SHAMAN PROTOCOL
Chapter 86: Forming the Worst Party in History

Chapter 86: Forming the Worst Party in History

Since this was the first year in a long time that the academy accepted so many students, the first-year students were divided into sections. Each section had fifty students in total.

Mikel had overheard complaints from other students, saying that fifty in one class was too much. But for him? Not really. Back in his old school, there were easily seventy—sometimes even eighty—students in a single classroom.

If there were fewer, how the hell would he nap?

Surprisingly, though, Mikel hadn’t been napping at this academy. Not that he was paying much attention either, but he was listening to the boring lessons. Still, he had to admit he was reaching the last straw of his patience.

After all, it had been a week, and he still hadn’t learned anything about shamanism.

Sure, they had subjects like Spirit Theory and History of Shamans, but they were both unbearably dull. Nothing like what he expected.

Mikel yawned, seated in the back near the window, lazily cupping his face. He glanced around at the students already inside, each minding their own business.

His eyes first landed on the old guy sitting in the front, because of his bad eyesight.

If I remember correctly, that grandpa is... a serial repeater.

Meaning: that old man, old enough to be Mikel’s grandfather, had been a first-year student for decades now. Mikel even mistook him for a professor on the first day. But no. Grandpa was a classmate.

If I have to study for decades as a first-year student, I’d just give up.

But despite that, no one picked on the old man. At least, not that Mikel had seen. Even the teachers were respectful to him—some of them were apparently his former classmates. It was so ridiculous that Doom glitched.

Tap, tap, tap.

Mikel’s brows twitched as the door slid open, revealing Ran frozen at the entrance.

Speak of the Red Devil, Mikel thought as Ran made his way toward the seat next to him.

The tapping sound wasn’t from him, though.

Mikel slowly shifted his gaze to the guy several desks ahead, who was now slumped over his desk, but whose fingers wouldn’t stop snapping. Mikel still had no idea why he kept snapping his fingers, but when one classmate voiced his irritation, the finger-snapper literally jumped onto his desk and started snapping right next to the poor kid’s ears.

Since then, Mikel had learned to endure the sound. After all, they shared a class in detention, too.

Then there was the deaf guy.

Mikel glanced toward him, seated right beside the entrance. The transmitter for his cochlear implant wasn’t even attached to the back of his head.

"Why’s he not wearing it again?" Mikel muttered.

Ran, just sitting down next to him, heard it, and followed Mikel’s line of sight.

"Ah," Ran whispered, "it’s because the dead whisper curses into his ears."

Mikel arched a brow. "Ah."

Ran just gave a small smile, huffing quietly as he pulled up his desk’s built-in storage. He didn’t like bringing a bag. Same for Mikel.

As Ran busied himself—either preparing for their first subject or distracting himself from his red stripe crisis—Mikel’s thoughts turned to the rest of their classmates.

This section—the last of the first-years—had the highest concentration of oddballs. Some were completely unhinged. A few were decent, maybe enough to carry the class’s honor, but the rest?

Then there were those.

Mikel’s thoughts trailed off as the door slid open with a loud whoosh.

"Good morning!"

"Good morning!"

The energetic voices made Mikel shift his eyes toward the entrance, his dismay plain on his face despite his best efforts to suppress it.

Two tiny heads, barely visible over the desk line, strolled in. As they reached the aisle where he and Ran sat, Mikel’s gaze followed them — over there.

Down.

Because there, approaching the desks in front of them, were two toddler twins.

"Good morning, Big Brother Mikey!" said the one with a round face and wide eyes.

The other grinned. "Good morning, Big Brother Mickey!"

Mikey. Mickey.

Damn it.

A vein popped on Mikel’s forehead. He ran a hand down his face, trying to ignore the nicknames that had apparently become so common now.

"Hehe. Good morning, Boom and Blitz," Ran greeted with a softened expression.

Boom and Blitz.

Those weren’t their real names. Everyone just gave up learning the real ones. Even the teachers called them that. The twins were about five years old, already first-years in the academy. Their pens looked like crayons, their seats were high chairs, and their bags were bright blue and sky blue.

Worst of all, they were seated in the back, right in front of Mikel’s desk.

Why?

Originally, they’d been assigned to the front. But they kept standing on their chairs or climbing down to eat chalk. Some students just watched them during class because they were cute. So, the teacher decided to relocate them — to Mikel’s horror.

Mikel closed his eyes and stretched his neck, enduring the symphony of finger-snapping and enthusiastic greetings.

He had endured worse. He’d survive this, too.

Soon, more classmates arrived, most chatting about their stripe colors. Some were thrilled. Others gave Ran curious glances. A few didn’t even try to hide their snickers, as if accusing him of cheating on the exam.

As usual, Ran kept his head down.

Mikel side-eyed him in silence. A few minutes later, the door slid open again.

Coming in was their homeroom teacher, Mister Nocty.

That wasn’t his real name—he just insisted they call him that because it "sounded cooler." He was short, slightly built, and wore the aura of a nervous librarian. Even when he spoke, he sounded uncertain, like every sentence was a gamble with reality.

Which only reinforced Mikel’s belief that they were the worst section.

From students to teachers, this class looked like it was made to repeat the year. Other sections weren’t like this. The headmaster probably just lumped all the weirdos together—like an academic asylum.

Mister Nocty stood in front of the class and cleared his throat. His fist, held to his mouth, trembled as he spoke with a fragile confidence.

"Class, I assume you’ve all seen which category you fall into," he said. "Now, I want you to form groups of five. Each group must include at least one red stripe. Our class has at least ten red stripes, so that should be enough."

He checked his watch. "You have thirty minutes before we begin our first group activity."

Immediately, students looked around. Some formed groups in seconds—they already had their friend circles.

Everyone rushed to grab the red stripe students. Naturally, this gave the Reds a chance to be picky. A few chose their own teammates.

Only one red stripe remained completely untouched — Ran.

He sat there quietly, shoulders drooping as everyone ignored him.

Why am I disappointed? he wondered. I may be a red stripe, but I can’t do the work.

"Ran," Mikel called, still cupping his face. "Can I join your group?"

[Master, having him on the front line is a terrible choice. He is bound to kill everyone he protects.]

I know. But I’m more familiar with him.

"Huh?!" Ran jolted, turning to Mikel and pointing to himself. He looked like someone just told him he passed a final exam in his sleep. "You—you want to join my group?!"

"Mhm. Unless you don’t want a white stripe on your team."

Ran almost choked, but the twins immediately lit up in front of him.

"Big Brother Ran, can we join you too?!" they asked in unison.

Ran laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. Mikel, on the other hand, was already reconsidering. The idea of teaming up with those kids...

But before he could back out, other groups began announcing:

"Mister Nocty, we’ve formed a group!"

"We’re done too!"

Mikel leaned forward, darting his eyes around the room.

But it was too late.

[You’re too late, Master. It seems they’ve all locked in.]

Damn it!

Mikel clenched his teeth as he looked at Ran, who was now smiling at the twins.

And then, the grandpa walked over.

Ran and the twins turned to look as the old man approached with a gentle smile.

"Kid, it seems your group’s still one member short," the old man said. "This might be my fiftieth first group... But maybe this one’s the lucky draw."

[System Notice: Emergency Protocol: Self-Termination Resistance Activated.]

[In case the host wants to hang himself.]

And just like that, Mikel’s group was formed: himself, Ran, Boom and Blitz (the twins), and the grandpa.

[A red-stripe panic machine, two sugar-gremlin toddlers, and a fossilized grandpa.]

[System Advisory: You have joined the worst party in recorded shamanic history.]