"S-Sign me up, too!"

Elliot takes a step forward. He scratches his cheek thoughtfully.

"I kinda feel like fate brought us here for a reason, y'know? And you all seem pretty easy to get along with."

"And that's a yes from our two orbal staff testers."

Sara recalls an important detail.

"Though I feel compelled to remind you, your weapons are still in the prototype stage, so on top of your other work, I'll be expecting reports from both of you."

    Emma smiles cheerfully. "Of course."

    Elliot groans. "Maybe I spoke too soon..." He pauses a moment, then glances down the line-up. "Actually, what about Hailey's weapons? Aren't those prototypes too?"

"They are. But her orbal batons were issued through a different contract than your orbal staves, and the company that produces them made its own arrangements concerning test data."

    "Oh."

Alisa huffs in determination.

"Let me join too."

She takes a step forward.

    "Oh," Sara says. "There's a surprise. I was almost certain your rebellious streak would see you opt-out just on general principle."

"It does bother me that you've got us using these ARCUS units that are still pretty clearly in-development, but if I let every little nitpick like that hold me back, I'd never amount to much."

Sara laughs.

"Words to live by, right there. And that brings us to a magnificent seven."

She turns to address Fie directly.

"Now, what about you, Fie?"

Fie knows Sara and is somehow still a little surprised to be asked.

She shrugs. "Don't really care either way. You can choose."

    "Not this time," Sara says firmly. "This is one call you're gonna have to make for yourself. That was the deal, remember? You need to take control of your own life."

Fie just shakes her head and sighs.

"Fine. I'm in."

Fie takes a step forward to join the rest.

Sara sighs in exasperation.

"Well, at least you committed."

She returns her attention to the rest of the line-up.

"We've got a great eight, now..."

Sara folds her arms as she faces Jusis and Machias.

"...which leaves just the two of you."

    Machias merely grunts in displeasure.

    Jusis also merely grunts in displeasure.

"I can see you've got issues with each other, but that doesn't mean you can't at least try to work together."

Sara puts on an optimistic, encouraging air, slightly teasing.

"Why, if you just look past your differences and embrace the joys of youth, I'm sure you'll become the best of friends!"

"Like hell we will!!!"

Machias folds his arms and shuts his eyes.

"The exploitation of the common people by the aristocracy is a blight on every facet of Erebonian life!"

He glares at Sara.

"Unless something is done about it, this country has no future!"

Sara just scratches the back of her head.

"I appreciate your candor, but I don't think you're going to achieve much by lecturing me about it."

"Well, at least that makes this simple."

Jusis takes his step forward.

"I, Jusis Albarea, claim my place as a member of Class Seven."

    Machias recoils. "W-Why?! You're the son of a duke! Just the thought of being in the same class as commoners should make you sick!"

Jusis levels a very flat glare on the green-haired boy.

"I'll thank you not to tell me how I'm supposed to feel. As far as the house of Albarea is concerned there's little difference between lesser nobles and commoners. Besides, this should at least ensure I won't have fools flitting about every day, trying to win my favor."

    Machias has no response to that.

"That said, I have little interest in getting drawn into your petty arguments on a daily basis, either. I think it would be prudent for us to go our separate ways. I'm certain we can at least agree on this, no?"

"I don't need some pompous ass who coasts through life on his father's coattails telling me what to do!!!"

Machias stomps forward to join the rest of the class.

"I'm in, come hell or high water!"

He glares at Jusis.

"You might've had your successes spoon-fed to you up to now, but no outmoded class system is going to hand you trophies anymore!"

    Jusis snorts. "We'll see about that."

Machias bristles like he wants to throw a punch.

"They're going to be like this pretty much all year, aren't they," Rean mutters with a sigh.

    "Sure seems that way," Alisa agrees from next to him. "I wouldn't bet on them ever seeing eye to eye."

The two of them realize at the same moment that they're having a friendly conversation.

    Alisa feels heat rushing to her face and spins away from Rean to hide her blush.

Rean takes this in the spirit of their previous interactions and slumps.

"Oh," he sighs despondently.

