I Became The Novel's Biggest Antagonist

Chapter 31 Amberic Weapons Selection

There was a special station for students of Ocryphia Academy who relied on public transport. It was conveniently close to the academy grounds, but access was heavily restricted. Only those who could prove their affiliation with Ocryphia were allowed to exit. Security was tight, as expected.

Soon enough, Ivan's carriage on the Thunder was filled with other Ocryphia students. They came from different years and various classes, but they all shared the same destination.

At Ocryphia, each year was split into two distinct classes: the Elites and the Commons. Thanks to Patrick Cromwell, Ivan had secured his place among the Elites. It was a privilege that not only elevated his status but also gave him a front-row seat to observe the novel's unfolding events.

Unfortunately, at the moment, Ivan found himself surrounded by students from the Common class. Regardless of their year, it was clear they harbored resentment toward the Elites. He received several cold stares and silent judgments.

For a moment, Ivan regretted choosing public transport. Patrick had offered him a ride in his private limousine, but Ivan had declined. Now, he realized he should have expected this—the public Thunder was bound to be packed with students from less privileged backgrounds.

Thankfully, none of them acted on their bitterness. They simply glared at him with disdain, but Ivan couldn't care less about their opinions.

As the Thunder finally pulled into the station, the last one reserved exclusively for Ocryphia Academy, everyone began to exit. Ivan, too, made his way toward the door, but as he moved, he felt several deliberate shoves from the students around him. It wasn't just one—there were several, pushing him aside as they hurried past.

A flash of irritation surged through him. With the abnormal pride and ego Ivan had now, he quickly felt blood rush to his head, and his expression darkened.

Instead of continuing forward, he planted his feet on the floor, standing his ground. The next group of students who tried to push him found themselves bouncing off him, falling painfully to the ground as if they had run into a wall of solid concrete.

Grimacing in pain, the students looked up at him, startled.

Ivan cast a cold glance down at them. "That's a fitting place for you—low class," he said, his voice dripping with contempt.

The line was lifted directly from Isaac Crawford, another antagonist from Zenon's novel, and it hit the Common students like a hammer. Silence fell over them as Ivan's words sank in, the disdain in his eyes was irritatingly blatant. They could only stare up at him, their faces burning with embarrassment and anger.

Without another glance at the men now blushing furiously on the ground, Ivan strode off, leaving them to stew in their humiliation.

"Leon!"

Ivan had barely stepped out of the station when he heard Aaron calling out to him. The suddenness of it caught Ivan slightly off guard.

"You waited for me?" Ivan asked, a bit surprised.

"Of course I did," Aaron replied with a wide grin, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I'd never leave you alone in the Academy, Leon."

While White Amber weapons weren't necessarily hard to come by, the fact that these were being provided by Ocryphia Academy made them all the more special. They were likely of exceptional quality, and receiving a brand-new weapon—especially one of such rarity—was something any student would be thrilled about. The men, in particular, seemed the most animated, their eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"Oh, they really spared no expense," Aaron said, looking around with wide eyes.

The hall itself was enormous, even larger than two football stadium. Several weapon companies had set up stands, each showcasing their own selection of finely crafted White Amber weapons. Representatives from each company stood proudly by their displays, eager to present and advertise their products to Ocryphia's Elite students.

It became clear to Ivan why the companies had been so willing to provide their high-quality weapons for free. The exposure they would gain from having Ocryphia's Elites wield their products was worth far more than a few weapons given away as gifts. In this environment, it wasn't just about combat; it was about prestige and branding. Having an Elite student use your weapon meant status—and profit.

"Is everyone gathered?" A voice suddenly boomed through the hall, amplified by microphones and speakers mounted around the room. It was Eline Castell, their homeroom teacher, standing confidently in the center of the vast space, taking immediately attention.

Beside her stood a red-haired, handsome man with a gentle expression. His presence immediately caught the eyes of several female students, who began whispering and giggling among themselves.

"For those who don't know," Eline continued, gesturing toward the man, "this is my colleague, Robert Rollestone. He's the homeroom teacher for the Common Class of the First Years."

Her announcement was met with an awkward silence.

The realization set in like a slow wave: the students around them weren't just from the Elite class, but also from the Common class. It had only been a day since the start of the term, so most people hadn't paid much attention to who was in their class. But now, as they looked around, they saw it clearly—more than a hundred students packed into the hall, a mix of both Elite and Common classes.

There was clearly a slight tension as students started glaring disdainfully at each other. There was clear line between Elites and Commons which the formers supported while the latters hated.

Eline could sense it immediately. The rivalry between the Elite and Common classes was an ingrained tradition, passed down from year to year, as if the two groups were destined to despise each other. She had seen it many times before. Each year, it was the same pointless hostility, and it always exasperated her. She suppressed the urge to let out a heavy sigh. It was going to be another long year.

The students weren't even subtle about their disdain.

"Look... it's that guy..."

"That bastard..."

Ivan felt their glares without having to look. It was the group of Common class boys he had humiliated on the Thunder earlier, now staring daggers at him. He knew they were fuming, but he couldn't care less. Ignoring their bitter glances, he kept his expression cool and indifferent.

But inwardly he regretted not having put them at their right place even if he had to traumatize them a bit.

I've already made enemies. Perfect.Nôv(el)B\\jnn