SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery

Derek led me down a corridor I hadn't explored before, past several closed classroom doors and what appeared to be storage areas. The hallway was quieter than the main sections of the school, with the kind of neglected feel that suggested it wasn't used regularly during normal school hours.

"In here," Derek said, stopping at a door marked with a faded sign that read "Science Lab B - Under Renovation." He produced a key from his pocket with the casual confidence of someone who'd done this many times before.

"How did you get a key?" I asked as he unlocked the door.

"You'd be amazed what people lose and forget to report missing," Derek replied, pushing the door open and gesturing for me to follow him inside.

The classroom was clearly in the middle of some kind of renovation project. Desks were stacked against one wall, covered with plastic sheeting, and several windows had been removed entirely, leaving large rectangular openings that led directly to the outside. The afternoon sunlight streamed through these openings, illuminating dust particles floating in the air.

Derek moved to one of the window openings without hesitation, clearly familiar with the route. "This way and watch your step. There's about a three-foot drop to the ground."

I followed him through the opening, landing on what had once been a maintained walkway but was now overgrown with weeds and small shrubs. The vegetation was thick enough to provide cover from casual observation, but not so dense that movement was difficult. It was the kind of neglected space that existed on every large campus - areas that fell between maintenance responsibilities and gradually returned to nature.

"This path runs along the back of the building," Derek explained, starting to walk through the overgrown vegetation. "It was supposed to connect to the athletic facilities, but they never finished the landscaping project. Now it's basically invisible unless you know it exists."

As we made our way along the hidden path, I found myself genuinely curious about the teenager who was helping me circumvent his school's security measures.

"Why are you helping me?" I asked. "This morning you were trying to hit me with a paintball gun."

Derek pushed aside a low-hanging branch and glanced back at me with something that might have been amusement. "I like causing trouble for the faculty. If helping you sneak into the gym makes their security protocols look stupid, then I'm all for it."

"That's it? Just general troublemaking?"

"Pretty much." Derek paused to navigate around a particularly thick patch of brambles. "Though I have to admit, you're not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Another arrogant high-ranker who thinks their success makes them better than everyone else."

I was quiet for a moment, processing what he'd said. It was the first time I'd encountered discrimination directed upward in the ranking system - resentment from someone lower-ranked toward those who'd achieved success. Though, if I was being honest, it wasn't entirely unfamiliar. I remembered feeling similar anger and frustration when I was F-Rank, watching A-Rankers and S-Rankers move through the world with confidence and opportunities that seemed impossible for someone like me. It's just...shocking to see a lower-ranked individual expressing that anger out loud.

"So you do the pranks because you don't like high-rankers?" I asked.

"Basically, yeah." Derek's tone was matter-of-fact, without the defensive edge I might have expected. "Most of the successful people who visit our school act like they're doing us a favor just by showing up. They give these speeches about 'applying yourself' and 'overcoming obstacles' while having no idea what it's actually like to be stuck at the bottom of the system."

"Do you know that I'm a high-ranker?"

Derek stopped walking and turned to face me directly. "Yeah, I know. Initially, I just knew you were someone with multiple high-ranking jobs, which was already weird since the System only gives you one job normally. But when I was sitting in that holding room this morning, I asked some questions."

"What kind of questions?"

"About who you really are and why you're here. Turns out you're the guy leading some kind of revolution against rank-based discrimination. The one who spoke at the United Nations and got a bunch of countries to agree to cooperation initiatives."

I felt a slight surge of pride at the recognition, despite the circumstances. "So I guess someone became a fan after all?"

Derek rolled his eyes with practiced teenage disdain. "Don't get a big head about it. I'm just not actively against you anymore. There's a difference."

I wanted to dig deeper into Derek's obvious resentment toward high-rankers, to understand what experiences had shaped his worldview and whether there was something I could do to help him see past the anger. But I also recognized that I'd made more progress with him in a single day than the school's counselors and administrators had managed in months. Pushing too hard now might undo that progress and lose whatever trust I'd managed to build.

Besides, I could see the gymnasium through the vegetation ahead of us, its brick walls and large windows clearly visible through the gaps in the overgrown landscaping.

"There's your destination," Derek said, pointing toward a side entrance to the gym. "That door is usually unlocked during lunch periods, even though they tell visitors it's off-limits. Something about maintenance staff needing access."

