014 Pioneer Class - Part 4 - Mark’s POV

014 Pioneer Class - Part 4 - Mark’s POV

With a faint shimmer, the chairs expanded back into their original shape, and I settled into mine without a second thought. Mirai, beside me, hesitated for a moment before doing the same. On my other side, Ron practically bounced into his seat, looking way too pleased with himself.

Meanwhile, the students who had stubbornly refused the armchair deal sat awkwardly on the floor. Some of them crossed their legs, trying to look composed, while others shifted uncomfortably, realizing their mistake. A few were glancing at Reina, as if hoping she’d change her mind and offer them another chance. She didn’t.

The classroom now looked like a chaotic mix of students either sitting comfortably in their chairs or looking miserable on the ground. The spacing was weird too—some people spread out near the walls, others clustered toward the front. There was no organization, no neat rows or assigned spots. Just students placing themselves wherever they felt like.

It was a mess.

I wasn’t sure if that was intentional or if Reina just didn’t care. Given her attitude, I was leaning toward the latter.

Reina clapped her hands once, drawing everyone’s attention.

“All right, take out your dictionaries.”

There was a beat of silence. Then a collective groan spread through the class.

Ron, sitting beside me, slumped forward.

“A dictionary? Seriously? Why would we even need—”

“Because I said so,” Reina cut him off with a sharp grin. “And because some of you are functionally illiterate when it comes to ESP theory. Now, take them out.”

I sighed and pulled out my dictionary. I had a feeling something like this would happen, so I bought an extra copy.

When I glanced over at Mirai, I saw her casually flipping through her own dictionary.

…Damn it.

A part of me felt a little disappointed. If this world had followed Mom’s so-called otome game storyline exactly, Mirai probably wouldn’t have brought one, and I could’ve used this as an excuse to help her. But no—here she was, perfectly prepared.

What was this? Butterfly effect?

Ron, on the other hand, had his face buried in his hands. “Ugh, I didn’t bring one…”

I sighed, wordlessly sliding my extra dictionary onto his desk.

He looked up at me, eyes wide. “For real? Dude, you’re a lifesaver.”

I just shrugged. “You’ll owe me one.”

Ron grinned like I’d just given him a golden ticket. “Sure, sure. I’ll treat you to lunch or something.”

Reina clapped again, drawing back our attention. “Anyone without a dictionary gets a demerit.”

More groaning.

Ron sheepishly hugged the one I gave him. “Man, I really would’ve been screwed.”

“Five minutes, skim your dictionary as you liked,” added Reina.

Class settled into a dull hum of pages flipping and pens scratching against paper. Reina hadn’t given us anything to do yet, so naturally, people started passing notes and whispering behind cupped hands.

A piece of paper slid onto my desk.

I glanced to my side. Mirai was staring straight ahead, looking innocent. Too innocent.

I unfolded the note.

Why did you ignore me earlier?

I exhaled through my nose. Well, according to Mom’s strategy, I should maintain some distance from Mirai to avoid appearing too clingy. Yeah, no way I was telling her that.

I picked up my pen and scribbled my reply—nothing but a neutral face emoji.

Then, without looking at her, I slid the paper back.

Mirai shot me an incredulous look, then scribbled something else before shoving it back at me.

That’s it? Really?

I smirked and didn’t write anything. Mom never said anything about passing along ripped-up pages, so I simply tore the note in half and tucked it into my pocket.

Mirai huffed but didn’t press further.

At the front of the classroom, Reina finally started speaking again.

"All right, listen up," she said, crossing her arms. "I’ll be honest with you. This class? It’s going to be hell. There’s no guaranteed success, no empty promises that you’ll all go on to be big shots in the world. That’s on you. What I can promise is that I will drag out every ounce of potential you have, whether you like it or not."

The room was quiet.

Some students sat up straighter. Others swallowed hard.

I already knew this world was harsh. I didn’t need Reina to tell me that.

But still, something about the way she said it made me believe her.

As Reina paced at the front of the chaotic classroom, she clapped her hands together to grab everyone’s attention.

"Alright, brats. Ground rules. Listen up."

The students quieted, though a few still shifted uncomfortably on the floor. Reina smirked, clearly enjoying the contrast between those who had chosen armchairs and those who hadn’t.

"First off, when addressing professors, you will refer to them as 'Professor,' 'Sir,' 'Ma’am,' or whatever respectful title applies. But when it comes to me? I am Master Reina. Got it?"

A few murmurs passed through the room. Someone scoffed under their breath.

Reina’s eyes flicked toward the sound. "Something funny?" Her voice dropped a degree, carrying an edge that made even me sit up straighter.

Silence.

"Good," she continued. "This isn't just for my amusement. The ESPer Academy follows an adjacent master-disciple structure. Your professors are your mentors, and the expectation is that you’ll treat them as such. It’s a sign of respect and acknowledgment of their ability to guide you. If you have a problem with that, you can leave now."

No one moved.

"Thought so. Next—merit points. These are your lifeline in my class. A hundred demerits, and you’re out. No exceptions. A hundred merit points, and you can buy a favor from me. What kind of favor? That depends on how generous I’m feeling." She grinned. "Or how desperate you are."

A few students muttered to themselves, processing the weight of that statement.

Then Reina clapped her hands again. "Alright, your five minutes of skimming through your dictionary are up. Pop quiz. Who can tell me why I had you bring a dictionary on the first day?"

The room fell silent. Some students shifted in their seats—or on the floor—glancing at each other as if hoping someone else would answer first.

