Chapter 62: Teacher Olmo

The break in transmission startled everyone. Jelo, Atlas, Ken, Xino, and the other Class 2 students froze where they stood, the tension on the stage hanging in the air like a sudden pause in a movie. The energy that had been building toward violence dissipated in an instant, replaced by confusion and uncertainty.

For a moment, nobody moved. Everyone was processing what had just happened, trying to understand if this was part of the show or something else entirely.

Then Xino snapped out of it first. His face twisted into a snarl of pure fury, his patience completely exhausted. He turned sharply toward Jelo and moved to attack Jelo, his shield raised, clearly intent on ending this situation with regardless of whatever interruption had just occurred.

But before Xino could close the distance, before his shield could swing toward Jelo’s head, the door to the hall burst open a second time.

This entrance was different from before, more forceful, more authoritative.

The janitor who had discovered the situation earlier returned, but this time he wasn’t alone. Walking beside him with quick, purposeful strides was Olmo, the combat teacher.

His expression was absolutely furious. Not the hot, impulsive anger that students displayed, but the cold, controlled fury of someone with real authority who had just discovered a serious breach of protocol.

“STOP!” Olmo’s voice boomed through the hall. “Everyone stops what they’re doing. Immediately.”

The effect was instantaneous and dramatic. Every Class 2 student on the stage froze as if they’d been hit with a paralysis ability. Their faces went pale as they recognized Olmo, as they realized a real teacher had caught them in the act.

Panic spread through them like wildfire. Within seconds, they began scattering, abandoning the stage and rushing toward the exits like rats fleeing a sinking ship. They pushed past each other in their haste to escape, some even using their abilities to move faster, desperate to get out before Olmo could identify all of them.

Within moments, the stage that had been crowded with Class 2 students was nearly empty.

Nearly.

Xino remained exactly where he was. His jaw was clenched so tight that muscles bulged visibly along his jawline. His fists were balled at his sides, his energy shield still active and glowing around his arm. He didn’t run. He didn’t scatter with the others.

Instead, he turned to face Olmo directly, his expression defiant despite the clear authority standing before him.

“We were only teaching the Class 1 students a lesson,” Xino said, his voice rough but steady.

Olmo’s eyes narrowed as he fixed Xino with a cold, measuring stare. He walked slowly toward the stage, his boots making deliberate sounds against the floor with each step. The janitor hung back near the door, clearly content to let the teacher handle this situation.

Olmo spoke again. “Teaching a lesson,” he repeated, the words carrying a note of disdain. “Is that what you call ganging up on students who are a full year behind you in training? Tying them to pillars? Forcing the entire Class 1 to watch while you systematically beat their classmates?”

Xino’s jaw worked, but he didn’t respond immediately.

Olmo continued, his voice cutting through the silence of the hall like a blade. “Let me tell you something about respect, Xino. Respect cannot be forced. It must be earned. If you try to force respect through intimidation, through violence, through displays of dominance, then it’s no longer respect. It’s tyranny. And tyranny breeds resentment, rebellion, and eventually, your own downfall.”

He stepped fully onto the stage now, his presence seeming to fill the entire space. “You want these Class 1 students to respect you? Then show them something worth respecting. Demonstrate skill they can admire. Offer guidance they can value. Prove yourself worthy of looking up to. Don’t just beat them down and expect them to grovel.”

Xino’s face was flushed now, a mixture of anger and shame warring across his features. His fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly, and for a moment it looked like he might argue, might try to defend his actions further.

But then his shoulders slumped slightly, and he took a step back. “I’ve heard,” he muttered, the words forced out through gritted teeth.

Olmo nodded once, satisfied that his point had landed even if it hadn’t been fully accepted. He then turned his attention to the remaining figures on the stage, Jelo, Ken, and Atlas.

His expression softened slightly, though it didn’t become exactly warm. “You three,” he said, his tone more measured now. “Go. Return to your dormitories or wherever you need to be. And avoid trouble.”

He paused, then added with weight to his words, “The cost of trouble in this academy is usually very high. Higher than you might realize when you’re in the heat of the moment.”

Jelo, Ken, and Atlas all nodded, none of them eager to draw more attention from the teacher

But before they could leave, Olmo spoke again, and this time there was something almost conflicted in his tone. “I want you to understand something,” he said, his eyes moving between the three of them. “There are some long-standing cultures in this academy. Traditions, if you want to call them that. They encourage fighting, competition, even what you might call bullying between different class years and different rank levels.”

He ran a hand through his short hair, a gesture that suggested frustration or weariness. “I understand the purpose behind these traditions. I understand why they exist and what they’re meant to accomplish. But personally?” He met their eyes directly. “I don’t think they’re healthy.”

The statement hung in the air, unexpected and profound. A teacher openly questioning the academy’s methods, even while acknowledging them.

“Now go,” Olmo said, his tone returning to something more authoritative.

Jelo, Ken, and Atlas didn’t need to be told twice. They left the stage quickly, moving through the hall toward the exit, acutely aware of the hundreds of Class 1 students still watching from their seats.

As they walked down the hallway outside the hall, putting distance between themselves and the scene, Atlas glanced at Ken with a thoughtful expression. “Do you think Xino will get in trouble?” he asked. “Like Formal discipline?”

Ken shrugged, his usual easy-going demeanor returning now that the immediate danger had passed. “Probably not. Olmo seems like a pretty chill teacher, all things considered. He shut it down, made his point, but he didn’t seem like he wanted to make it a huge official thing.”

“Plus,” Ken continued, “if he reported it formally, he’d have to report all the Class 2 students who were involved. That’s a lot of disciplinary paperwork for something the academy probably considers ’tradition’ anyway.”

Atlas nodded slowly, seeming to accept that logic.

But Jelo wasn’t listening to their conversation. His mind was elsewhere, still replaying Olmo’s words in his head, turning them over and examining them from different angles.

’There are some long-standing cultures in this academy… I understand the purpose behind them…’

Jelo thought about that deeply as they walked. What was the purpose? Why would the academy actively encourage this kind of toxic environment where the strong constantly preyed on the weak?

And as he thought it through, it started to make a disturbing kind of sense.

The academy existed for one primary reason: to produce fearless, ambitious supers who could rise to protect the country. hell, protect the entire planetc in case another extraplanetary threat appeared. The Ihe invasion had nearly wiped out humanity. It had taken unprecedented cooperation and sacrifice to survive.

The academy needed to create people who wouldn’t break under pressure. People who wouldn’t hesitate in combat. People who were so used to conflict, so hardened by constant competition, that facing monsters or alien invaders would just be another fight in a long series of fights.

And what better way to induce courage and ambition than to pit supers against each other constantly? To force continuous competition where only the strong thrived? To let fights and confrontations become so normalized that none of them feared conflict anymore?

If students spent their entire time at the academy fighting for position, defending their rank, proving themselves against others who wanted to take them down, then by the time they graduated, combat would be second nature. Fear would be a foreign concept. Hesitation would have been trained out of them completely.

Jelo thought about it from that perspective, and suddenly the toxic culture made strategic sense. It was deliberately cultivated, deliberately maintained, because it served a specific purpose in creating the kind of warriors the world needed.

Even though the culture was toxic, even though it hurt people and created suffering, it clearly served a purpose. A cold, calculated, strategic purpose.

And for the first time since arriving at the academy, Jelo wondered if he was wrong for questioning it. Maybe this was just how things had to be. Maybe there was no other way to forge the kind of strength humanity needed to survive in this new, dangerous world where monsters existed and aliens might return at any moment.

The thought sat uncomfortably in his mind as they continued walking back to their dormitories.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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