Novel & Cerita Classroom Of The Elite Summary

What we were. These new students still didn’t understand where they had walked into. This academy wasn’t just a school, it was a prison disguised as a sanctuary. Built to contain us, the so-called “Elites,” the ones whose power couldn’t be tamed by any Elder council. They believed the walls, the little rules, the hierarchy would hold us, that we’d play along and pretend to be docile. But deep down, everyone knew the truth, the Elites ruled this place. We could undo an entire wing of the academy in seconds, and no one would stop us. “I don’t care,” Abigail snapped, folding her arms. “I don’t like him.”

It felt more like a high court than a classroom. Only thirty of us had qualified for this elite track; names that would one day be signed at the bottom of international treaties. I took a seat in the center row, my black leather jacket a sharp, defiant contrast against the green velvet. I wasn't surprised to see Riven lounging in the back; his dark gaze was fixed on the ceiling, looking bored but entirely present. Dahlia and Elara sat nearby, sharp and attentive.

Or is this gym not interested in staying open? Mabel snickered behind her hand, her voice dripping with contempt as she said, "Look at this, folks! "She's been called out, and now she's lashing out in a fit! She's going wild like a shrew! "Ouch! Did that hit a nerve? With your bargain-bin looks, do you even have 100 bucks to your name? "Socialites? Please. Real socialites have their heads in the clouds. Who else would tire themselves out over a measly 10-dollar trial class?"

She is currently lounging on the living room sofa, drinking a fresh blood bag and watching a ridiculously gory slasher movie on the flat screen. I am running on the communal treadmill in the corner, burning off my heavy Wagyu dinner, my body drenched in sweat. "So, about our Class 1 teachers," Liviel calls out over the sound of chainsaw massacres on the TV. "The curriculum is split into Academic and Practical training." I increase the speed on the treadmill. "Go on." "Our Academic homeroom Professor is the Awakener of the God of Abundance. He is incredibly gentle and soft-spoken most of the time. But whatever you do, do not piss him off. When he gets angry..."

"I'd heard that he was a notorious mama's boy, and everyone knew about it. He even needs his mom to help him shower and pull his underwear on!" "The problem is that his grades are really good. The university even said that he was a genius who only appeared once every 30 years." "So what if he was a genius if this is the way he acts? He's disgusting!" Class had already ended by the time I returned to the lecture hall. I strode back to my seat leisurely, and the reporter immediately shoved his camera in my face. "Mr. Shawn Larson! Why did you behave like that in class just now?" I chuckled dismissively. "Because it was nothing but a waste of my time.

Alex pov I’ve always known the Elites have their separate world, but being thrust into it felt surreal. They had their separate classes. The classrooms were decorated beautifully, rivaling most of the students' parlours at their various homes. The air condition, that's seen in only the staff offices where mounted all round the Elites quarters, plus everybody have their own personal system and seats that are permanently for you.

she exclaimed, her voice warm and engaging. The students sprang to their feet, their faces filled with respect and admiration. "Good morning, Ma'am!" they chorused in unison, their voices echoing through the room. Hazel's eyes sparkled with excitement as she began to speak. "Today, we'll be having a special upgrading class. We'll be welcoming some of our Class One students who have shown exceptional potential, and a select few will be fast-tracked to Class Four, skipping Class Three altogether!" The room buzzed with anticipation as Hazel paused for dramatic effect. Then, with a flourish, she gestured to the door, and five students entered, their faces beaming with pride and nervousness.

For three whole years, everyone at school knows me as a hopeless student who can barely pass a test. After the SATs, I am sitting at my cousin's college acceptance celebration, quietly eating my meal. My aunt, Karen Reed, suddenly snatches the plate from my hands. "Your scores are pathetic, and you still have the nerve to sit here and eat?" My cousin, Wilbert Yard, swirls his drink and sneers. "Jason, you won't get anywhere in life with a brain like yours. You can be my driver someday. I'll pay you 800 dollars a month." My uncle, George Yard, points a finger in my face. He looks at me in disgust and says, "Your parents have been working out of town for three years, and you still can't

“Who the hell are you?” ‎“Andrei Orlov.” ‎That name hit me like a slap. ‎Everyone knew that name. The quiet tech genius. The dangerous type. There were whispers about arms deals, international connections, frozen assets in his wake but none has been proven. What I didn't understand was how he became a client in my foundation. Did he lie? Or was he part of Alex clients he laundered money for? My head was banging with questions. The man was untouchable. And he was standing in front of me like I was a business deal.

My hips swayed in motion, my body pressed against the rose, my legs spread wide apart like an athlete. A soft murmuring spread across the room, I was in an earpiece on the left side so I couldn't pick the words easily but still I focused my undivided attention on my craft pouring my all into it. The Elite club 0.2 isn't just the regular clubs with VIP in attendance and a few men who just started touching funds. The club is meant for the old money kind of CEOs, the ones born and bred in wealth and affluence, the men who never had to chase anything all their life because all they needed to do was snap a finger and all they wanted would be set on a table before them.