The door burst open with a loud slam that echoed through the chamber like a thunderclap.
The students froze mid-step, their blades paused mid-air, breaths held tight.
Even Nolan paused his movie halfway through a zombie headshot and turned toward the sudden noise with a raised brow.
A tall figure stepped into the room, wearing dark crimson robes with a bold golden trim, the unmistakable mark of a high-ranking instructor from the Outer Ring. His hair was styled too perfectly, his smile was too wide, and his footsteps too loud, almost deliberately disruptive.
"YO! Nolan, my man!" the newcomer called out, his voice booming through the quiet room, completely unbothered by the stunned silence. He waved with exaggerated gusto and strode in with the kind of confidence only someone truly obnoxious—or incredibly competent—could pull off.
Nolan groaned internally. Of course.
"Granfire," he muttered under his breath, already dreading what was to come.
