Nevermore's curriculum provides an intricate set of subjects for its students, catering to educating Outcasts with the necessary skills they need in the real world. Subjects like science, math, and English are taught comprehensively like any other school in America.
The difference is, they also implement subjects centered around Outcasts themselves. Outcast Biology that tackles werewolves, gorgons, sirens, vampires, psychics, and other lesser-known Outcast sub-races. Outcast History that sheds light on the past of their race, albeit with some tad bit whitewashed parts, as Wednesday whispered earlier.
Joining extracurricular activities is also required in the school, joining a club, to be specific. It helps students pursue their own interests, even the creation of your own club is allowed as long as it serves its purpose. One subject included in the curriculum is counted as an extracurricular activity — Fencing.
The art of sword fighting. An elegant combat sport of dueling. Originally, it was taught in Nevermore for self-defense against Normie harassment, but over time, as history progressed and bigotry began laying low, it became more of a recreational activity students are required to participate in. It was not removed as it became a part of Nevermore tradition.
Nevermore's fencing hall is one of the most taken care of parts of the school, evident by the marble statues and pillars all around the room. Already, students clad in white uniforms, complete with masks and foils, spar in pairs across the polished wooden floors.
Sunlight from the tall arched windows filters in, glinting off the thin blades and illuminating the motes of dust in the air. The room resonates with the sound of clashing foils, the occasional shuffle of feet, and the sharp calls of the instructor.
Adam entered the room dressed in his fencing uniform. White in color, just like the majority of his classmates, and unlike Wednesday who's wearing her very own custom-made ones.
His eyes wandered around the room, noting students he's familiar with. 'Ah… there's Yoko, Divina… Bianca… Kent… Eni-
"Howdy!" The colorful werewolf exclaimed, skipping as she waved at their direction. Adam watched as Enid approached them like a comet of joy, a walking rainbow, an amalgamation of colors and everything positive in the world.
Before Adam could greet her back, Enid's mouth opened faster. "Oh my God! You look so good in that uniform, Adam! It's giving mysterious sword-master or something! Anyways, this is your first class, right! I'm sure you'd enjoy it! Coach Vlad is the best and I promise you'd keep up-"
She went off, with not even a trigger in sight. Her mouth felt like a storm, instead of raging wind and raining water, hers is a rain of words. Some things Adam didn't even understand, what does 'it's giving' mean? What did he give? Just as Adam was feeling a colossal pressure in his frontal lobe, a saving grace from heaven came down, or from climbed up from hell.
"Enid!" Wednesday shouted, catching the werewolf's attention. Enid turned, finally noticing Wednesday beside Adam. "Wendsy!" Enid called out, "I didn't notice you there!"
Adam, finally off of Enid's radar, gave Wednesday a grateful glance. This werewolf really is something. He didn't even feel this much pressure from fighting off that murderous beast at the forest. Hell, even dying didn't feel this suffocating.
Enid began talking to Wednesday, asking why they were late, why they were together. Amidst their conversation, Adam noticed something from how the dark girl acted around her colorful roommate, from how she conducted herself. Wednesday, when talking with Enid, looked more… animated. Less strained, less like an obligation and more-so something she's willingly participating in.
The brooding girl was patient, answering her questions while feigning annoyance. It's subtle, but enough for Adam to notice and for Enid to not. 'How… intriguing.' He thought. Similar to the way she looks at Thing, but different at the same time. Equal, not of servant-master archetype. A comfort found in someone like… a dear friend.
Patience long, however, is always finite. "Enough." Wednesday said, ending Enid's rain of questions. Her eyes went past Enid, to the boy standing behind her. 'A gorgon.' Adam identified from his headwear.
Enid turned around, her face lighting up even more. She turned to Wednesday, practically vibrating in joy. "Wendsy… I forgot to tell you, but…" she paused, adding a dramatic effect which seems to deepen Wednesday's scowl even more. She grabbed the boy's arm, wrapping herself around his, "me and Ajax are officially dating!"
'Dating?' Adam asked himself. He had never heard of the word, but based on the context of the situation; it must be something like a romantic relationship, right? A term similar, perhaps.
"Great. Congrats." Wednesday replied in a flat, unimpressed tone. Enid pouted. "Come on! At least be happy for me!"
Wednesday tilted her head, expressionless. "Most relationships are slow-motion accidents. If anything, I'm mourning you right now." Enid, realizing her roommate won't budge, huffed, turning to Adam instead. She stood between the two boys, like a referee in a bout. "Adam, this is Ajax. Ajax, this is Adam."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ajax." Adam said first, his tone polite as he reached out his hand. Ajax widened his eyes, looking at Adam like an exotic animal in display. "Woah, he's so totally old school." He said, earning a chuckle from Enid and a confused look from the masked boy.