"Thank you," I said, and meant it. "This really helped."

Derek shrugged as if it was no big deal, but I could see he was pleased to have been useful. "I've got to meet some friends anyway. Try not to get caught - it would make me look bad if my smuggling route got discovered on the first day someone else used it."

He disappeared back along the overgrown path, leaving me standing alone at the edge of the athletic facility. I watched him go, reflecting on how much my understanding of the situation had changed in just a few hours. Derek wasn't just a troublemaker acting out for attention - he was an intelligent, perceptive young man with legitimate grievances against a system that had probably failed him in ways I was only beginning to understand.

But those thoughts would have to wait. Right now, I needed to find Milan and share what I'd discovered about Ms. Patterson.

I approached the side entrance Derek had indicated, testing the handle carefully. As promised, it was unlocked. The door opened silently, revealing a dark corridor that led deeper into the gymnasium complex.

The athletic facility was much larger than I'd realized from the outside. The main gymnasium was obviously ahead of me, but there were also smaller spaces that appeared to be used for individual training, equipment storage, and what looked like office space for the physical education staff.

With most of the facility lights turned off for the lunch period, I found myself relying heavily on Instinct to navigate safely through the unfamiliar space. The skill guided me around obstacles I couldn't see clearly and helped me avoid areas where my footsteps might echo loudly enough to attract attention.

The main gymnasium was a impressive space with a full-size basketball court, retractable bleachers, and the kind of modern equipment that suggested Hudson Heights took its athletic programs seriously. Afternoon sunlight filtered through high windows, creating long rectangles of light across the polished wooden floor.

I was moving toward what appeared to be the coaching offices when Instinct suddenly flared with intensity, warning me of immediate proximity danger. Someone was behind me, close enough to reach out and make physical contact.

I spun around, my reflexes engaging automatically as I prepared to defend myself against what I assumed was an attack. My hand shot out to intercept whatever was coming toward me, grabbing a wrist before whoever was approaching could complete their movement.

"Whoa, easy there," a familiar voice said quietly. "It's just me."

Milan's face came into focus as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. He was holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender, though I could see he was ready to react defensively if I didn't recognize him quickly enough.

I had never been happier to see anyone in my entire life.

"Milan," I breathed, releasing his wrist immediately. "Thank god. I was starting to think I'd never find you."

"I saw you coming through the windows," he said, lowering his hands but maintaining the alert posture that suggested he was ready for trouble. "What's going on? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Worse than a ghost," I replied, glancing around the gymnasium to confirm we were alone. "I'm pretty sure I found one of them. One of the assassins that we're looking for."

Milan's expression immediately shifted from casual concern to focused attention. "Who?"

"Ms. Patterson. The one who was introduced as a faculty member this morning. I used Scan on her, and she's got a skill that no legitimate teacher would ever need."

"What kind of skill?"

"Something called Redirection at Level 6. The description said it converts hostile or disruptive energy - both emotional and physical - into harmless instructional focus. That's not classroom management, Milan. That's has to be some form of combat training disguised as educational ability."

Milan was quiet for a long moment, processing what I'd told him while his own tactical instincts analyzed the implications.

"How long do you think she's been in position here?" I asked.

"I don't know, but her cover is perfect. The students genuinely like her, she knows the school's policies and procedures, and during this week she was checking on my substitute coaching like any concerned colleague would do. If you hadn't used Scan on her, I never would have suspected anything."

"There's something else," I said. "When I tried to come here earlier, one of the other faculty members intercepted me and warned me away from the gymnasium. Said it was off-limits during lunch periods for insurance reasons."

"Which faculty member?"

"Mr. Chen, I think. Or at least, that's who I thought it was. The introductions this morning were pretty rushed."

Milan nodded grimly. "There's a chance she was just being honest, but we need to assume the worst case scenario and that they're coordinating surveillance of your movements. The question is how many of them are involved and whether they're planning to make a move while you're here or if they're just gathering intelligence for a later operation."

"What do we do?"

"First, we get this information to Anthony. Then we figure out how to identify the other members of the team without exposing ourselves or putting the students at risk."

Milan moved toward what appeared to be his office, gesturing for me to follow. "And we need to be discrete. If they realize you've identified Ms. Patterson, they might decide to accelerate whatever timeline they're working on."

Though before we can do anything else, the gymnasium doors opened once more.