A week later, the classroom glowed under the soft morning light as Mr. Jonathan stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back, his posture stiff with authority. The students settled into their seats, sensing something important was about to be announced. Some leaned forward with anticipation, while others exchanged nervous glances, already bracing themselves for whatever challenge lay ahead.

"Listen up, students," Mr. Jonathan said, his voice firm and cutting through the murmurs like a blade through silk. "In a few weeks, you'll step into your first planetary exploration. But before that, we'll have the inter-class rank competition. This will test your strength and teamwork." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, watching their faces shift from curiosity to apprehension. "If our class performs well, we can rise from F-rank to E-rank, which means better resources and more recognition."

A murmur rippled through the room, students exchanging uncertain glances until a boy at the back raised his hand tentatively. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying his nervousness.

"Sir, I thought we were just here to learn dungeon raids and maybe become hunters," the student said, confusion evident in his tone. "What's this about… exploring planets?"

Mr. Jonathan's expression remained unchanged, as if he'd expected this question—as if he'd heard it a hundred times before from students just like them. "The families want to expand their influence," he explained matter-of-factly, his tone suggesting this should be obvious. "Earth is too small, too crowded. If you have power, why not conquer another planet? These worlds are full of beasts. Any crystal you acquire will be handed to the Terranova Family. In return, you'll earn credits—think of it as proper income." His lips curved into a thin smile that didn't reach his eyes, the expression more predatory than reassuring.

Omega raised his hand slowly, his voice steady though his nerves flickered beneath the surface like a candle flame in the wind. He knew the question was dangerous, but something inside him refused to stay silent.

"Sir, what if I… want to keep my own crystal?" he asked hesitantly, immediately regretting the question as several students turned to stare at him with expressions ranging from shock to pity. "Maybe use it to craft a weapon?"

Jonathan chuckled, the sound low and dismissive, echoing through the silent classroom like a death knell. Several students shifted uncomfortably, as if Omega had just committed a grave offense.

"You? Forge your own weapon? Don't be ridiculous," he said mockingly, his eyes narrowing on Omega with something close to pity mixed with contempt. "Only the families make weapons. Anyone caught crafting one will be executed for treason. Clear?" The threat hung in the air like a blade suspended over their heads, sharp and unforgiving.

Whispers spread through the room, students shifting uncomfortably in their seats. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees. Another student, emboldened by desperation or perhaps foolishness, tried his luck.

"What if we… find a weapon on a dead person?" he asked nervously, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might summon immediate punishment.

Jonathan laughed outright, the sound harsh and unforgiving, devoid of any genuine amusement.

"They'll scan it. If it's family-forged, fine. But don't get clever," he said, amusement dancing in his eyes like flames in a dying fire. "The families don't tolerate freeloaders. Class dismissed. Train hard and prepare yourselves." With that final warning, he turned his back on them, effectively ending the discussion.

The bell rang, and the room filled with chatter—excitement mixed with dread, hope tangled with fear. Some students spoke in hushed, worried tones, while others tried to mask their anxiety with forced laughter. Hex leaned back in his chair and slid over to Omega's desk, his movements casual despite the tension still thick in the room.

"Need a weapon? Just say the word," Hex said confidently, keeping his voice low enough that only Omega could hear. "I'll help you get it."

Omega looked at him with raised eyebrows, suspicion and gratitude warring in his expression. "What are you, a secret millionaire?" he replied, deadpan, though a hint of hope crept into his voice. "I just need daggers. The cheapest ones cost two months' worth of credits."

Kazeem grinned, joining their conversation with his usual energy, his presence somehow lightening the oppressive atmosphere that had settled over them.

"What kind of weapon costs that much?" he said, laughing, though his eyes showed genuine concern for his friend. "That's robbery."

Omega sighed, the weight of his situation pressing down on him like a physical burden. His shoulders sagged slightly. "I have to buy meals with my credits. I'm talking leftover change," he said tiredly, rubbing his temples as if trying to massage away the constant worry. "And trust me—I've been starving already." The admission cost him more pride than he cared to acknowledge, and he looked away, unable to meet their eyes.

Hex clapped his shoulder with genuine warmth, the gesture grounding Omega in the moment.

"Don't worry. I'll get you one," he said reassuringly, his eyes serious despite his light tone, conveying a promise he clearly intended to keep. "Even a low-level beast weapon will do."

Omega felt something tighten in his chest—gratitude mixed with shame, relief tangled with the bitter knowledge that he couldn't provide for himself. "Thanks, man… I don't know what I'd do without you," he admitted quietly, the words barely audible but weighted with sincerity.

They walked together toward the Weapon Hall, Kazeem trailing behind with exaggerated steps, his usual antics a welcome distraction from the heaviness of their situation.

"Hey, what about me?" Kazeem asked, his voice whiny but playful, though genuine affection colored his tone. "Am I not your friend too?"

Hex glanced back with a smirk, pointing at the twin blades strapped to Kazeem's back. "Then what are those two axes for?"

The three of them laughed, the sound cutting through the earlier tension as they entered the Weapon Hall. For a moment, they were just three friends, not desperate students trapped in an impossible system.

The hall glowed with rows of beast weapons—swords, spears, bows, axes—each humming faintly with contained power, their presence almost alive. The air itself seemed charged with potential, crackling with barely restrained energy. Students wandered around, wide-eyed and whispering, their fingers hovering over weapons they could never afford, drawn like moths to flames they couldn't touch. Three instructors stood at the front, their attention fixed on Hex with barely concealed interest, their whispered conversation carrying across the hall.

"What's he doing in F-class?" murmured one instructor, shaking his head with genuine bewilderment. "Talent like that will rot here."

"Exactly. Talent must be sharpened, or it dies," said another, frowning deeply, his expression troubled. "Such a waste."