Who The Hell Is Main Character?

Navigating through the academy was easy.

While others struggled and kept looking at the map in confusion, Marcellus had Maeve who had memories the whole map, and was moving through the floors with confidence.

But she too had her own problems.

’First this guy takes a whole hour just to shower, and now he cannot just walk in a STRAIGHT LINE!’ She was screaming within her thoughts.

Marcellus would stop at every fact poster, every billboard, and if a classroom door happened to be open, he would glance inside before continuing.

She really felt like babysitting a heir, and not assisting one.

Most heirs treated their assistants as workers and ignored them. And at this point, she preferred if he would act like that too.

He would just read everything.

Out of frustration, Maeve stopped and looked at him, expecting a reaction, but he was already looking at a display showcasing the evolution of force theory over the last century.

’This motherfuc---Calm...Stay Calm...’ She tightened her fist and then released her grip.

With a sigh, she walked beside him, pulled his hand out of his pocket, and urged him to walk besides her ignoring his curiousity.

"Oh.. wai-"

Marcellus allowed himself to be pulled along with a faint amused smirk playing on his lips.

"We’re getting late!"

"Alright..." he murmured, letting her lead for now.

’...’ Although she tried to ignore it...but his gaze kept drifting down to the sway of her hips and the way her long black hair brushed against her back.

’Breathe in! Breathe out! Stay Calm! You can kill him once you graduate,’ she kept repeating those thoughts on their way to the classroom, ignoring the awkward stares of cadets who saw her leading her own master by pulling his hand.

Maeve finally stopped in front of a pair of dark wooden doors with a see-through glass in the center.

A small metallic plaque beside it read ’Lecture Hall 7’

She let out a relieved sigh.

Marcellus looked past the doors, and the lecture hall wasn’t arranged like a traditional classroom.

Instead, the seats formed wide semicircular tiers that descended toward a circular platform at the center. Ther was no podium, or any teacher’s desk.

It looked less like a classroom and more like a conference hall.

Nearly every seat was already occupied, some cadets sat quietly scrolling through their phones, some argued over theories, others simply observed everyone entering, silently judging their competition.

"We’re here."

Without waiting for a response, she pushed the doors open and stepped inside.

The sound of the doors opening drew several pair of eyes toward the entrance, one after another, conversations faded.

Not because an heir arrived, but because of the sight accompanying him.

Maeve walked into the hall first.

Marcellus followed behind...still being led by the hand.

"..."

"..."

"..."

Most people knew who Maeve was. She was in the top 100 after all. And almost everyone knew who Marcellus was, but for different reasons.

"...Are you seeing what I’m think I’m seeing?"

"...I think I’m seeing what you think you’re seeing..."

"The assistant is dragging her master,"

"Shouldn’t it be the other way around?"

"Forget about touching...she’s holding his hand?"

"Yeah that doesn’t look like a mutual hold..."

Meanwhile, Maeve continued walking several more down the aisle before the unusual silence finally indicated something to her.

"...?"

She turned around slightly, and only then did she notice dozens of eyes fixed on her.

Following her gaze she looked down, and her fingers were still wrapped around Marcellus’s wrist.

"..." Her expression froze.

Very Calmly, she let go.

"Please proceed, Young Master."

Marcellus glanced at his wrist before looking back at her.

"Thank you."

"Your welcome."

’What the fuck was I thinking!’ She kept repeating this to herself but did not utter a single word.

Marcellus, meanwhile, simply looked around the room, and sat in his chair.

Maeve followed him and sat beside him.

*Thud*

She thumped her head in the table and placed her hands over her head.

’I should’ve just let him read the posters...’

She could hear people whisper all over the room.

"I think they’re in a relationship..."

"Must be...I mean I don’t blame her, toss aside his personality and reputation, he’s hot, and wealthy..."

"...Fuck!" She groaned under her breath.

"Are you alright?" He asked, looking at with slight concern.

"Yes." She wasn’t.

"Is the thought of being my girlfriend that unsettling?" he asked as he leaned in as his shoulder brushed hers.

