Mha Classroom Novels & Stories

The others in the hall whispered that the professor has arrived and everyone scattered around randomly before I heard the door close and footsteps echoed into the big hall. "Hello everyone, and welcome to class MBA 591, I will be delivering this course this semester and-" My eyes widened at the familiarity of the voice and I shot my head up, my eyes falling at no one but him. Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. Oh no, oh no no no... Shit.

She set the phone down and closed her eyes. Tomorrow. New classes. New routines. New everything. And Idris at 1:15. Monday morning came too fast. Maya’s 9 AM Programming class was in a building on the other side of campus. She walked fast, coffee in hand, heart pounding for no reason she could name. The lecture hall was huge. Rows and rows of seats. Students everywhere. She found a seat near the middle and pulled out her notebook. Professor Chen walked in at exactly 9 AM. Tall. Severe. Glasses perched on her nose.

The coordinator then cleared his throat and looked to the rest of the class. “Hello guys, my name is Damon Hayes, you can call me Mr. Hayes. I'm the new school coordinator and I don't take any shit. If you are trouble, you can say goodbye to this school. If you have any personal problems, talk to your mentor. For class 2c, this will be Ms Melissa here and for class 2d, it will be Mr. Jackson. If you have any problems with the lessons, teachers or the school, you can talk to me. My office is on the top floor, room 1260.” Mr Hayes finished his little speech and I heard an almost old accent in his deep voice. He looked at all the students and when his gaze lingered on me, I felt a buzz of elect

My inheritance. I fold Maya's notes and hand them back and we sit in the quiet classroom for a moment before the bell moves us back into the school day. Supernatural Theory is the last class of the afternoon. I walk in and take my seat and open my notebook and Ashcroft, who is not Ashcroft, stands at the front of the room and begins the lesson on historical magical containment methods, which under the circumstances is either coincidence or something with a dark sense of humor. I take notes. I keep my face doing what Maya told it to do.

After class. Her eyes sparkled. 'I'll be there.' The door closed behind her, but the fire burned brighter. The next day dragged. Makayla sat in the back of the lecture hall this time, less conspicuous. Mason's voice washed over the hundred students, dissecting neural interfaces. But his eyes found hers, a secret signal. Class ended in a shuffle of chairs and chatter. She lingered, pretending to pack slowly. 'Professor Mylo?' A male student approached the podium. 'Question on the synaptic pruning.'

The theory class is in the morning, the physical class is in the evening, and the mana training class is in the nighttime. Mana class was held at night because it has been discovered that mana gathers and regenerates more quickly at night. These were the regular classes. There are also specialized classes. Classes that are made available for specific elements. However, the instructor would have to give you permission to attend his class. If he/she finds you unfit for her class, you will be unable to attend, even if you have the required element. I was now dining at the cafeteria. It was on the top floor of this skyscraper. There were three massive buildings with hundreds of rooms. Each floor

I whisper to Dakoda. “Yeah, but I kind of like it. People like the bitch up front won’t fuck with us in here, anyway.” We make it through that class without a hitch. The Professor just introduced us to the class work and gave us time to ask questions if needed to. Now it’s time to move on to our next classroom. The guys and Mac have this classroom with us. We tried really hard to get all our classes together, but it just didn’t work out, but we still have most of them together.

she says, tapping a polished gold door. She shows me how to set up a password, which I do immediately. When she asks for my schedule, I hand her the pamphlet I’ve been carrying. She scans through it and nods. “Classes are over for today,” she tells me. “But I’ll show you where they’re held.” We stop in front of a stone building with CLASS 1 etched boldly above its entrance. “This is your class,” Helga explains. “Most of your theoretical lectures will be here, except for dancing and etiquette lessons. But you already know where those are.”

Korra nodded, pinning it to her vest. Mara gave her a quick hug. “I will meet you after classes. You will do great.” Korra watched her disappear into the crowd, suddenly feeling very small. The hallway stretched ahead, lined with portraits of past Alphas and scholars, their eyes seeming to follow her every step ************ Her first class was Pack History. She slipped quietly into a seat near the back, trying not to draw attention. But murmuring started the moment she entered. “That’s her,” someone murmured.

They always remember. I tightened my grip on the strap of my bag as I entered Integrated Combat Theory, one of the few classes where all the departments mixed—mages, warriors, trackers, defensive strategists. The hall buzzed with energy. Students spoke over each other, chairs scraped against the polished stone floor, and the faint scent of chalk mixed with mana residue hung in the air. At least here, it wasn’t all eyes on me. Professor Halden swept into the room like a gust of wind wrapped in robes—tall, grey-bearded, with the stiff posture of someone who had served in real wars and preferred students who didn’t waste his time. The room quieted in seconds.