Assassination Classroom Author Novels & Stories

Because the cleaning lady's uniform worn by the assassin in disguise was found on the victim's bed. Silent Assassin's works are very clean and his nickname just fits him. He is quiet when he kills. There was not even a trace that the two wrestled inside James' room and it seemed like the man just died from a heart attack. But when James' father autopsied his son's body, the police found out that a strong poison had been injected into the victim's body which caused his death. Silent Assassin's poison is strong because it can kill in just two to three seconds. He is a very dangerous person.

I will soon leave this apartment too. “It's no longer a joke what's happening to us, it's like there's a curse? Five of our classmates have died in just two and a half months. I don’t know if I’m going to believe Clark that there is a killer or it’s just a coincidence that someone from our class is dying,” he uttered. I sighed. “It is just a coincidence, Ace. And one thing, who might be the killer? Who has the intention to kill?” “You," he answered quickly

he whispered. He opened the classroom door and looked up as they entered. “Now listen, class, I'm only going to say this once. If you don’t do what I tell you, you will get a write-up and I WILL call your parents,” he said looking at Ivy. “Ivy's parents were murdered.” “Yeah, by her, Ivy the murderer,” someone said, the class laughed again.

His sniper is placed behind his back. Students can be seen scattered around the premises since it's time for lunch. Due to the abundance of students, you would never know that an assassin is lurking amongst the crowd. "Zeke, where?" Avyanna asked through the earpiece. "Literature building, third floor, teacher's faculty." Avyannna went to the said location.

T‌‌he day⁠s afte‌r the failed a‍ssassination⁠ did⁠ not settle, they​ f​raye‌d. T​r​ust​, onc‍e‍ s⁠trained, now thinned to something translucent a‌nd​ britt⁠‍le‍, stretc⁠hed a⁠cross t‍‌he for​tr‍‌ess l​ike skin over bone. W⁠h​ispers‍ multipli⁠ed, v‌oi⁠ces dropping whene​‍ver footst‌eps ap​p⁠r‍o‌ac​h‌ed, eyes s‌li​d‍in⁠g a‍way t‌o⁠o‌ q‌uickly to‍ b‍e innoce⁠nt. Ev‍en⁠‌ the w‍a‌lls​ s⁠eem‌e‌d to⁠ lis⁠ten, holdin⁠g secr‌e⁠ts they woul⁠d n⁠o​t ​ release witho‌‍ut⁠ blo‍od.

Several students cried openly now while others rushed desperately toward the classroom door. Just then, the boy’s body dropped hard on the ground and a sickening crack echoed across the classroom floor. Blood slowly spread beneath the student’s lifeless body while terrified students stared frozen in horror. My hands trembled violently against my desk. The teacher looked completely pale. I tilted my head slowly as I saw Vanessa looking through the class window. She noticed someone was watching as she ran away. I quickly pushed off my locker as I went after her. Whatever that happened In this class, she must be aware. I thought to myself.

There were no words. Just an attachment. Frowning, I tapped the image. At first, it looked blurry. Dark shapes behind frosted glass. Then my stomach dropped. Two figures. Standing extremely close together inside a classroom. One taller. One leaning forward slightly. Even distorted through the blurry quality, I recognized us immediately. My breathing stopped. The timestamp at the bottom corner read: BLACKWOOD HIGH — ROOM 214. The classroom. My fingers suddenly felt numb around the phone. No text followed. No threat. No explanation.

At least Lai did not murder any living thing in the classroom. We both walk back to the front corridor and hand the keys to the staff room. After that, the lady teacher with a mysterious glint in her voice approaches us. Maybe the interview is over. "So, how was it? Did you like the class, Miss Sharma?" She stares at her in high hopes.

I teased. As usual, she didn't respond anymore and just turned her head away from me. She keeps barking at the wrong tree. ... Dismissal of classes came. It's just me and the hooded guy left here in the classroom. I intentionally decided to be left here alone to lure him. I took a heavy breath and approached him. "So, why did you murder our classmate?" I asked. "I don't know what you're talking about." He replied flatly. "It was a dumb act of you to disguise yourself as the student council secretary."

I’m letting my nerves get the best of me. I swallow thickly, and notice I’m trembling. I am not a teacher. And seeing as I’m not a teacher, I am certainly not prepared to teach 40 students who already hate me for stealing a position in the department. "So, um, the writer who worked under this realm that you would probably recognize first is Edgar Allan Poe. Faulkner is another–" My words are cut off by the sound of large, double doors clicking as they open. Harlan stands at the top of the classroom.