Maeve lifted her head just enough to shoot him a glare, with a few rebellious strands of black hair dropping on her face.

"No." she replied, bluntly.

"Your lying face is pretty," he said.

’This motherfuc---Calm...Stay Calm...’

Then chitter-chatter of the classroom died one after another. Lack of conversations created a silence of conference rooms.

A man had entered the room. He did not wear an academy blazer.

He wasn’t particularly tall, nor did he possess an overwhelming presence.

A charcoal-grey suit fit neatly over a broad, well-built frame.

His tanned skin and rough hands belonged more to a veteran than of a professor.

Grey hair combed neatly backwards, while a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles rested comfortably upon his nose.

He carried nothin except a thin leather notebook. And without introducing himself, he walked towards the center platform.

He looked across the room, and clapped once.

*Clap*

The sound echoed through the lecture hall.

A low mechanical hum was heard from beneath the floor he was standing on.

The circular floor beneath him lit up in faint lights.

One tile after another rose in perfect synchronization, each locking into the next with soft metallic clicks until a broad platform emerged from the center of the room.

It didn’t rise very high, but just enough that those seated closest instinctively lifted their chins, and those at the highest tiers found themselves looking almost straight ahead.

A final slab ascended before him, shaping itself into a waist high desk of polished black alloy.

The surrounding walls dimmed.

Marcellus noticed the walls weren’t concrete at all, they were sheets of dark glass, almost mirror-like when inactive.

The professor uncapped a stylus, and without saying a word, he wrote...

’Everything you currently know may be wrong.’

Those words expanded beyond the desk, across the curved walls, and the ceiling. Until every cadet, regardless of where they sat, found the same sentence hanging before their eyes.

’That’s so cool...’ Marcellus thought, admiring the structure.

He thought there would be projectors, but instead the academy was using massive screens and an automated podium.

The design in itself wasn’t sci-fi, but it’s a hassle for construction engineers, and that’s why they’d tend to avoid any flashy designs if budget was limited.

’But then again...I keep forgetting I’m not living on budget,’ he thought.

He looked to his left, and found Maeve completely unimpressed. She was just staring at those words without any interest while both her hands rested on the wooden table.

None of the people payed attention infact. He looked around and even though quiet, they found lectures unimportant.

The professor let his gaze sweep across the lecture hall.

"I suppose introductions are in order."

"My name is Professor Breck Kyson."

"I’ve spent the last thirty-one years researching Force Control and Core Biology."

"I’ve authored seven standardized textbooks used across the Union."

A few cadets visibly straightened up, because almost everyone who reads books on core has known the name, Breck Kyson.

"The purpose of this academy is not merely to make you stronger, it is to teach you why and how you become stronger."

He wrote something on the desk, and the words were projected across the walls.

’The Core is not an Organ.’

Murmurs immediately spread throughout the hall.

Several cadets exchanged glances, and some were genuinely interested in what their professor was trying to convey.

Professor Kyson let the discussion continue for a few moments before speaking again.

"Most of you disagree."

"As you should."

"Every medical institution in the world classifies the core as an organ." He smiled faintly.

"They are wrong."

"The core is an instrument. It resides within the body, it cooperates with the body, but that does not make it an organ."

"It is no different than placing a perfectly engineered machine inside a living organism. It performs work, circulates force, empowers it. But an instrument remains an instrument."

Kyson clasped his hands behind his back.

"Can you tell me why?" None answered.

Some looked uncertain. They’ve been taught to treat their core as an organ. It’s made of an energy which the devices of this world still fail to feel on a fundamental level.

Their potentials, and their types are all deciphered by their output, growth, and the colour of force control.

That’s why, not a single person in the room had answer, to what a core really was.

Well, except one.

Marcellus raised his hand. He wasn’t trying to challenge the professor, his expression carried genuine confusion.

"Professor." He called out, and Maeve was already looking at him as if trouble was incoming.

"Yes?"

"I think your definition is incorrect."

The lecture hall froze.

How could a no-brainer heir challenge the definition of someone who has devoted his life to force control?

Everybody had those thoughts.

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