Ajax grabbed Adam's gloved hand, interlocking his thumb over his, pulling himself close to bump their shoulders. "Nice to meet you, dude!"
"You're tall as hell, dude! Way taller than Principal Weems and Xavier." Ajax added. Adam, unsure of what to reply, simply thanked him. The four chatted for a while, or the couple did and the other two watched. It's amazing watching these two converse, they complement one another in their… energy?
Ajax seemed to always be unable to finish his sentences, as if his brain melts halfway to his thoughts and so Enid finishes it for him. From the way she looks at him dotingly, Adam is sure she doesn't mind. As they were talking, a stern figure approached from behind the couple.
The sound of heavy boots echoed softly against the polished wooden floor, a sharp contrast to the rhythmic shuffles of the fencing students. The man was dressed in a white jacket over a purple shirt. His face looked sharp, strict, a man of discipline, perhaps. He coughed and the two chattering love birds froze, turning around slowly.
"Why are you four standing here like a bouquet of gossiping flowers?"
The voice with a thick accent belonged to Coach Vlad, tall and stern, with a posture that made even the statues around the hall seem to stand straighter. His fencing jacket was crisp white, and the foil in his hand gleamed under the filtered morning sun.
Enid yelped softly and jumped aside, unclasping herself from Ajax's arm. "Coach Vlad! We were just—"
"Talking," Wednesday finished flatly, stepping forward with her usual calm. "Adam has yet to begin his first lesson."
Coach Vlad's eyes, sharp and unreadable, swept over Adam from head to toe. "First lesson," he repeated, as though weighing the words. "Then your ears are better used for instruction than chatter. Form up." He turned to the other three. "And the three of you, find someone to spar with."
Ajax straightened immediately and nudged the werewolf toward the nearest practice strip. Enid, still buzzing with nervous energy, whispered something about hoping Vlad wasn't in one of his moods. Wednesday left without a word, maybe to look for someone to torture. Adam only adjusted his mask, feeling the weight of the coach's gaze like a drawn sword.
Around them, the hall seemed to grow quieter as the coach's presence commanded the air, and the next phase of the lesson was about to begin. Coach Vlad's gaze swept through the hall. "What are you all gawking for? En garde!" With one command, the students began moving again.
Soon, Adam and Coach Vlad reached an unused fencing piste. The coach handed him a foil. "Do you have any experience in fencing?" he asked. Adam shook his head in response. Coach Vlad nodded. "I'll teach you the basics first. The proper form and attacks, then we spar. Understood?"
Determination filled Adam's chest, a spark of intellectual curiosity coupled with another feeling, born from the Coach's words — competitiveness. Coach Vlad stepped closer, circling Adam. "I'm sure you heard what I just yelled, "En garde," it means "on guard" in French. It's a signal to be ready, to put your guard up."
Coach Vlad stood in front of a foil mount, taking one for his own. "En garde also means a stance," the coach bent his knee, putting his right leg forward and his left back as he turned it sideways. His hand holding the foil popped out and the other was bent inside his range, "this is en garde, the most basic stance in fencing. Try it."
Adam emulated the stance, clumsily copying the coach's movement. His first attempt is… decent. Coach Vlad stepped forward, adjusting Adam's stance with precise, almost surgical analysis. "Feet apart, shoulder-width. Lead foot forward, back foot perpendicular. Knees bent. Balance is everything."
Balance, the most basic and the most important fundamental of fencing, of every sport. 'Balance is everything.' Adam repeated in his mind, engraving it to his brain.
Adam followed the instructions, his body stiff at first. The coach tapped his knee lightly with the foil. "Lower. You are not a statue. You are a coiled spring."
Around them, pairs of students clashed their foils, the sounds of steel ringing against steel filling the hall. The sharp smell of polished wood and faint sweat hung in the air. Adam's focus narrowed on the gleaming foil in his hand as Coach Vlad demonstrated a simple thrust.
"Extend your arm, lunge, and recover. Slowly."
Adam mimicked the motion, his body moving with measured effort. Coach Vlad nodded once, a spark of approval in his stern eyes. "Again. Faster this time. Remember, your arm strikes before your feet move."
They repeated the forms, each adjustment making Adam's movements smoother, more fluid. His mind raced to absorb each detail, from the grip of the foil's handle to the subtle shift of weight that preceded a lunge.