    Elliot chuckles awkwardly. "The pots shouldn't be too hard on the kettles."

"Give a guy a break," Rean mutters under his breath.

"Well, how about that. Ten out of ten!"

Sara drops some of her whimsical air to say the next part properly.

(As she's saying this, the grizzled principle of the school and a handsome blonde man in Imperial Red are up on the exit platform having their own conversation, looking on, but nothing they're saying is audible down on the floor of the chamber.)

"I'd like to congratulate all of you on being the first ever Class Seven!"

Then she goes back to a teasing smirk.

"I hope you keep those high spirits all year, 'cause with the workload we've got planned for you, you'll need it! Now, before we get out of here, any last questions?"

Hailey grins wide when Laura comes to stand next to her.

After a long moment — how much did she miss? — she refocuses enough to catch Sara's request for last questions, and remembers something that bothered her earlier.

"Why's it called Class Seven when there are only six classes?"

Two weeks later...

Sara wasn't joking about the intensity of Class Seven.

The first two weeks of school don't give the cadre of Class Seven much chance to do anything but keep up. History, math, science, exhausting amounts of physical training, and so much homework. And not the kind that can be done just by rote, either. No one has even had time to explore the small village of Trista, yet, outside of the straight route to the school campus.

The dorms for the nobles branch off one side of that road, looming majestically and maintained by an army of maids and butlers. On the opposite side of the road, another street branches off to where the crowded commoner dorms sit modestly between townhouses.

One benefit the students of Class Seven do gain, however, is that they get their own separate and newly renovated dorm, just for them, across the town square over by the train station. It's a longer walk, but in exchange they each get their own private room and their own shared kitchen on the ground floor, not that it has seen much use yet. The boys get the second floor to themselves, and the girls get the entire third floor.

Today is the last day of that initial crunch, however. No homework to finish, and yesterday's physical training was much milder than usual. Everyone actually had time to eat dinner and get to bed on time, last night. Their reward for rising to meet Instructor Sara's standards.

Hailey wakes early and abruptly, as always.

She wakes with a silent scream, as she often does.

She knows, intellectually, that the heavy old bricks would muffle her if she let herself make a sound, but old habits die hard, especially habits burnt into her unconscious mind, protective habits that fire off before she's even fully conscious.

She sits up in bed, panting silently, for a minute, then slowly steadies her breathing.

She throws a tank top and running shorts on over her sports bra and panties, washes her face quickly, and then puts on socks and running shoes. She jogs down the hall, down the stairs, and starts a long parkour route, vaulting over things, kicking her way up to the rooftops, darting from ledge to leap to swing.

An hour later, she's walking back to the dorm, sweaty, feeling better, and warmed up for the day. She showers, dresses in her uniform, scowls briefly at the bags under her eyes, straps her batons on, and goes downstairs to the kitchen for a quick breakfast of eggs, toast, and porridge. Then she steps out into the lobby to make her way to class.

In the lobby, Emma and Alisa are chatting by the front door.

Rean and Elliot are just ahead of Hailey, having beaten her there by half a flight of stairs.

As has become a pattern, Rean is at a loss for words, and when Alisa notices him she shuts up and her body-language closes off.

"Good morning," Emma greets with a little bow, doing her best to smile through the tension in the air.

    "Y-Yeah," Rean responds gratefully. "Good morning."

    "Morning!" Elliot waves cheerfully. "On your way to school?"

"Mm." Emma nods.

Alisa turns away from Rean everyone, toward the doors.

"Come on, Emma. We're going to be late."

She pushes the doors open and strides outside.

"H-Hey, wait for me, Alisa!" Emma calls after her.

She gives Rean an apologetic look.

"We'll, um, see you in class."

She follows Alisa out of the building.

As Rean slumps over and hangs his head with a long-suffering sigh, Elliot tries to convey his sympathy.

"I never would've guessed she'd hold a grudge this long. She knows it was just an accident. She has to. Hard to believe she'd be so sensitive."

"No kidding..."

Rean sighs again.

"She's not even giving me a chance to apologize to her."