Mr. Blonde’s drawing re-awakened a fear I had only felt during my obsession with internet creepypastas. A gradual building of an unsettling and eerie atmosphere, with the climax being a simple reveal of a horror beyond human understanding. No cheap jumpscare, just the catharsis of a properly done build-up.

  That aside, everyone’s reactions made more sense. This wasn’t just some natural disaster that made sense in the magical world. It was a terrorist attack, or a monster attack if humanoid monsters are a common occurrence. Neither idea made me feel any more relieved.

  Wait, is that why so many teachers are missing? They’re fighting an actual terrorist!?

  Will they be alright? Are they trained for this? Is this what they’re preparing the students for?

  So many questions piled up on top of each other, making it all the more frustrating that I couldn’t just outright ask.

  Mr. Blonde placed a hand on my shoulder and looked me straight in the eyes. He was smiling, but his eyes told me he was equally, if not more, concerned. It looked like he was on the verge of crying.

  Is this his way of trying to tell me not to worry? It’s a bit too late for that.

  No. If he knows everything I did in the few days I’ve been here, trying to reassure me wouldn’t work, considering all of the near-death experiences I’ve had.

  What is he trying to tell me?

  I made another sheet of paper for him to draw on.

  Suddenly, there was a loud noise near one of the entrances leading to the cafeteria. It was one of the teachers carrying another under their arm. The injured man leaned on the other as a crutch.

  I vaguely recognized him from the hierarchy Mr. Blonde gave me. Seeing him only solidified my impressions.

  The person being helped was leaning onto the other, bleeding from wounds on their head, torso, and legs.

  He needed to get healed now.

  Mr. Blonde spoke something in a commanding voice toward the teacher, laying the man on the ground before he stepped back. Golden particles placed themselves on varying points on the man’s body, avoiding his injuries. Some even flew under the man, which looked impossible, but I knew never than to question magical abilities at this rate.

  The man was lifted into the air, as if brought up by an invisible force. Mr. Blonde’s golden dragon flew underneath the man.

  I was confused about why a dragon slightly bigger than Mr. Blonde’s head would place itself under the floating man, but my doubts were dispelled when I saw it transform into a size nearly twice as large as the man it was now carrying.

  Mr. Blonde shouted something, and the golden dragon quickly flew away. I guessed it was taking him toward the school’s hospital ward—a wise decision, taking him to get treatment as soon as possible.

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  I looked to the person who brought the man to the cafeteria. They were the last person I saw in Mr. Blonde’s hierarchy, the only other person on the same level as Ms. Grey.

  He had slick black hair with a white shirt and suspenders attached to light brown pants, and wore gloves that didn’t cover his entire palm. The only thing he was missing was a thin mustache to complete the Italian gangster look.

  How come I haven’t seen him? Could it be my schedule?

  I wondered if this disaster hadn’t occurred, would I have been able to go an entire year without ever setting eyes on the man? Guess I’ll never know.

  Both Mr. Blonde and the Italian gangster, without his mustache, conversed. Their exchange was brief, like a succinct and urgent exchange of information. As if the few words they spoke told both of them everything they needed to know. After that, the man stood in a peculiar pose. It seemed like he was making himself more aerodynamic, as if preparing to be launched at a ski or roller skating track.

  Then, he slid away while maintaining that pose. Quite past too, comparable to the speed of a car in a school crossing zone. I withheld the urge to chuckle from how ridiculous it looked, reminding me of all the memes I’ve seen.

  He’d definitely be a popular Olympic skier, roller skater, or ice skater.

  Mr. Blonde then shouted something to the rest of the gloomy students in the cafeteria.

  Although I didn’t understand a single word he said, the way he spoke sounded really inspiring. His speech caught everyone’s attention, and the students seemed more optimistic. Eventually, the climax of the speech concluded with a few students shouting in celebration.

  Whatever Mr. Blonde had said worked. The students who wouldn’t even take a bite out of their meals suddenly began eating at a quicker pace.

  If he told everyone they’re gonna fight that thing in the storm, I’m smacking him with a plastic bat.

  I prepared a toy plastic bat in my mind, carefully watching the other students’ movements.

  Eventually, the last lunch trays were placed where they were sent for collection and washing, and all of the students had stood up and organized themselves into lines. The whole thing felt like practice for a fire drill, except there was an actual disaster needing to be responded to. Mr. Blonde commanded everyone to split into 2 groups, one led by him and the other by the remaining teacher. My summoner was in my group, a bit away from me, but I’m sure we’ll meet up at our destination.

  Mr. Blonde took us through the halls, all the way to the ominous pair of double doors I first saw when I was exploring the school. Initially, it spooked me, but given the situation and my knowledge of the underground area, it no longer gave off that horror-like ‘enter if you dare’ vibe.

  Our group entered the door in two lines, and we met up with the other group being led by Mr. Bleached hair.

  The whole situation would likely be the closest I’ll get to experiencing a tornado in both of my lifetimes.

  Mr. Bleach said something in an authoritative voice, and everyone moved to sit in a grid-like pattern. The way Mr. Bleach pointed to everyone told me he was doing a headcount.

  My only concern now was the status of the healer nurse and the injured man that the Italian Gangster brought in, but those worries were quickly dispelled when I saw her and the golden dragon carrying the man together in a makeshift gurney, with the dragon holding their end by the mouth.

  What happened to his larger form? Maybe it wouldn’t fit?

  Mr. Blonde immediately reunited with his dragon, embracing it in a loving hug. Honestly, it’s easy to forget he’s like this past the tough, calculating exterior.

  He quickly let go, though I had a feeling he wanted to indulge in the hug a little more, but the situation’s urgency demanded something more. His voice boomed, shouting some syllables. Some students in the crowd spoke back loudly. He directed them to a part of the wall making up the underground room’s interior.

  The students made odd, repeated movements, while Mr. Blonde conjured golden orbs and attached them to the wall. A few moments later, a section of the wall inward and retracted to the side, revealing a tunnel leading into an endless darkness.