The door opened again.
The homeroom teacher stepped inside.
Conversation died instantly. Chairs straightened. Backs aligned. Eyes moved forward as if pulled by a single thread.
The teacher paused just inside the room, her gaze sweeping across the class, measuring volume, posture, and stillness. Satisfied, she stepped fully inside and closed the door behind her.
"Good morning," she said, her voice calm, firm, and emotionally distant.
No one responded. The silence held.
"My name is Evelyn Hart," she continued, setting a folder down on the desk at the front of the room. "I am your homeroom teacher."
She glanced briefly at the seating arrangement, then back at the class.
Tyler listened without expression.
This was the tone he remembered.
"Attendance will be taken shortly," Ms. Hart said. "Until then, remain seated and quiet."
Her gaze lingered briefly on the back rows, then moved on.
Tyler felt the structure settle fully into place.
The silence that followed was not tense, but disciplined. It was the kind of quiet that existed because everyone understood the cost of breaking it. Chairs were still. Bags remained unopened. Even Noah, who usually struggled with restraint, stayed leaned back but silent, eyes drifting forward instead of sideways.
Ms. Hart stood behind the desk at the front of the room, opening a thin folder with measured movements. The sound of paper brushing against paper was faint, almost ceremonial. She adjusted the stack once, aligning the edges with the desk as if even disorder on paper offended her.
Tyler watched her without moving.
The posture. The economy of motion. The absence of hesitation.
It matched.
In his past life, she had been the same. Strict without cruelty. Distant without arrogance. A teacher who believed rules were not meant to punish, but to preserve order for those willing to follow them.
That consistency sparked curiosity.
Not suspicion. Verification.
Tyler let his gaze settle on her face, unfocused enough to seem idle. Ms. Hart's attention was on the folder, her eyes scanning lines of text, her thoughts directed inward, already preparing the sequence of names.
He narrowed his focus.
The familiar sensation surfaced behind his eyes, subtle and controlled. White, silver-tinted sparkles shifted faintly within the blue, like light refracting through water.
Mind Search activated.
Her surface thoughts were orderly.
Attendance first. Seating confirmed. Schedule explanation afterward. No deviation.
Beneath that lay her character, unhidden. Discipline was not an act. Punctuality was not performative. Respect was not selective. She believed in hierarchy, but not favouritism. Students were students. Expectations applied equally.
No hypocrisy.
Then something deeper surfaced, not invited, but present.
A memory.
A hospital corridor. Too bright. Too clean. The smell of disinfectant lingering longer than it should have. A decision made earlier that day. A delay. A choice to prioritize work over urgency.
A phone call that came too late.
Her husband.
Gone.
Not to illness alone, but to timing. To a moment she would replay endlessly, wondering what would have changed if she had left sooner, spoken differently, chosen instinct over responsibility.
The guilt was contained, compressed into routine. Regret turned into structure. Grief into control.
Tyler's brows knit almost imperceptibly.
He probed further, carefully, testing the edge of what remained accessible.
The folder closed.
The sound was sharp enough to cut his focus cleanly.
Ms. Hart lifted her head. "We will begin attendance now."
Tyler withdrew instantly. The sparkles faded. His gaze returned to neutral.
Maybe next time, he thought calmly.
Ms. Hart stepped slightly to the side of the desk, holding the folder open again. "When your name is called, stand and state it clearly."
Her eyes moved to the bottom of the list.
"Ryan Scott."
A chair scraped at the back of the room. Ryan stood, stiff and unsure. "Ryan Scott," he said quickly, then sat.
"Olivia Roberts."
A soft voice followed. "Here."
" Sophia White."
Another student stood, nodded once, and sat.
The process continued steadily, descending row by row.
Names filled the room, each one carrying a different weight. Some were confident. Some barely audible. A few voices cracked under the pressure of attention. Ms. Hart acknowledged each without comment, marking the list with precise strokes of her pen.
When she reached the far right of the back row, her eyes lifted.
"Danny Pierce."
Danny did not stand.
He leaned back in his chair, one arm resting casually along the desk behind him. "Danny Pierce," he said, voice flat.
A few students glanced back instinctively.
Ms. Hart paused for a fraction of a second. Her pen hovered above the page.
Then she marked the name. "Noted."
The class exhaled quietly.
Row by row, the roll call moved forward.
When she reached the second row,
"Clara Scott."
Clara stood smoothly, posture straight. "Clara Scott," she said, then added, "I'm from Malcro City. I recently moved to Darsen City, so I hope everyone will take care of me."
She bowed her head slightly as she finished, a polite smile softening her expression.
The room reacted.
Whispers stirred immediately, contained but unmistakable.
"She's not from here?"
"Did you hear her accent?"
"She sounds really polite."
"And she looks…"
Clara sat back down without acknowledging the attention, her composure unchanged.
Ms. Hart waited until the murmurs faded on their own before continuing.
Names followed.
"Amaya Dawson."
He stood quickly. "Here."
He sat down and leaned toward Noah behind him. "That was terrifying," he muttered.
Noah smirked. "You survived."
When Ms. Hart reached the front row, the rhythm of the room had settled.
"Chris Estin."
Chris stood with a grin that bordered on casual confidence. "Chris Estin," he said, voice clear, then sat back down, already glancing sideways as if gauging reactions.
Ms. Hart's pen moved again.
Then there was one name left.
The last on the list.
She looked up.
"Tyler Brown."
