SSS Class Awakening: I Can Forge My Beast Soul Avatars
Chapter 14: A Group Decision

Chapter 14: A Group Decision

Gerald stared deeply into Atlas’s eyes, his smile cold and predatory. "Unless you’re planning to back out now?"

Atlas didn’t flinch. He met Gerald’s glare with a calm, unbothered expression, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Atlas, wait! You should think about this before doing anything rash!" Seraphine interjected abruptly before he could seal the deal. "It’s the whole class we’re talking about. Don’t you need our permission before making a decision that affects every single one of us?"

"Yeah, exactly!" a loud voice chimed in from the surrounding crowd of Class 5E students.

A young man pushed his way to the front, flanked closely by a broad-horned, heavy-armored ram that hoofed the dirt aggressively.

He was a striking student with wild, spiky crimson and black hair framing sharp, fierce features. His orange-red eyes burned like embers, filled with obvious irritation.

He wore a regal, customized academy uniform of deep black, royal blue, and gold trim, featuring a lion crest emblazoned across his chest, a matching shoulder sash, and a heavy pendant swinging from his neck.

"I get that you’ve somehow become Mr. Crosswell’s favorite pupil after just one day," the crimson-haired boy snapped, stepping up beside Seraphine.

"But making a reckless gamble like this is bad for all of us! Do you even understand what you’re dragging us into?"

"He’s crazy..." someone chimed in.

Atlas held his ground, though a rare flare of emotion leaked into his tone. "I know exactly what I’m doing. Are you all really going to just stand here and let him walk over us? If you don’t shut this kind of bullying down now, it will never stop!"

’I, for one, have no intention of letting anyone walk all over me,’ Atlas thought, his emerald eyes flashing. ’If we back down, we’ll just be easy targets for the rest of the year.’

He turned toward Mr. Crosswell. "Besides... you told us yourself that your goal is to help us climb the ranks, right? This is a shortcut. If we win, we jump up a class tier before the intra-departmental tournament even starts. And even if the tournament gets tough, imagine what a head start that twenty-point bonus would give us!"

"That’s if we win!" the crimson-haired boy retorted, digging his heels into the grass.

"May I weigh in on this conversation, if nobody minds?" a smooth, melodious voice cut through the rising argument.

The crowd of students parted as an elegant young woman stepped forward with effortless composure.

She had voluminous, cascading dark-purple hair that tumbled over her shoulders and vivid green eyes that radiated a calm, calculating intensity.

Her tailored black and royal blue blazer bore the same golden lion crest, accented by a shimmering blue gem pendant and matching emerald earrings that complemented her refined bearing.

"I believe our new classmate might actually be onto something, even if his delivery is a bit crude," she said, resting a hand lightly on her hip.

"We’re already rotting in dead last. What do we honestly have left to lose by taking a leap? As the old saying goes: you’ll never know unless you try. So why not give it a shot?"

"She’s right."

"We’re dead anyway."

"But if we actually win...twenty points..."

Mr. Crosswell remained silent, standing off to the side with his arms folded across his chest. A subtle glimmer of pride danced in his eyes as he watched his students clash, debate, and take ownership of their own fate.

Rather than stepping in as their instructor, he knew it was better to let them reach a consensus on their own terms. This was how real class unity was forged.

’Besides,’ Atlas reasoned, his mind racing through the tactical advantages as he kept his gaze locked on Gerald.

’I’d bet everything I own that Gerald won’t field his strongest fighters for this. He’s too arrogant. He’ll want to humiliate us by using low-tier students to prove how ’weak’ we are. If he underestimates us, we can use that exact opening to rip the win right out of his hands.’

"Sir," Atlas murmured, turning his head slightly toward Mr. Crosswell. "Sign the document. We’re doing this."

Mr. Crosswell gave a single, firm nod, his jaw set. "It’s a deal then, Gerald."

"I still hate how reckless this is," the crimson-haired boy growled, though a sharp, competitive grin suddenly broke through his annoyance. "But if I get to beat up some arrogant Class 5D snobs, I’m all in."

