Awakening #3

Arthur internally groaned, getting uncomfortable from all the attention given his way. Sitting on an empty lunch table by the exit, He peacefully chowed down on his food, tuning out the sound.

"Isn't it the one and only?" A boisterous voice chuckled, earning a strong elbow strike from his smaller companion.

Arthur dropped the food from his spoon to look up and frown at George and David. "Fuck you, George."

David felt the glare aimed at him, so he raised both his hands in surrender. "I'm innocent."

"I know." Arthur just sighed, feeding himself another spoonful. With the food in between his right molars, he spoke. "So how's it going?"

"So-So." David shrugged, making a so-so-hand gesture. "I didn't fail my tests, and passed with good scores-- so I'm good."

"Me too, but just by a hair." George frowned, slightly sad before his face brightened up again. "Then again, I didn't fail-- so there's that."

Both boys gave each other a look, before looking at Arthur with questioning intentions. "So..." They drawl simultaneously. "How did you do it?" They ask.

Arthur just wiped his mouth with the napkin. "Do what exactly?" he asked, with a small smirk forming. Both the other boys were not amused. 

"How did you get the number one spot?" George asked, leaning in.

David nodded. "Yeah! and how did you become a first-circle? Or wait, are you really a first-circle?'' he asked, leaning in too.

Arthur leaned back, crossing his arms. "To answer your questions, I got them through hard work. Grueling, constant hard work and effort were what put me where I am now."

Both boys sit straight in their seats, taking a deep breath and sighing. "I thought so." 

The boys began to banter and discuss anything of interest that happened during the morning, while hungrily devouring the meal they were provided. Arthur sipped on the large glass of water, enjoying the company provided by boys his age who act his age.

"Seriously, it's difficult to act like a teenager when I have over fifty-six years of actual life experiences." Arthur huffed, taking a contented sigh. "This... This is pretty nice."

"Okay! Arthur! we need your opinion!" Geroge and David glared at each other, foreheads butting, and veins nearly popping. George turned to the confused Arthur.

"Isn't soup technically a flavored-water salad?"  George asked, with genuine sincerity behind his expression and words. David turned redder with frustration. "No! it's not! Tell 'em, Arthur!"

Arthur slapped the center of his face with his palm. "Of all the idiotic things they'd argue about--" He thought, failing to hide his growing smile. "Hey, leave me out of your tomfoolery. You discuss it between yourselves-- I want no part in it." 

David and George frowned. "You're supposed to be a tie-breaker, not a bystander."

Arthur chuckled, picking up his tray. "My bad, my bad." he laughed. "Anyways boys, I'm gonna  head to class, I still have to teach Math."

David and George nodded, before resuming a heated staredown. "This isn't over!"

Arthur walked away with a smile on his face. "Yeah, life is good," he said to himself.  "Now I understand why old people like to stay around young teenagers, they get to reminisce and feel young again."

Ding! Dong!

Ding! Dong!

The bell rang after each hour, signifying the end of the day. Arthur got up from his seat, with his handbag slung over his shoulder as he slowly walked out to the exit. 

"Whoa-- get out of his way..."

"You don't want to make him mad..."

He sighed, picking up the itch in his ear. "honestly, I thought the ear-itch-saying was just bullshit, but it seems like it's true in this world." Arthur internally grumbled, "It's club day... I think I'll go down to the range."

Word of mouth had traveled like wildfire, so with each step, Arthur had been on the receiving end of talks and discussions. Even as he journeyed to the shared firing range, the crowd made way for him, almost out of curiosity, but not lacking the gossiping.

Even as he entered the secure grounds, there was still a crowd of people following a bit further behind. The rough, sandy ground met his leather shoes, giving a relieving feeling to his soles, almost as if he stepped into a different place, away from the hassle of being talked about.

"God, I swear Celebrities have the worst mental health-- how the hell do they even cope with that much attention?" Arthur pondered, not wanting to know the answer. "A person whose entire existence, each word, each expression being scrutinized by thousands of strangers-- ugh!-- that sounds like hell." 

Arthur walked over to the storage room, which was a cement room, made hastily on the corner of the range. The doors had enough locks and surveillance to be considered safe. Just in front of him was a second-year senior of his.

