NOVEL WEB Chapter 45: Food Station
For someone who had spent both lives in poverty, Jethro had surprisingly never learned how to manage money— especially not around food, and especially not when faced with so many options at a buffet.
The abundance felt almost alien; he eyed the spread, torn between curiosity and frugality. After a moment's hesitance, he exploded into action.
Jethro selected three ration bars, some grilled bird and actual-looking synth-vegetables to spice up the meal. There was sauce and omelet and so he added that too, before topping it all off with a box of sparkfruit juice. Once he got to the payment pad, his paycard flashed and the reader displayed the total: 15.00 Cr.
Jethro frowned. He hadn't expected the food to cost that much, but there was no backing out now. With the payment done, he stuffed his paycard away, reminding himself he had to ration his credits if he wanted a shot at visiting a mechshop to buy stuff for Scorch's evolution.
He turned just as Kekius and Oand finished with theirs. From his vantage, Jethro could see nearly the entire hall: students dressed in different garbs and colors, mingling, eating, talking, clustered into districts of years and Factions.
First-years— apart from the nobles like Jessamine and Eryn —were dressed simpler and more practical. The mechbeasts by their sides were younger, mainly around Hatchling and Juvenile Stage.
The Second-years moved with more self-assuredness, showing more confidence in their clothing. They sported personalized cybernetic accents: glowing wristbands, reinforced boots and gauntlets, head gears, some even already had mods. Their beasts looked healthier, more alert, already past Adolescent and Mature Phases, and climbing to their designated grades within their established ranks.
Third and Fourth-years projected an air of seasoned competence, and rightfully so.
At this level, all of them had engaged in high level combat and cleared multiple Rifts. They wore custom gear: armored vests, holsters for aether guns and compact magic weapons, mods gleaming along skin and armor. Their mechbeasts were larger, having arrived at the Apex Stage, some of them had their mechbeasts tucked inside their Dimension Dens.
Dominating the far end were the Fifth-years. The Apex Tamers of Beastcorp Academy. The mods— for those who had —were more pronounced: some had cybernetic hands, half-mechanical faces, neon steel glistening on necks, wrists, jaws, shoulders, legs.
Their clothing was an extension of their identity, blending flair and intention. Yet they remained tactical and functional for one thing: killing Darcbeasts.
Many of them didn't have their mechbeasts present, because they were too powerful or large for the cafeteria. So their mechbeasts, all in the Apex Stage and probably already in their final Grade, were presently waiting inside their Dimension Dens.
Their masters— the Fifth-year students —sat and ate like they were in their own world, completely uncaring for the lower students who stared at them like heroes and models.
"It's pretty intimidating, isn't it?" Kekius asked Jethro as they made their way to a table. "And also cool. Hopefully one day we'll end up like them."
Jethro pursed his lips dramatically. "You will for sure. Me?" He shot Kekius a grin. "Just make sure to call me if you need any vents cleared of mutant bugs."
Kekius watched him take a seat. "You make jokes alot," he said, as he and Oand set their trays down.
Jethro scoffed. "Glad you think my inevitable fate is hilarious."
Kekius pulled an exaggerated frown. Oand quietly settled beside him. His tray was simple: boosted pasta with scrambled eggs and a can of water. Kekius was stacked with chocolate biscuits, milk dip, some nutrient bars, and a choco-energy drink.
Jethro looked at their faces after studying their meal. In his opinion, you could always tell a lot about someone from the kind of food they ate. Then he gazed down at his meal— although when it was his turn, that particular philosophy seemed to vanish.
After setting out some berries and squeezing a quantity of premium nutrient paste for Scorch, he started to tear into his own meal, immediately banishing the surrounding noise from his thoughts. But it didn't take long for a particular noise to tear through his wall and grab his attention.
It was bursts of laughter, slamming of plates and cups, and cracking of arrogant loud jokes.
Jethro's eyes swept the vast hall once more and his gaze snagged on a particularly larger table where the noise was undoubtedly coming from.
Jethro recognized the culprits as fifth-years, but not just ordinary fifth-years since Fenris Harkson was there.
She sat elegantly, legs crossed, sipping from a glowing blue drink. She was quieter, dignified, compared to her companions.
The young man beside her was the loudest of all. He had electric-blue hair styled in sharp geometric spikes, matching the neon blue circuitry tracing his cheekbones all the way into the collar of his tight-fitted tactical suit.
Another of them— a girl —endlessly laughed at all his jokes, twirling a strand of her brown hair with one of her cybernetic arms.
One of the last two was an extremely burly guy that reminded Jethro of Pott. He had what appeared to be a metallic turtle shell hanging on his back, and a full optical visor that pulsed with a greenish light.
The fifth member of the group, the only one that seemed less interested in the conversation than Fenris, was sitting back, one arm draped casually over the back of his chair, languid and confident.
He was broad-shouldered and athletic, with strong arms exposed by the folded sleeves of his stylish black coat made with advanced synth-fabric. He had a handsome, rugged face, highlighted by sun-blonde hair tied into a single slim ponytail that hung lazily over his shoulder.
A mechbeast sat on the table beside him— a yellow rabbit with a lightning-bolt tail. It was a Bolt Hopper, the screen told Jethro.
But Jethro could swear he'd seen that Bolt Hopper, and its master, before. The blonde thin ponytail, the blue eyes, the broad shoulders. It rang a bell.
Jethro's eyes narrowed, the synth-chicken in his mouth waiting to be chewed as he flipped through his memory. 'Seriously, don't I know this guy from somewhere?'