Gerald’s smirk widened into a triumphant sneer as he watched the class commit to the trap.

The two burly students beside him began flexing their gauntlets, laughing mockingly. "Oh, it is so on! You better not hold back, scraps, because we’re going to grind you into the dirt and remind you where you belong."

"Since we have a binding agreement," Gerald said smoothly, signaling his monkey summon to retract the scroll, "we will meet on the lower dueling platform next week. Prepare your absolute best — because you, little boy, will be taking the field personally." He pointed a sharp finger directly at Atlas.

Atlas blinked, caught off guard. "Me?"

"Did you really think you could mouth off to me and hide in the back row while someone else fights your battle?" Gerald taunted.

Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and strode away across the grassy incline, his two followers trailing close behind.

Atlas watched their retreating backs, letting out a slow, quiet breath. ’Well... I expected that but I wasn’t expecting him to drag me directly onto the stage. So much for keeping a low profile and building my strength in secret.’

He looked around at the sharp, expectant faces of his classmates.

’Still, I can’t let a chance like this pass. A higher class rank means better resources, better facilities, and a massive jump in prestige — not to mention that twenty-point cushion. Winning isn’t optional.’

"Well, now that you’ve booked us a ticket to a public spectacle," the purple-haired girl said, folding her arms and shifting her weight to one leg, "what’s the actual strategy? Who’s taking the second slot alongside you?"

She leaned in slightly, a subtle arch to her eyebrow. "You didn’t just drag us into this without a secondary plan, did you?"

"Of course not," Atlas replied, keeping his tone measured. "I don’t have the final lineup set yet, but I’ll figure it out before the week is up."

He turned back to Mr. Crosswell. "Sir, I suggest you take that signed contract and report the match directly to the Dean today. We need official oversight registered on campus records to make sure Gerald can’t back out or twist the rules if he loses."

Mr. Crosswell offered a rare, warm smile. "Smart thinking. I’ll take care of the paperwork immediately. And for what it’s worth... I’m proud of you all. Accepting a high-risk match might not have been the safest choice, but watching you stand together and make a collective decision is a massive step forward. That’s a different kind of synergy — not just between a tamer and a beast, but between comrades."

He unbuckled his tactical whistle and gestured toward the path leading back to the main campus.

"Official drills are concluded for today. Anyone who wants to stay and use the obstacle courses may do so, but the rest of you are dismissed. Get some rest — tomorrow morning, we begin a training regime that will make your bones ache."

Mr. Crosswell paused, pointing a finger at Atlas’s worn orphan clothes. "Atlas, head down to the academy tailoring hall and pick up your official uniform. You can’t step onto an official dueling stage looking like a spectator. While you’re at it, finalize your dormitory registration."

He looked over at Seraphine. "Seraphine, do me a favor and guide him to the tailor’s wing, if you don’t mind."

"Understood, sir," Seraphine murmured softly.

Mr. Crosswell gave them one final nod before turning and marching off toward the faculty administrative building, the contract scroll tucked securely under his arm.

Once the teacher was out of earshot, Atlas turned to Seraphine, noticing how pale and quiet she had become since Gerald’s departure. He took a step closer. "Are you alright?"

She gave a slow, vacant nod, her pink eyes staring blankly at the ground as if her mind were miles away.

"Being brave with your words is easy, newcomer," the purple-haired girl remarked, stepping up beside them and extending a neat, gloved hand. "It’s what you display on the dueling floor that actually counts. I’m Cassandra, by the way."

"Losing is not an option! You hear me, fresh meat?!" the crimson-haired boy yelled over his shoulder, storming off toward the training dummies with his massive ram trotting dutifully at his heels.

Cassandra watched him leave with a slight shake of her head. "And that loudmouth is Rex. He’s a hothead with a temper shorter than his ram’s tail, so don’t take it personally."

Her expression softened slightly as she turned her attention to Seraphine, who was still standing frozen in place.

Cassandra leaned in close, her voice dropping to a gentle, quiet whisper.

"You’re still terrified of him, aren’t you?"