I WAS Humanity's HOPE-Chapter 19: An Unexpected Seatmate

Richard slumped in his chair, idly tapping his pen on the polished wooden desk.

The chatter of his classmates filled the Mage Guild's training hall—new acquaintances laughing, some exchanging morning gossip, others revising the incantation for the fireball spell Meredith had hammered into their heads the previous day.

None of it interested him in the slightest.

He stifled a yawn, half-wishing he could skip this entire session and hunt down a real challenge somewhere.

This is what I get for re-enrolling as a rookie, he thought sourly. Yes, it was a necessary step if he wanted a legitimate licence—Meredith insisted on it—but the droning lectures on standard magical safety protocols and elemental synergy basics hardly set his pulse racing.

His sister stood at the front of the classroom, posture poised and confident.

A neat swirl of chalk-drawn arrows and instructions filled the blackboard behind her.

She was explaining—yet again—how to deal with the zombies they were scheduled to face the following day. Her words washed over Richard, leaving little impression.

Finally, Meredith paused, casting a glance at the clock on the wall. "Before we start, there's an administrative note. There's an additional student who will be joining us, slightly behind schedule."

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A ripple of murmurs swept through the room. Richard noticed a few heads whip around, anticipating a new face at the door.

He tried to muster some interest—perhaps this newcomer wouldn't be a typical bright-eyed novice—but his mind kept drifting to the events at the café.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, he had saved a young woman from an assassin's bullet, only to discover she was Angel Buckler—daughter of John Buckler, the Leader of the Hunter Association.

While that moment had been the most exciting thing he'd experienced since his rebirth, it left him uneasy. If he's suspicious, how long before he starts tracing me?

"...due to her late application," Meredith continued briskly, "we're making an exception. So please treat her as you would any other new classmate. I expect you to help her catch up."

Richard's ears pricked up when the door slid open. He turned, more out of reflex than genuine curiosity.

When Angel Buckler walked in, his heart lurched. He almost dropped the pen he'd been fiddling with.

Her expression was a curious blend of determination and nerves, scanning the room until her gaze locked onto him.

She wore the Mage Guild's introductory robes—slightly oversized, the hem brushing against the floor.

A faint bruise marked one side of her jaw—one Richard was certain hadn't been there after the café incident. Where did that come from?

She approached with unwavering steps, ignoring the startled whispers around her.

Richard's first thought was, Why is she here?

His second: Is this some kind of trap?

Angel didn't so much as glance at the vacant front seats; she strode directly to Richard.

He caught the flicker of annoyance in Meredith's eyes—she knew, of course. You sly devil, he thought, resisting the urge to glare at his sister.

Without asking, Angel placed her notebook on the desk beside his and pulled out the chair. She sat down, exhaling shakily, then turned to face him.

"Hello," she whispered.

Her tone was courteous but carried a definite undertone of tension.

Richard's mind whirled. He felt the weight of his classmates' stares—especially James, who sat two rows ahead, practically craning his neck to see.

"Hi," Richard managed, equally quiet.

Questions flooded his mind: What are you doing here? Are you investigating me? Does your father suspect something?

But he couldn't exactly blurt them out in front of everyone.

At the front of the room, Meredith cleared her throat, calling attention back to herself. "All right, settle down. As I said, our new student is starting a bit late. We'll let her introduce herself soon. For now, open your notes to yesterday's recap. We're reviewing the basic runic structures you should recognise inside a Dungeon, and practising how to cast Sparkwithout incantation."

The rustle of pages replaced the hushed buzz of gossip. Richard turned to a clean sheet, his mind still racing.

Angel discreetly produced a pen, her posture stiff. She shot him another quick glance. "I... appreciate what you did," she murmured. "Back at the café."

Richard swallowed and forced himself to focus on Meredith's instructions. "I'm just glad you're all right," he whispered back, though the tension in his shoulders remained.

Angel nodded, letting her gaze linger on him for a moment longer before directing it to the runic diagrams Meredith was scrawling on the blackboard.

Richard drew a slow breath. The Mage Guild had suddenly become far more complicated—and far more intriguing.

He could almost feel the renewed curiosity pulsing from his classmates... and sensed that Angel Buckler's presence was merely the start of whatever problems lay ahead.

She's quite pretty though, isn't she?

The thought floated through his mind unbidden, and he quickly shut it down.

He had bigger things to worry about than her appearance—like why the Hunter Association leader's daughter was in his class.

Yes, yes. But he still found himself sneaking another glance at her earnest expression as she painstakingly copied down Meredith's notes.

