How To Survive A Calamity-Chapter 242 - 241: Ranker Combat [2]

"It's a Ranker battle."

A hushed voice—so quiet it was dramatic how every single ear caught it. The words carried through the hall, threading themselves into the silence of held breaths.

Then, cutting straight through that heavy tension, came another voice. Light. Frivolous. Almost playful.

"Oooh. What, you mean like a Battle Royale or something? Sounds fun—count me in!"

It was the sound of a girl. A chirpy, lilting tone that didn't belong in the suffocating weight of the moment. Instantly, every head snapped toward its source.

There she was, standing at the edge of the seats. Short, with long, messy waves of brown hair tumbling down her back. Her eyes—big, round, and dark emerald green—gleamed with intensity. An excited grin split her small cherry lips, taunting, mischievous, and brimming with anticipation.

And yes, I recognized her.

Terra Bought. Class B—and Rank 6.

Another Ranker, just like Ceres, Deandra, and the others on stage.

Terra was an unquestionably petite girl, carrying the impression of a lost, innocent child despite actually being sixteen—which, I know, was hard to believe.

She couldn't have been taller than five-foot-four, maybe five-foot-five at most, and she wore an absurdly oversized windbreaker that swallowed her down to the knees.

She was so tiny, it looked less like she was wearing the jacket and more like the jacket had decided to wear her. The collar alone seemed to rise halfway up her face, practically drowning her.

The question was: was she wearing the windbreaker, or was the windbreaker wearing her?

I let the useless thought linger before shifting my gaze to the girl standing beside Terra Vought.

Another Ranker. Another Class B cadet.

Amy Santiago.

Unlike Terra, Amy was tall, with a lean athletic build that was obvious from her sharp posture and the firm line of her straight back. Her long, glossy black hair fell all the way to her waist, silky enough to catch the light. She had a presence that didn't need chatter or mischief to announce itself—calm, composed, and razor-edged in its own way that was different from the chaotic energy of Terra.

Her silky black hair was cut in long, fall bangs that framed her face, a blunt layer that only drew more attention to her striking dark-red eyes—eyes that were deep, sharp, and not easily ignored.

Her skin was fair, flawless, and soft-looking, the kind of effortless beauty that seemed unfairly common in the Academy. And yet, even among them, Amy Santiago stood out.

Tall—almost as tall as Ceres.

In fact, she was one of the tallest girls I'd seen, right after Aurhea… and Ceres… and Deandra.

Damn. What do they feed these girls?

And how the hell am I surrounded by so many of them?

Wait. No. There's no way I'm actually that… under-grown, right? I mean—I'm not short!

Aww Come on!

Ahem.

Anyway…

Amy Santiago. Rank 9.

Before my next thought could even form, a thunderous laugh split the air, rattling the hall like an earthquake.

And really—did it even need guessing? Just one migraine was enough to tell.

Macho Derrick.

The man's bellow could probably wake the dead, and possibly knock them back into the grave just for good measure.

He rose to his feet at last, all slow and deliberate, like some giant who'd finally decided to humor us mortals. His body was… ridiculous. Every inch of him was stacked with muscle, each roll of bronze-ebony flesh flexing as though it had its own ego. Honestly, if veins could apply for citizenship, his had already claimed independence.

Macho Derrick roared, boisterous and unrestrained.

"That's it! This is good!"

His voice thundered through the hall like a war cry, rattling the air itself. At last—he had spoken.

Up until now, he'd been strangely silent, nothing more than a hulking shadow on the sidelines. Just watching. Just… waiting. Pretending to be an idle spectator while the chaos around him built higher and higher.

Honestly? I'd started to think it was uncharacteristic of him. But here it was—the reaction I'd been waiting for.

And from the look of it, things were only about to get worse.

His browless eyes locked on the figures on stage—Ceres, Deandra, Elijah, and Williem. One by one, they stiffened under that gaze.

When his eyes lingered on Ceres, however, she remained utterly unmoved, watching the storm around her with that same cold detachment, as if she wasn't at the very heart of it.

"It seems your spirits have been burning ever since the Dungeon Incident," Macho Derrick finally rumbled, his voice carrying the weight of an old war drum. Predictably, he was already spouting some fantastical nonsense.

