NOVGO.NET Chapter 46: Lateness
Chapter 46: Lateness
Atlas marched down the long, echoing stone corridor toward the academic wing, his mind churning over the name Derrick had dropped back in the dorm.
The distance between the residential quarters and the main lecture halls was a grueling thirty-minute trek, but the physical strain of the walk barely registered against his mounting frustration.
His boots struck the polished cobblestones in a sharp, rhythmic cadence, echoing off the high-arched ceilings of the academy’s sunlit arcades.
’Why would Lady Aurelia trash our room? What could she possibly gain from doing something so petty?’
None of it made an ounce of sense. After Derrick had identified the owner of the dark purple butterfly bangle, Room 150 had descended into a tense, hushed debate.
They had eventually agreed to confront her together right after classes wrapped up — even Claus, who was dragged into the collective effort despite his vocal, sluggish protests.
They needed to demand answers, to find out if she was somehow being framed by another, or if Atlas and his roommates had unknowingly wrongly crossed a senior assistant to the Head Maid.
’This whole situation is getting far more complicated than it ever needed to be,’ Atlas thought, his jaw clenching as he cut through the manicured garden plazas separating the dormitories from the main academic blocks.
’I could let it drop and hope the Head Maid clears up the report, but if we don’t handle this now, it might happen again. If this vandalism was a targeted warning or a message from an unknown enemy, staying completely ignorant is a liability we can’t afford.’
As he reached the massive double-oak doors of the primary lecture building, another nagging concern crossed his mind.
’I need to track down Emma today, too. I just hope she isn’t furious about yesterday’s missed meeting. I owe her a genuine apology, especially if I’m still hoping she’ll use her perception abilities to analyze the residual aura on that bangle.’
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Atlas stepped into the main hall, made his way up the winding spiral staircase, and pushed open the heavy wooden door to his classroom.
The immediate, suffocating silence that greeted him was deafening.
Standing at the front of the stepped lecture hall, chalk in hand beside a blackboard covered in complex mana-flow diagrams, was Mr. Crosswell.
He was right in the middle of a sentence, delivering a detailed lecture to a room packed with students.
Atlas froze in the doorway, his hand still resting on the iron brass handle. The halls outside had been quiet, but he had naively assumed he was just scraping by on the razor’s edge of the bell.
In reality, the frantic morning ordeal with Ted — navigating the whole incident and arguing over dormitory infractions — had completely shattered his perception of time.
He wasn’t just a minute late; he had missed the entire opening sequence of the session.
The whole class instantly snapped toward the entrance.
A wave of hushed whispers rippled through the rows of desks as his classmates sat up straight, eagerly anticipating the sudden drama unfolding at the door.
"Atlas," Mr. Crosswell said, setting his chalk down on the wooden lip of the board.
His voice was completely stripped clean of its usual relaxed, witty charm, carrying a cold, resonant weight that echoed across the room. "Why are you disrupting my class?"
"Uhm, sir, I can explain—" Atlas began, swallowing hard as he tried to articulate the chaotic morning he had endured.
"Leave," Mr. Crosswell cut in flatly, his expression unreadable and unyielding.
Atlas stood rooted to the spot, the cold air from the hallway washing over his back.
In all his time studying under the instructor, he had never heard Mr. Crosswell sound so genuinely severe. "I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again, I just—"
"I said leave," Mr. Crosswell repeated, his sharp, dark eyes locked onto Atlas without a single flicker or blink.
"Those who arrive late do not deserve to gain the knowledge being shared in this room. Next time, ensure you are seated and properly prepared well before the lesson begins."
A prickle of sudden heat flushed up Atlas’s neck and burnt against his ears.
Sinking beneath the crushing weight of his classmates’ curious and mocking stares, he swallowed his pride and bowed his head slightly.
"I’m sorry, sir," he muttered softly.
He backed out into the empty corridor and pulled the heavy door shut, the soft, firm click of the iron latch sounding like a gavel dropping on his academic record.
Alone in the vast, drafty hallway, Atlas let out a long, shaky breath, leaning his forehead against the cool stone wall beside the door frame.
"Great," he whispered to himself, anger boiling quietly beneath his ribcage.
"Just great. I made Mr. Crosswell furious, missed the entire first period, and torched my attendance record right after he specifically emailed me to be here. Now I really need to find this Lady Aurelia and figure out what the hell is going on."
Refusing to trek thirty minutes back to the dorms only to walk all the way back for the afternoon classes, Atlas slid down the wall and sat cross-legged on the cold floor directly opposite the classroom door.
For the next hour, he waited in the drafty corridor, picking up only faint, muffled traces of Mr. Crosswell’s authoritative voice echoing through the reinforced wood.
Finally, the rustle of closing books, moving chairs, and sliding desk frames signaled the end of the long lecture, marking the official start of a ten-minute intercollegiate break before the next instruction period.
Atlas pushed himself up from the floor, dusting off the back of his uniform trousers and meticulously straightening his collar.
He stepped up to the wooden door and raised his hand, curling his fingers into knuckles to knock politely.
Before his hand could even make contact with the oak, a clear, commanding voice called out from within the room.
"You can come in, Atlas."
Atlas took a deep breath to settle his nerves, slid the door open, and stepped across the threshold.
Students were busily gathering their textbooks, slinging leather bags over their shoulders, and filing past him into the hallway, shooting him amused or pitying glances as they exited. Mr. Crosswell remained standing at the central podium, methodically stacking his lecture scrolls into a neat wooden rack.
Atlas walked down the center aisle and stopped near the front desk, shifting uncomfortably under the lingering awkwardness of his earlier dismissal. He waited respectfully for the instructor to finish his task and address him first.
Mr. Crosswell set his quill down into its inkpot, turning a sharp, calculating gaze onto Atlas. The playful air he usually carried was still noticeably absent.
"I received an administrative summary from your dormitory’s morning report," Mr. Crosswell stated plainly, resting his hands flat on the wooden podium. "Is it true, Atlas?"
Atlas blinked, entirely caught off guard by the unexpected direction of the conversation. "Is... is what true, sir?"
"That you intentionally damaged academy property, ignored residence rules, and left Room 150 in a state of severe, biohazardous neglect?" Mr. Crosswell asked, raising a single eyebrow.
Atlas’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated disbelief as the blood ran cold in his veins. "What?!"