I raised my hand.

Reina arched a brow. "Valentine. Enlighten us."

"It’s to help us think of a name for our ESP," I answered.

For a moment, there was silence. Then a few students laughed, as if I had just said the dumbest thing imaginable.

Reina didn’t look amused. If anything, she looked pleased.

Mirai, sitting beside me, looked contemplative. Ron, on my other side, just looked bored, tapping his fingers idly on the armrest of his chair. Across the room, Karl stirred from his unconscious state, blinking groggily as he tried to process what was going on.

Reina chuckled. "Well, well, well. Looks like we have at least one student who gets it. Naming your ESP isn’t just some stupid formality. A name gives shape to your power. It makes it more than just some vague force. It makes it yours. The stronger the name, the stronger your ESP can become. Some of the most powerful ESPers in history were those who understood that simple concept."

The class quieted down, the laughter dying off.

Reina raised her hand, and with a single word—"Ember"—a small flame flickered to life in her palm. It burned steadily, dancing between her fingers as if obeying an unseen command.

"This is my ESP," she declared. "Absolute Authority."

The class watched in silence, some eyes widening in realization. The demonstration was simple, but the name carried weight.

Absolute Authority.

Reina curled her fingers inward, and the flame twisted into a spiral before snuffing out completely. She lowered her hand and scanned the room with a smirk.

"Now, let me ask again," she continued, her tone sharper. "Is the name everything to a power? Does a stronger name really make the ability stronger?"

The class hesitated. A few students glanced at their dictionaries, as if they could find the answer buried in the pages.

Then Mirai raised her hand.

Reina arched a brow. "Go ahead, little miss delinquent."

Mirai didn’t react to the nickname. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "That’s not always the case," she said. "Some abilities are strong simply because of the person using them. The names or titles we assign to our ESP aren’t what make them powerful—they just act as a guide, a way for us to understand and shape our abilities."

For a second, there was silence.

Then Reina let out a laugh. A sharp, approving sound.

"Bravo!" she announced, clapping once. "You’re absolutely right!"

The class relaxed slightly. Some students nodded to themselves, while others seemed confused, still trying to piece everything together.

Reina leaned against the blackboard, her smirk widening. "A name is a tool. It helps you focus, helps you conceptualize what your power is. But at the end of the day, what matters is you. Your experience, your control, your belief in what your ESP can do. If you think slapping a powerful name on your ability will suddenly make you an untouchable badass, you’re going to be very disappointed."

She gestured toward the dictionaries. "That said, pick your words carefully. Because if you name your power something stupid, you’re going to have to live with it."

Reina tapped her fingers against the blackboard, her gaze sweeping over the class. "Alright, next question," she said. "What makes an ESP truly powerful?"

Silence. Some students shifted uncomfortably, others flipped through their dictionaries as if the answer was hidden somewhere in the pages.

Then Reina smirked. "Wentworth."

A student adjusted his glasses and stepped forward. Matt Wentworth. I recognized him immediately—one of the heroine’s love interests. He had the whole intellectual look going for him, neat hair, sharp eyes behind thin-rimmed glasses. He looked like a nerd, but I knew better.

Unlike me and a few others, Wentworth hadn’t picked an armchair. He remained standing, arms crossed, looking completely at ease despite the lack of seating.

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Personality," he answered.

Reina let out a pleased hum. She lifted her hand again, reigniting the ember at her fingertips. It burned steady for a moment before she clenched her fist, snuffing it out.

"Good answer," she said. "Personality shapes power. My ESP—Absolute Authority—lets me impose my will on the world. Pyrokinesis?" She scoffed. "That’s not in my arsenal. Fire isn’t my weapon. If anything, my personality leans toward domination. Warping reality to suit me."

Wentworth gave a slow nod, satisfied with her response.

Reina clapped her hands together. "And that brings us to today’s main lesson. You will be naming your ESP."

Murmurs spread through the classroom. A few students looked unsure, others excited.

"ESP always manifests around certain themes," Reina continued. "Power is personal. It reflects who you are, what you desire, what drives you. Realizing those themes makes it easier to understand and use your ESP. And that’s where a name comes in."

She pointed at us with an exaggerated motion. "So, get to thinking. By the end of this class, you will have a name for your ESP, or you’re going to have a really bad time."

Groans echoed through the classroom.

Mirai slumped onto her desk—well, her armchair—whining, "This is the worst. Why do we have to explain it?"

Reina grinned, clearly enjoying our suffering. "Because I said so. I expect an essay from each of you explaining why you chose the name for your ESP. If you can’t even put your thoughts into words, then you don’t understand your own power."

More groans. Some students banged their heads against their armrests in frustration.

I, on the other hand, simply took out a bundle of paper and started writing. I had done this training before—just not in a classroom. Mom had drilled this into me in a far less comfortable environment. Naming your ESP was important. It shaped perception, both your own and others’.

I already knew my name.

Nth Person.

It was the crystallization of my dream—to be an Extra, a Nobody in this world. Someone unnoticed, unseen, forgotten. The kind of person who could slip through the cracks of reality itself.

Ron looked equally at ease. He pulled out a piece of paper and tapped his pen against it, already deep in thought. Whatever name he had in mind, he seemed pretty confident.

Meanwhile, Mirai groaned, burying her face in her arms. "Ugh, why is this so hard?"

I smirked. Looked like her luck powers weren’t helping her think of a name.

Hah~! Not so much a cheater now, huh?