"Ah! Senior!" Arthur called out merrily, jogging to the side of the slightly taller boy.

His senior just flinched, turning his head around with a frown on his face. "For. The. Last. Time. Call. Me. Mark." He said, emphasizing each word with spine-shivering venom.

However, Arthur just laughed, tearing up slightly. "I know, I know-- I was joking, so relax."

"You cheeky, junior!" Mark, the twenty-year-old, hissed. His brunette hair swayed slightly from the speed of his head turning, which also contributed to Arthur's amusement. 

Mark reached into his pocket to get the key, attached to his person by a durable chain, and he unlocked the door, revealing the small armory. The room was compact due to the extensive collections- of weapons and bullets of all calibers stored in cases and crates.

"Which one will you get?" Mark asked, the key jiggling in his pocket. "The usual, I'm guessing?"

Arthur just sighed, happy to see somewhat familiar technology from the earth, although they were under different names. He entered the small storage room to procure two rifles and a revolver handgun. Taking a small crate of ammunition he had prepared beforehand, Arthur left the storage closet and waited for Mark to fetch his equipment.

"You really like that lever gun." Mark huffed, taking out a bolt-action rifle and ammunition. "For a bolt-action, I can understand, but that? I just don't get it."

Arthur turned around to face the club owner. "Lever guns are cool too, what do you mean?" he asked, mortified at the remark.

Mark chuckled, his shoulders shaking. "Whatever you say."

Mark locked the storage door tightly, before picking up his rifle and bullets. "Say, why did you join this club anyway?" he asked as they walked over to the tables set in their section.

Arthur set his items carefully on the table before taking out a silk cloth. "Guns are cool– I guess. Unlike bows and swords, a firearm takes significantly less time to learn and master."

Mark stared at his junior. "That's exactly what grandfather had in mind. What a smart kid."

"That's true, they're expensive though."

Arthur grimaced. "We both know that's a load of crap," he said, picking up the bolt-action. "With the mass-production methods available nowadays, a gun could be manufactured for incredibly cheap when compared to the manufacturing methods of your ancestors."

Mark just chuckled again. "You got that right. My grandfather was foolish in writing that treaty," he mumbled. "Then again, there's nothing wrong about painstakingly-crafted items like these."

Arthur tossed the cloth away back into the crate before loading five bullets of 7.62mm brass bullets into the bolt-action, marveling at the smooth movement of the internal parts. "As much as I'd like to disagree-- The 98' Kruger is not a bad sniper."

Mark nodded, picking up his own rifle, and gazed across the large courtyard. In the distance was an impromptu dirt mound, to cushion the bullets and arrows for both the Marksman club and the Archery Club. 

Arthur set the large cigarette tin on the table beside a lighter, taking one for himself and offering Mark one. "Want one?"

Mark shook his head. "I don't smoke, it's a bad habit and it's also incredibly unhealthy."

Arthur nodded with his explanation. "Alright then, suit yourself. Just say so if you ever change your mind."

"Thanks."

Two hours had passed since the last interaction, Patricia observes him from a distance, watching him accurately land bullets on the steel-plated targets placed at varying distances about the range.

"His consistency is outstanding, his senior could barely keep up." She thought. "His gun-handling technique is nothing to scoff at either. I have never seen anyone reload in a span of a second."

She watched distracted, by the smooth, talent-infused motions exuded by his technique. "He's not bad." She mused, smirking slightly before her good mood was interrupted by a small entourage.

Her eyes dart toward them, taking note of the roman numerals embroidered into their uniform. "S-Second years?! What are they doing here?"

Her clubmates turn in the direction she was facing, sharing the same surprise. "What are they here for?"

The Archery-club's president stepped forward, her cyan hair flowing beautifully passed her shoulders. "Hmm..." she hummed, removing the arrow from her bow. "Interaction from second-years and first-years are pretty rare nowadays-- I wonder if there is any trouble?"

Patricia gasped. "Senior Leah! I did not know you were present today!"

Leah turned to her underclassman and smiled beautifully. "Oh, my schedule loosened for today, allowing me to come. Now, what kind of development do we have here?"

Both ladies turned to the situation, which had escalated to yelling. "T- This is not ideal."