Then his glare hardened. The air itself seemed to thicken under it, an oppressive weight pressing down on everyone. The suffocating pressure rolled out in waves.

"However…" his tone sank like a blade, each syllable dropping like iron, "do not mistake this as an opportunity to hijack the authority of my class."

Hijack?! What hijack?! If not for the fact that I was pinned under the crushing weight of his presence, I'd have screamed at him.

This is exactly the kind of chaos you get when you turn today's lesson into a literal "free-for-all," you asshole! 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

But...of course i didn't say any of that out loud, cuz i wasn't ready to die yet.

But Macho Derrick wasn't done.

A suffocating pressure bled from his body—an invisible force, heavy and absolute. Just a fragment, I suppose, of his so-called "authority."

His grin widened, sharp as a blade. Then that absurd, mountain-sized body of his—tons, or pounds, or hell, tons of pounds—lowered ever so slightly as he leaned forward.

—BOOM!

The world cracked beneath him. The marble floor splintered into jagged fragments, chairs crumpling into scrap as if they had never stood a chance.

In the next breath, Derrick detonated into the air, a human warhead tearing through the hall with explosive speed.

Gasps rang out as his hulking frame soared upward, eclipsing the light. His shadow stretched monstrous and wide across the stands, crawling over the floor like the looming hand of a giant.

Every gaze snapped skyward. All eyes—trapped by the sheer weight of his presence—followed the impossible arc of his leap.

Before anyone could even process what was happening—the giant had taken flight.

Derrick came crashing down like a meteor. The stage screamed under the force of his descent, shockwaves rippling outward as stone split and cracked in jagged veins. The entire arena trembled, the impact rattling through bones and teeth alike.

Dust exploded upward in a choking cloud. And when it cleared—there he stood.

Boots buried into fractured stone. Shoulders squared like a fortress. That hulking frame of his casting a shadow over Williem, Deandra, and Elijah.

And on his face—still that same brutal, taunting grin.

The cadets froze. They didn't even dare breathe.

Williem's magic circle flickered out into nothing but fading sparks. Deandra's once-roaring flames guttered and recoiled into a timid glow. Elijah—hulking Elijah—looked suddenly small, his aura shrinking like a rat cowering beneath a whale's shadow. And Macho Derrick was that whale, impossibly vast, impossibly dominant.

Impressive. I had to admit it, if only to myself.

From my seat, I sat still, eyes fixed, re-evaluating every lazy assumption I'd made about the muscle-brained instructor. In one brutal sweep, he hadn't just entered the stage—he had seized it. The hall, the cadets, the very air itself bent under the vice grip of his authority.

Even Huey, the messy-haired slacker who'd been snoring away moments ago, was now upright, both eyes open. Although he looled immensely peeved.

His face twisted—not in fear, but in outrage. He looked like a man whose very rights had just been trampled on. A prince denied his crown.

Ahem.

In any case…

The moment I started giving Derrick his hard-earned nods and credits for sheer presence—he went and ruined it. Spouted the next most absurd thing I'd probably heard all day.

In my defense, I don't even know why I hadn't seen it coming from the very start.

Oh wait. No—I did.

Derrick's grin split his face wide as he loomed over the cadets, voice booming like war drums that could rattle the bones of the dead.

"If you're going to fight—then do it properly!"

He spread his colossal arms wide, a circus showman basking beneath the spotlight, as though the heavens themselves had crowned him the ringmaster.

"On a Grand Stage befitting all Top Ten of you—" His pause was deliberate, dramatic. The silence strained, stretched—

"—in the new Upcoming Ranker Combat:"

His chest swelled, his roar shaking the rafters—

"Battle Royale!!"

Macho Derrick's "ingenious idea" had somehow just become even more unbelievable.

I wasn't the only one think so. Even the rest of the class was speechless.

…Meanwhile, somewhere in the stunned silence, I heard Huey's incredulous voice cutting through like a pin dropping in a cathedral:

"What? Did he say 'all' Top Ten?" emphasizing great intent on the 'all'.

But sorry, Huey. You weren't hearing wrong. Derrick really did say all Top 10.

Including you.