ha, see? Showing up pays off!"
"Heaven really rewards the hardworking!"
Desks rattled under slaps, laughter bouncing off the walls. A tall, lanky boy leapt up.
"Let me say this: today is officially the happiest day of my life!"
The class burst out laughing.
The teacher didn't smile. He only opened the case again. The blue light flooded out, brightening the whole room. He began to call names.
"Mark Cuban."
"Here!"
Hung walked up, hands trembling as he received a vial. He held it like a treasure, eyes glued to the shimmering liquid.
"Next, Lily Shawn."
"Yes, sir!"
Lan stepped forward, hair loose, cheeks flushed with excitement. She hugged the vial tight and grinned wide at her desk mate.
One by one, names were called. The room felt like an award ceremony, every gaze gleaming.
John sat still. When his name came, he rose and walked up. The vial glowed faintly in the teacher's hand, pulsing with a heartbeat of its own. John reached out, his fingers icy.
"Hold it tight. Drop it, and it's gone," the teacher warned, his eyes lingering.
"Yes." John gave a small nod and returned to his seat. The cold glass pressed into his palm, blue light seeping between his fingers.
He set it on the desk and stared for a long moment. Around him, chatter crackled on.
"If we get one every month, the rich kids won't be so far ahead anymore."
"Yeah, this time it's really fair."
"Haha, I'll catch up to the afternoon class soon!"
Voices of excitement flew around. John listened, lips curling in a faint, dry smile. Fair? Maybe, for the college exam looming ahead. But in the long run, only survival would tell the truth.
The vial's blue glow shimmered across his face. He brushed a fingertip against the glass, feeling a faint current spread out. Beautiful, yes—but it carried a bad omen too.
Inside his chest, joy and unease collided.