Warfare Augmented Intelligent Frame Unit

Chapter 121 - The Scariest Thing

Chapter 121 - The Scariest Thing

You know what's scary? That eerie, otherworldly specter the Kaiserin glimpsed during the infamous Blackout Incident—the one that flickered in and out of reality like a corrupted broadcast.

You know what's scarier? My best friend just looked me in the eye and asked me to kill him... because he claims he is the Cosmic Tree.

But you know what's scariest?

Finals.

Pure, soul-sapping, handwritten examination finals.

Here's a curated selection of collective student suffering when our professors dropped the bomb during the last "normal" university day of the school year:

"Our Final Examinations will cover everything," announced Professor Chen, his voice as cold as the steel frame of a guillotine. "Yes, including Chapters 13 and 14—even though we never touched them in class. Read them. Thoroughly."

"Awww," the class groaned in unison, as if mourning their own academic funeral.

Professor Isadora stood next, graceful and merciless. "The Finals will include all my lectures. I've sent a study guide to your emails. Memorize it. Word for word. Understood?"

"Awwwwwww," the class wailed, louder this time, the dread thick enough to choke on.

Then came Professor Chaldeas, whose idea of "mercy" was a slow, essay-based demise. "Next meeting, you'll take your Final Exam—written only. No multiple choice. Every question requires three fully developed paragraphs."

"Awwwwwwwwwww," we cried, the library walls echoing with our despair.

Finally, Doctor Remus marched in like a drill sergeant forged in the depths of mathematical hell. "This is Advanced Calculus, idiots! Of course it's a written exam! It's 60% of your final grade. If you fail this, you don't just fail my subject. You fail everything. You get dropped from college. Got that?"

"Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww," came our collective death rattle. I swear I heard Myrrh whimper like a silly bitch at the front of the classroom.

So, in defiance of destiny and academic doom, our battle-hardened study circle from midterms reformed. Just like during the Licensure Examination Tournament and the midterm purges, we rallied once more—assembling in the library, armed with pens, notes, snacks, and the shared will to survive.

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I was running a bit late to the library—courtesy of a gastrointestinal rebellion sparked by the expired milk I recklessly chugged last night. The stomach cramps were a harsh reminder that desperation and dairy don't mix. After downing a tablet of antacid and sipping slowly from a saline sports drink to rehydrate, I gathered my tablet, textbooks, and what little dignity I had left, and made my way to the library.

By the time I reached the second level, the gang was already deep in the trenches of review. Remuel, Cindy, and Neil were buried in their Cybernetic Weaponry textbooks like soldiers decoding alien tech. 

Neil was scratching his head with a pen, his brows furrowed in confusion as if the equations personally offended him. Cindy, by contrast, seemed laser-focused, her eyes darting across formulas like a tactical AI trying to optimize a missile strike. Remuel, however, looked like a ghost with a heartbeat—his gaze vacant, his mouth slightly ajar. It was as if every sentence he read entered one ear and exited through the pores of his scalp.

But none of them commanded as much attention as Myrrh.

She sat stiffly, hands trembling slightly above her notes, with a wide smile plastered on her face—the kind of smile that screamed help me in ten different dialects. Even a golden retriever could tell it was fake. Her eyes shimmered with held-back tears as she tried to keep up with Fei Xian, who was patiently tutoring her with the grace of a saint and the precision of a machine.