**Third Person**
"That motherfucker almost killed me."
Isshin muttered the words to himself, a mantra of survival as he pushed his legs to their absolute limit. The night air burned in his lungs, each step a frantic rhythm against the pavement. He was late. Not fashionably, not acceptably, but catastrophically late.
"I'm a little late."
He skidded to a halt at the towering gates of Royal Academy, his chest heaving. The clock on the distant building read 8:59 AM. One minute more and it would have been closed.
"Lucky fellow," he breathed, leaning against the cold iron to catch his breath.
"Huh? Who are you again?"
A voice, calm and inquisitive, cut through his relief. He looked up. A girl with striking black hair and glasses stood there, her posture immaculate. She was slim, but possessed a mature, womanly curve that spoke of an age beyond her appearance, likely in her early twenties.
"What, you don't know her? She's—" A blond, short-haired boy, practically vibrating with excitement, tried to cut in. He looked at the girl with the kind of adoration that screamed 'simp' or worse.
"I'm Student Council President, Sona Shitori," the girl said, smoothly cutting the boy off. "Last year's student. And he," she gestured vaguely to the blond, "is my 2nd assistant."
*Pfft.*
The laugh escaped Isshin before he could stop it.
"Hey! What are you laughing at!" the blond boy snarled, stepping forward with an aggressive puff of his chest. His face flushed with anger.
"You always will be the second choice, no matter the girl," Isshin mocked, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Weak simp."
"You!" The boy growled, his fists clenching. The humiliation in front of the girl he so clearly admired was a raw, open wound. It was too much disrespect to endure.
"That's enough, leave, Saji," Sona commanded, her voice sharp. She shot him a glare that was an order in itself. Like a faithful dog, Saji obeyed, though he shot a venomous look back at Isshin before retreating.
"You shouldn't bite what you can't chew," she said, turning her gaze back to Isshin. It was a neutral warning, a statement of fact, not an attempt at intimidation.
"Well, all of us here have people who back our asses," Isshin replied with a shrug, completely unfazed. "So why should I fear? After all, unlike you devils, I have an Archangel backing my ass."
The words hung in the air. Sona's composure, for the first time, faltered. A flicker of something—shock, disbelief—crossed her features before she masked it. She adjusted her glasses, a nervous tic disguised as a thoughtful gesture.
"That… how are you not an angel? Interesting," she recovered quickly, her analytical mind kicking in. "You're new here. What year?"
"...Third." Isshin started patting down his pockets, searching for the ID Principal Makima had given him. He had no idea what year or batch she'd thrown him into, and frankly, he hadn't cared to ask.
Sona frowned. "Third year… and you don't even know?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. "Are you serious?" She'd never seen him before, not in her class, not in the entire school. A transfer, then. A very, very strange transfer.
"Haha, indeed," Isshin admitted with zero shame. "So, Sona, mind helping me around the academy?"
"As a student council member, I have duties—" she began, already forming a polite refusal.
"Yes or no."
He cut her off. No games, no dancing around the subject. Just a direct question.
Sona stared at him. For a long second, they evaluated each other. She saw a brash, unpredictable variable who was allied with her enemies' greatest allies. He saw a calculating mind behind the glasses, a person who understood value and leverage. A slow, strategic smile spread across her face.
"...Yes."
They walked together, the Student Council President and the unknown entity. The benefits of her position were immediate; doors that were locked to normal students opened for them. In half an hour, Isshin had a mental map of every key location on the school grounds.
"Well, that was quite helpful," he said as they stopped near the main building. "Then I should be heading for my class. Miss President." The respect was a final, mocking touch.
"And here is my contact." She handed him a sleek, professional visiting card. Engraved on the corner was a faint, shimmering magic rune.
"Ok."
With the player over, Isshin briskly walked toward his designated classroom. The bell was about to ring. He slid the door open and stepped inside.
The room was filled with people, but no teacher yet.
"...."
Every eye in the room locked onto him, and all conversation halted.
'Why are there so many women?' he thought, his mind racing. 'Is the supernatural world more fucked up than the normal one?' He'd seen the sex ratio plummeting in the human world, gender roles slowly reversing.
But the reality of the supernatural world was completely unknown. Neither Tifa nor Gab had told him anything except that here, they were powerful.
Ignoring the hungry, predatory glances of the female students, he made his way to the last row, taking the seat by the window in the corner.
The low whispering started the moment he sat down.
"...."
With nothing better to do, Isshin waited patiently. A moment later, the teacher arrived, and the classes began.
The classroom door slid open again, and the woman who stepped in did not command silence with presence, but with pure, unadulterated shock.
She was an epitome of feminine perfection brought to life. Her physique was exceptionally voluptuous, her most prominent features being her large breasts, which were the immediate and central focus of every eye in the room.
Long, dark hair fell past her shoulders, framing a face with a neutral, slightly vacant expression. The costume was form-fitting, highlighting every exaggerated curve, her skin having a smooth, polished quality under the classroom lights. She looked less like a teacher and more like a character from a fantasy.
The predatory atmosphere in the room didn't just vanish; it detonated. The hungry glares of the female students turned to wide-eyed disbelief, and the low whispering erupted into a cacophony of choked gasps and murmured disbelief.
She walked to the front of the room, her movements stiff and artificial, her gaze sweeping over the students with a glassy-eyed appraisal before it settled on Isshin for a moment.
"Good morning," she said, her voice calm and resonant, yet carrying an odd, detached quality. "My name is Diana Prince. I will be your class teacher, an expert in combat arts and a weapon master."
She turned to the whiteboard, the motion fluid but lacking the natural grace of a human.
"Let us begin with the live training," she started, her back to the class. "And the truths that are often buried beneath violence."
Isshin leaned back in his chair, a small, knowing smirk forming on his lips. He looked at the impossibly-proportioned woman, then at the stunned faces of his classmates.
'Okay,' he thought, 'this is definitely going to be interesting.'