Chapter 21 Among the Misfits

West let out a laugh.

“Well, in some ways you’re unique, Aria - uh, sorry, Liana. I don’t think there’s another student who’s gone from being top of the military to MIA to being back here under an assumed name. But here’s the thing: you’re gonna want to keep a tight lid on your real story.”

“You think I'm that stupid? I know that. I will keep my secret locked tight.”

“Maybe not outright,” West replied slowly, choosing his words carefully.

“But these students aren’t oblivious. They’ve been around long enough to spot inconsistencies, and if you’re not careful, someone’s bound to ask the wrong questions. Just be careful, that's all I want to say.”

"Trust me, that’s the plan, West. But I won’t lie - playing this quiet, unnoticed role isn’t exactly my style. Never was.”

“I know, Aria. I remember your first round through the academy. You had that boldness, that hunger to stand out and push yourself. But… it’s different now. You’ll need patience, and yes, subtlety. Not saying that you need to hold back with your results, go all out but just keep your... ahem... condition under the wraps.” He lowered his voice, leaning in.

“But listen, if things ever get too heavy, or lonely, my office is always open. You know, for ‘extra tutoring.’ We can keep your cover intact.”

Aria gave him a small, grateful smile.

“Thanks, West. I might just take you up on that offer. But what about the students? Any intel on dealing with them?”

West shifting in his chair.

“Glad you asked. First of all, this class is a special case class. A misfit class made of everyone who did not stick to other classes. You’ve got a few hotshots, the usual muscleheads, and some who think they’re too good for training, but here they are anyway. You’ve got the quiet types who keep their heads down, and some… let’s just say, are here due to a ‘lack of discipline’ in their former units.”

“Perfect. From elite class to dumpster. You just look how low I have fallen. Sounds like It’ll be a lot of fun,” Aria said sarcastically.

“Now, don’t underestimate them,” West warned.

“They’re rough around the edges, sure, but some of them are capable. And if they sense you’re hiding something, they’ll pry. But they don’t need to know the details. Just be Liana, someone who’s been… well, not from around, let’s say.”

“I’ll do my best. Thanks for the advice. And, West?” she paused, “It’s good to have someone looking over my back.”

West smiled, tapping his fingers on the table.

“You know where to find me if you need anything. Just remember, keep your head down, your story straight, and your focus sharp. And who knows? Maybe this second run will bring a few surprises.”

“If it gets me one step closer to the front lines, I’ll take whatever surprises come my way.”

“That’s the Aria - sorry, Liana - I remember. Go on, get to class. I will be coming shortly, we need to introduce you to the class.”

With a nod, Aria stood, heading toward the door.

“Thanks, West. I’ll see you around. Don't take too long.”

With that cleared up, she made her way to the classroom and stepped inside, surveying the room. Some students huddled together, laughing and joking loudly. Others sat alone, noses buried in tablets, tuning out everything around them.

In the back corner sat a group of five students who radiated confidence - the “veterans” of the class. They were the ones who had joined early, well before anyone else, and who now acted as self-appointed leaders. They weren’t necessarily the most skilled, but they were the loudest and most outspoken, practically marking their territory in the back row, talking and laughing loudly enough to draw attention. A couple of them wore well-worn military patches and badges on their jackets, which held no meaning and only made them look cooler but in Aira's eyes they looked like a bunch of clowns pretending to be something they were not.

Not far from them sat another group - a tight cluster of students with a very different aura. These were the academic achievers, the ones who excelled in the theoretical aspects of pilot training and strategy. They leaned over their tablets, comparing notes and tapping furiously on screens, exchanging information. They hardly glanced up, absorbed in whatever critical data or tactics they were analyzing. One of them, a girl with glasses and a severe ponytail, glanced at Aria briefly before dismissing her with a slight nod. They were the brains, likely to be the top of the class in exams, and seemed to consider themselves above the petty dramas of the other groups.

Then there were the “flashy” ones - the fashionable, chatty group of girls who occupied the center row, fully aware that their spot in the middle kept them in view of everyone else. They weren’t afraid to stand out, clearly enjoying the attention they got with their laughter, gossip, and vibrant clothing that pushed the academy’s dress code to the edge. They wore accessories and small jewelry, rare in the Beehive, which marked them as people from families with money, perhaps even influence. These girls were here for the training, but their real goal seemed to be the social ladder.

Near them sat a lone young man who looked unnervingly tense. His posture was slouched, his gaze darting around the room as if he were sitting on needles and waiting for a test to start at any moment. His knee bounced under the table, fingers tapping nervously on his notebook, eyes flicking to Aria for a fraction of a second before darting away with a flinch.

At the far side of the room was another distinct group: the “muscleheads.” These were the physically imposing types, built like tanks themselves, with broad shoulders and muscular arms that strained against their sleeves. They talked in loud voices, comparing workout routines and competitive feats as if they were the only ones that mattered. From her old squad, Aria knew this type well, and looking at them forced a small smile on her face.

As she walked to the nearest empty seat, she muttered quietly to herself, “Hey, just a new student passing by, don’t mind me.”

But no one paid her any attention, too wrapped up in their conversations and routines to notice her presence. She dropped into her seat, and, wanting to block out the noise, slipped in her earpieces. With a quiet click, she activated an old audio file she’d stumbled upon while sifting through the data storage found in the ruins of an abandoned city. It was a simple recording - a soft, endless loop of rain with the occasional distant rumble of thunder. Somehow, it was more soothing than anything else she’d heard. It reminded her of countless hours spent in her tank mech during rainy missions. It was the only sound that was peaceful to calm her in between life-and-death battles against the mutants.

Just as she began to relax, a loud thud jolted her back to reality. The table shook violently, sending her earpieces tumbling out of her ears. With a sharp glare, she looked up to see a flashy girl with perfectly styled hair and an attention-seeking smile standing over her.