White Room Classroom Of The Elite Mga Nobela at Kwento

She responded. Standing in the middle of the classroom and unto her table overlooking the stair-like design on the circular classroom with its tables and chairs divided into four rows. Her smile faded as she gave the Elites her warning stare that created the tension into the air, as the six stances up with their guard for the uncanny warning she sent, yet. “Everyone, I would like you to meet Elite’s seventh member and of the Blood +.”

“No, you’re not.” “Also not relevant.” His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. Not here. Not now. At the end of the corridor was a circular room with glass walls. Observation room. The kind doctors used to watch without participating. Inside it, a metal desk held old files stacked in gray archive boxes. And beyond the observation room— A second door. Red. Not painted red. Wrapped in red leather padding, like something designed to absorb sound. The red room. Elena stopped walking.

I was a little nervous. "Well, we can figure that out later." Alara interrupts the silence and I throw her a grateful look. "Time for class." I mutter, as Emma wraps her arm in mine. Room 312. That's where we'll have our class. One would think it consists of chairs and tables and a board or a projector. However, it is a vast empty room with chairs tucked into a corner. That is it. "Good morning everyone. Take your seats so we can proceed with your second class." A woman announces, her body posture as rigid as a stick.

The walk is quiet apart from the wet slap of my feet and the occasional smart-ass comment he tosses over his shoulder. We head back to the white room. That ghost room. It still feels like I’m walking into someone else’s mausoleum. No photos. No warmth. No identity. Just cold, sterile wealth arranged like a display case. I drop onto the couch, not caring that my towel’s already half slipping off, or that the water from my hair soaks straight into the cushions, darkening them. Let it. Let this ghost of a room feel something. I stare at the opposite wall, heartbeat still trying to match the storm that was just Zeke fucking Russell.

She reached out and yanked my arm. "Move! We don't have time. They'll kill us," she hissed, her voice tight with urgency."There's a place—I think you might remember it too." The door swung open, and we stumbled into an enormous white hall. Rows upon rows of metal tables and chairs stretched before us like a forgotten assembly line. The fluorescent lights buzzed above, too bright, almost sterile. The room was vast, echoing, institutional—like a lecture hall or indoctrination chamber. A giant white screen loomed at the front of the room. Printed on it, stark and unmistakable, was the symbol: a bold, double N.

Going out was the only way to get it. I stepped into the hallway and followed a stream of students in similar uniforms down a winding corridor. And none of them looked confused—just me. The room we entered was massive. The sorting room, as I heard some students whisper. It was…beautiful. I stared in awe at my new environment. The room was a circular stone chamber that felt more like a temple. The walls shimmered with symbols I couldn't understand; they vibrated faintly. The domed ceiling overhead shifted like a living sky, filled with stars and phases of the moon, not like anything I had ever seen.

And gasped. It wasn’t a dorm. It was a godsdamned luxury apartment. Black velvet furniture. Gothic arches. Chandeliers of obsidian and glowing quartz. A four poster bed with dark silk sheets. Floating shelves lined with ancient books and shadow lit candles. Off to the right was a door that led to a beautiful bathroom, and there was even the cutest kitchenette with a mini stove, microwave and fridge. It looked like a vampire heiress and a witch queen shared an interior designer and said “go wild.” “Maybe the room just… knows,” I whispered in awe. Zephyr did say the school was alive. The lights flickered once.

My room was on the fourth floor, surrounded by marble floors so clear I could see my reflection, and Eutopia of magnificent-looking architecture. The railings bordering every floor changed color the higher you got. Black at the ground, grey on the second, white at the third, and glittering gold at mine. I almost felt special. Almost. But I didn't come down hear for sightseeing, or putting on this lingerie that was a bit too perfectly fitted to be a coincidence. “Room 66, huh” I muttered after another glance after another glance after the extra information Miss Optimus Prime had given me at the entrance.

Then, the whole matchmaking plan would be ruined. I couldn't afford to let anything go wrong. … I spent the entire day on edge. When the last bell finally rang, I grabbed my bag and made a beeline for the library. Our school's crown jewel was the exclusive study room. It featured private cubicles with excellent soundproofing, bright lights, and even ergonomic chairs. Marcus was the ultimate academic overachiever, and he occupied the largest cubicle. I hummed a tune as I pushed the door open and immediately spotted him sitting at the desk, his back perfectly straight.

By the time we arrived at the war room below Aurelian House, adrenaline had worn off enough to leave room for dread. Focus. The dome room resonated quietly with overlapping wards meant to keep any loose chatter from escaping the space. In the center was a long, dark oak table carved with barely visible runic grooves Elias had likely added within the last year. Kaia slid into the chair next to me without permission or preamble, already calm and present after her altercation. I sank into my seat before glancing up at her.