"Good," Coach Vlad said after a few repetitions. "Now, defend yourself. The parry." He demonstrated, his foil flicking to deflect an invisible strike. Adam copied the movement, awkward at first, but improving with every attempt. "Remember, your reach is your greatest weapon, more than your sword."
A sudden voice called from the side, breaking his focus. "Go Adam! Slice 'em up!" Enid cheered, waving both hands like a hyperactive flag bearer. Coach Vlad's glare shot in her direction, and she zipped her mouth shut, forming a sheepish grin. Off to the side was Wednesday, watching in silence as her opponent beside her pants in exhaustion.
"Ignore the distractions," he said, his tone firm. "In a duel, even a single glance away can cost you."
Adam nodded, gripping his foil tighter. The drill continued, each movement sharper than the last, until finally, Coach Vlad stepped back and raised his own weapon.
"Enough drills. Let us see if you can apply them." He stepped back, positioning himself at the very end of the piste. Once there, he gestured toward Adam with the foil. "En garde."
Adam tensed, putting his helmet on. Tense why? He doesn't quite know, he can't even die. This will be his first fight, his first introduction into the world of swords. He put his guard up, his body in stance.
Coach Vlad took one step, no countdown, no warning, just his foil readied. He thrust, Adam parried. "Good." The coach said, followed by an overhead slash, Adam tried to parry, only to get feint and a blade on his chest. "1-0." Coach Vlad muttered.
'He crouched down the moment I put my guard up.' Adam thought, replaying the scene in his mind. The feint was clear to everyone with experience, he will not fall for another. "En garde!"
Like the previous round, Coach Vlad wasted no time closing in on Adam. A thrust from below, parried; a feint caught; a slash stopped. Adam's progressing faster than his peers, like a machine constantly learning.
'Smart.' Coach Vlad commended in his mind. Like a spring let loose, he rushed, catching Adam off-guard. "2-0. One more and I win." He said, brandishing his foil. "En garde!"
Unlike the previous two rounds, this time, Adam took an aggressive style. He rushed forward, using his reach to its outmost capabilities. He slashed at Coach Vlad's foil, turning it off-course and in one big stride he followed with a thrust — connected.
"2-1" Adam muttered, confidence leaking from his tone. Coach Vlad chuckled. "That's right, use your reach. I thought you'd forgotten."
Adam walked towards his side of the piste as Coach Vlad observed him. "You're tall, that's your advantage," he paused, taking his stance, "but it is also your greatest weakness, let me show you — en garde!"
Adam lunged forward, his foil gleaming in the sunlight. Coach Vlad crouched low, dashing in beneath Adam's extended reach with the speed of a coiled predator. Within reach yet out of touch, Coach Vlad's foil approached him in slow motion. He cannot parry, he's too close to dodge. In one fluid motion, his blade tapped Adam's chest. Adam lost.
"3–1. Lesson learned." Vlad said, stepping back with an approving nod. He hang the foil to the wall and took his helmet off to reveal a satisfied face. "You have the talent and instincts, Mr. Cain. The only thing you need is experience. Spar with your classmates."
With that, Coach Vlad left. Adam felt… exhilarated. Fencing is fun, more than he anticipated. Learning it feels different, less tiring than debating philosophical ideas in your mind. Perhaps it's his innate physical strength helping him in that aspect, but he doesn't feel tired despite the duel.
'Spar… who do I spar wi—'
"Don't take your helmet off," Adam turned, a figure stood behind him, wearing the only black uniform in sight, "let's spar." Wednesday said, her figure failing to reach even Adam's shoulder. Nonetheless, he agreed.
He finds this would be more difficult than fighting Coach Vlad. Adam knew he was holding back, something Wednesday wouldn't do. He could see glimmers of her eyes beneath that helmet, like a predator in the dark. "Let's see if you survive."
Adam chuckled, remembering her promise at the library. "What if I don't?" He couldn't see it, but he felt Wednesday smirk. "Then try again." The two took their positions on the piste.
Adam straightened his posture, the weight of the foil suddenly heavier in his hand. Wednesday's challenge was not just a casual invitation; it was a silent promise of a battle that would demand every ounce of his new-found skill. Around them, the hall felt quieter, as if the very air anticipated the clash to come.
"En garde," Wednesday said, her voice calm but sharp, cutting through the faint echoes of steel on steel elsewhere in the hall.
Adam mirrored her stance, adjusting his feet as Coach Vlad had taught. His knees were bent, balance steady, foil extended. He could see her small frame coiled like a spring, her black uniform making her seem like a living shadow against the sunlit hall.
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then Wednesday lunged.