For a moment, the room held its breath.
Tyler stood.
The movement was unhurried. Controlled.
As he rose, a memory flashed unbidden.
Same classroom. Another life. His Previous self shouting his name with misplaced pride, chin raised, voice loud, convinced the room needed to remember him.
The recollection made his lips curve faintly.
Embarrassing, he thought.
He met Ms. Hart's gaze and spoke.
"Tyler Brown."
His voice was calm, clear, and unexpectedly gentle. It carried without effort, smooth and steady, settling into the room rather than cutting through it.
The effect was immediate.
Heads turned. Attention lingered.
His posture was relaxed but precise. His uniform sat perfectly, neat without stiffness. And his eyes, bright blue with a depth that caught light like open water, held a quiet focus that made it difficult to look away.
Even Ms. Hart faltered for a second.
Her pen paused mid-mark. Her gaze lingered longer than necessary.
Then she cleared her throat and checked his name off.
"Thank you," she said, regaining composure.
Tyler sat back down.
A low ripple of whispers spread.
"Did you hear his voice?"
"Why does he sound so sweet?"
Jacob leaned toward Leo. "Is he the main character or something?"
Leo snorted softly. "He's even sitting in the MC seat. Last row. Window side."
Ms. Hart lifted her gaze.
"Enough," she said calmly.
The room quieted immediately.
She closed the folder and set it aside. "Class schedules and expectations will now be explained."
Tyler rested his hands on the desk, expression neutral.
Around him, Class 1-A listened.
The air in the classroom shifted, subtly but noticeably. The tension that had lingered during roll call loosened, replaced by something lighter. Not relaxation exactly, but curiosity.
Ms. Hart picked up a piece of chalk and turned toward the board. The sound of chalk tapping lightly against wood drew everyone's attention without effort.
"Before we start," she said, writing neatly as she spoke, "understand this. This classroom is yours. You will remain here throughout the day. Teachers will come to you."
A few students visibly relaxed at that.
"So no running around the building?" Noah asked, half hopeful, half disappointed.
Ms. Hart glanced at him. "No running around the building."
Chris leaned back slightly. "That's both comforting and tragic."
A few quiet laughs followed.
Ms. Hart allowed them to pass before continuing. "You will have six periods each day."
That earned a small ripple of approval.
She began writing the subjects in a clean column.
"Language will be taught daily," she said. "Ms. Daylen will handle language, reading, and writing."
Aria nodded faintly, already attentive. Luna leaned forward slightly, eyes following the chalk.
"Mathematics and Science will also be daily," Ms. Hart continued. "Both are taught by Mr. Parker."
Kai's pen was already moving, though no one had been told to take notes yet.
"And Social Science," Ms. Hart said, tapping the board lightly, "will be taught by me."
Noah perked up. "So you're our teacher for that too?"
"Yes," she replied. "Along with Homeroom, Class Activities, and Moral Education."
Chris raised an eyebrow. "That's a lot of responsibility."
Ms. Hart met his gaze evenly. "It is manageable."
That ended the commentary.
She stepped slightly to the side of the board. "Physical period will take place daily."
That drew immediate interest.
"Students participating in school sports," she continued, "will attend practice sessions under Coach Ryan Cole. Those not participating will have a free period."
Noah's hand shot up halfway. "Free like… free free?"
"Free to study, read, or rest quietly," Ms. Hart said. "Not free to wander."
"That still sounds pretty free," Chris murmured.
Eris made a quiet note in the margin of her notebook.
Ms. Hart went on. "Art and Music are handled by Ms. Daisy. These will rotate through the week."
Clara listened carefully, her posture attentive, eyes occasionally flicking from the board to Ms. Hart's face.
"If you are confused about your schedule," Ms. Hart said, "you may ask now."
Hands rose, some confidently, some halfway.
"Yes," she said, pointing.
"What about lunch?" Noah asked. "Do we eat here or outside?"
"You may eat at your desk," Ms. Hart replied. "Or in the playground or auditorium. Clean up after yourselves."
Chris leaned toward Tyler. "So civilized."
Tyler gave a faint hum of acknowledgment.
Another hand went up. "Do we have homework today?" a girl near the front asked, hopeful.
Ms. Hart paused. "Not today."
The relief was immediate and collective.
Noah exhaled loudly. "Best news so far."
Ms. Hart allowed herself a small, restrained smile before continuing. "Homework will be given regularly. Today is an exception."
"Bless this class," Chris whispered.
Ms. Hart tapped the chalk against the board once. "Any other questions?"
A pause.
Danny leaned back further in his chair, arms crossed, gaze unfocused.
"Yes," Luna said softly. "About Moral Education. What do we do in that class?"
Ms. Hart nodded approvingly. "Discussion. Observation. Reflection. There are no tests."
That seemed to satisfy her.
Clara raised her hand slightly. "If we are new to the city," she asked politely, "is there anything we should be careful about?"
Ms. Hart considered the question. "Pay attention," she said. "Ask when you don't understand. That applies everywhere."
Clara smiled. "Thank you."
Ms. Hart looked around once more. "If there are no further questions, we'll begin."
The chalk was set down. A thin workbook was lifted from her desk.
"We'll start lightly," she said. "Open a notebook. Write today's date. This is only to familiarize yourselves with the routine."
Pages rustled as students complied.
Tyler opened his notebook slowly. The paper was clean, unmarked. He wrote the date neatly at the top.