When their theory period ended, Meredith directed everyone to shift their desks to the edges of the room, clearing a space for practical exercises.

Chairs and tables scraped across the stone floor. Richard took his time, watching from the corner of his eye as Angel mirrored her classmates' movements.

"All right," Meredith began, her voice echoing in the widened space. "You're all aware that tomorrow we'll head into a low-level Dungeon to deal with basic zombies. They're not especially strong or cunning... but that doesn't make them harmless. Don't let yourselves be caught off guard."

A tall lad at the back, his messy brown hair drooping into his eyes, raised a hand. "Instructor Meredith, I thought we were mages. We're supposed to learn spells. Why do we need weapon training if we can just, you know, cast magic? Feels like we're spending more time on swords than spells..."

Several classmates nodded in agreement. Richard leaned against the wall with his arms folded, waiting for his sister's reply. If only they'd listen once and for all.

Meredith offered a patient smile. "The Mage Class is indeed focused on spellcasting, and yes, you have the ability to exchange spells by consuming tomes. But at lower ranks, you don't yet have the sheer firepower or stamina to rely solely on magic—especially in longer engagements or if you're caught without enough mana." She let her gaze roam across the students. "In other words, an F- or E-rank mage isn't much stronger than any sword-wielding fighter in raw physical terms. You lack a fighter's built-in combat passives, so your bodies aren't as tough or quick. Counting on one or two small spells before you tire is a quick way to get yourself killed."

A few murmurs rose around the room, a mixture of acceptance and dismay. The tall boy slumped slightly in resignation.

"Now," Meredith went on briskly, "let's focus again on weapon fundamentals. Once you rank up and gain real battlefield experience, you can choose a style—or abandon weapons entirely if that's your preference. But for now, you'd be foolish to dismiss them."

Behind her, an assistant instructor wheeled in a rack of practice swords, each blunt-edged and weighted for training. Most were standard longswords, though a few were shorter or shaped differently for those with smaller hands.

Richard pushed off from the wall and wandered towards the rack, ignoring the swords. Instead, he grabbed a pair of dull training daggers, giving them a light twirl to test the balance, then headed back into the open space. They'll have to do.

One by one, his classmates armed themselves. Most clutched longswords with visibly awkward grips—white knuckles, stiff elbows, the works. A couple—like the ginger-haired Anne—cautiously attempted the stance Meredith had shown on the board, but clearly needed more practice.

Someone else caught Richard's attention, though.

Of course she had sword training.

Angel Buckler stepped up last, quietly selecting a longsword. She tested its weight, took two measured swings, then moved into the practice area.

Meredith paced the circle, her steps echoing against the stone floor. "Form pairs and work on your basic strikes: overhead, side-sweep, diagonal. Keep it slow and steady. Proper footwork matters more than flashy swings."

Richard found himself paired with James—the same lad who'd grumbled about the "boring" F-Rank Dungeon. James held his sword like a cricket bat, arms tense.

"All right," James said with a smug twist of his mouth. "Don't cry if I bruise you. A blunt sword can still hurt."

Richard merely arched an eyebrow, biting back a laugh, and lowered his daggers. "Sure," he said, keeping his tone calm. "Go ahead."

James lunged with a thrust that left a gaping hole in his guard, but Richard pretended a clumsy parry, letting the blade glance off one dagger. He stepped back unsteadily, feigning inexperience, then threw a lacklustre slash that James met easily.

They continued this subdued exchange, James puffing with exertion while Richard remained on the defensive, careful not to show his real skill. No need to give himself away.

Whenever he wasn't stifling a yawn, Richard scanned the rest of the class. They weren't faring much better than James. Arms trembled under the weight of their weapons, and stances broke with every swing. The assistant instructor darted between pairs, correcting grips and footwork.

But one duo stood out.

Angel was sparring with Anne, and their blades clashed with a surprising competence for trainees. Anne's got some decent skill, Richard mused, but Angel...

Although Anne displayed a hint of nerves, Angel moved with fluid confidence. She sidestepped each of Anne's strikes effortlessly, returning counters that halted inches from her partner's practice tunic. The assistant instructor paused to watch, eyebrows climbing at Angel's evident prowess.

She'd surpass my sword skills in a month, Richard admitted to himself, uncharacteristically impressed.

Granted, a sword wasn't his favourite weapon, yet he prided himself on a certain level of versatility. Angel, however, appeared to have a focus and discipline born of serious training—likely from top-tier tutors courtesy of her father's money.

I wonder how thrilled he was when the system assigned her the Mage Class.