She was fast — a silent missile tearing through space, her foil slicing through the air in a straight thrust toward his shoulder. Adam parried instinctively, the clash of metal ringing in his ears. She immediately disengaged, the tip of her blade tracing a sharp arc toward his chest. He barely twisted away, his long reach allowing him to counter with a thrust of his own.
She sidestepped, light as a feather, her movement almost a dance. "Slow." she remarked.
Adam clenched his jaw, resetting hinself. He advanced with longer strides, using his height to pressure her backward. Wednesday parried once, twice, then retreated just enough to bait him forward. The sound of their blades filled the air, a staccato rhythm that drew the gaze of a few nearby students.
Then, in a sudden blur, Wednesday feinted left and lunged right, her blade tapping his chest.
"1-0," she said, stepping back. "Again."
Adam inhaled deeply, his thoughts racing. He replayed the feint in his mind, trying to read her rhythm. This time, he pushed forward first, his foil darting in a series of probing thrusts. Wednesday deflected each with minimal motion, conserving energy, her eyes locked onto his every move.
He saw an opening and lunged.
But it was a trap, another bait. Her blade flicked his aside, and she spun just enough to let his momentum carry him off balance. A cold tap on his back sealed his second loss.
"2-0. Match point," she said flatly.
Something inside Adam stirred — a desire — to win. He could not die, but he could lose, and that stung in a way he hadn't expected. It may be his ego or his pride speaking, but their whispers get to him in a way unlike other things could. He tightened his grip and adjusted his stance, recalling every word Coach Vlad had said.
"En garde," he said with a sharper edge in his voice.
This round, he didn't rush. He waited. Wednesday circled, moving beyond the piste, testing his patience. Their foils crossed in rapid exchanges, the tension building with every clash. The hall's noise faded into the background — there was only her, the blade, and his. A new world born anew in their collision.
Finally, he saw it: the faintest shift in her shoulder before she lunged. He sidestepped and countered, his foil touching the fabric of her sleeve.
"2-1," Adam said, his tone measured but triumphant.
Wednesday tilted her head, silent for a beat, then raised her foil again. No words, just an invitation.
Their next bout would decide everything, and Adam could feel his pulse quicken, the thrill of the duel coursing through him like fire.
Reading books were fun, enlightening, but moving the body, fighting for something — it's another type of joy he's never felt before. Is this how Alexander the Great felt? How Lysander felt? Victory makes one feel alive more than anything could.
But the job's not finished.
"En garde." Wednesday's cold voice traveled through the air, enough to send chills to those watching. She took her stance, lower than before. Adam watched with keen focus, alert more than ever.
A shift in her legs, she lunged. A beast let loose, Wednesday threw a barrage of slashes and thrusts, not giving her opponent Adam a leeway to breathe. Slash from below, parried; thrust to the shoulder, parried; feint, dodged.
This barrage, however, didn't last long. Soon, Wednesday grew tired, and Adam didn't let the opportunity pass. He sprung forward, his breathing calm as he attacked. The girl was agile, a feline in human skin. She dodged everything, even the most skillful feint he could pull.
Slowly, but surely, he's cornering her, pushing her to the edge of the piste to the wall. He noticed before, it seems that this is more for formality than actual rules.
At arms-length before the wall, Wednesday stopped dodging, opting to parry his attacks instead. 'She noticed.' Adam thought to himself, but he won't stop. His attacks were heavy, strong enough to make whipping sounds in the air with every move.
He thrust forward, an attack he's sure was going to connect— except it didn't. Wednesday ducked last second, and Adam took a step back. However, unlike the counter from below he was expecting, Wednesday didn't attack.
She did something much more unexpected.
She jumped backwards, feet on the wall. Like a wild beast, an arrow unhooked, she propelled herself forward, her foil in a thrust position.
Time seemed to slow for Adam as her figure approached him mid-air. What possessed this girl to do this? What was her thought?
Such foolish questions. He himself knows already — to win.
Wednesday crashed against him, the both of them falling from the momentum. Every student around them, even Coach Vlad was stunned. Is this still fencing?! What the hell?! Where was the elegance?! Where was the finesse?!
With a heavy thud, Adam hit the ground. Besides the soft mattress of the floor, the second thing he felt was a cold blade on his neck. He opened his eyes, coming face-to-face with Wednesday, straddled on top of him, her helmet fallen beside them.
Wednesday's porcelain face glistened with sweat, her chest moving up and down in a rhythmic motion as she breath, rugged and exhausted. What caught his eye above all, however, is the smile she's adorning her face — victorious, proud.
Their eyes met and once again, he was pulled into her world. Amidst her breathing, she opened her mouth, her smiling lips parting.
"I win."
That, she did.
—-