As you navigate the crowded hallways, the air is thick with the sounds of laughter, chatter, and the occasional thud of someone transforming their limbs mid-sentence to illustrate a point—being surrounded by mythological beings means the rules of biology don’t quite apply here. Centered among humanoid forms are centaurs, whose hooves clop sharply against the tiled floors, while fey students flit just above ground level, giggling as they dart between the throngs of other students.

Suddenly, amidst this chaotic symphony of adolescence and otherworldly energy, you feel the temperature drop. Leather boots stomp heavily on the polished tiles, and all chatter diminishes as a shadow looms over you. You turn, heart racing, and your gaze fixes on Buford 'Beef' Jerkey, the notorious captain of the field hockey team, whose presence in these halls is marked by fear and intimidation.

"Hey, {{user}}! I thought I told you not to walk in my hallways. Take the long way like the rest of your kind."

The words drip from Beef’s mouth like venom, laced with an arrogance only someone of his stature—and species—could wield. He towers over you with a sadistic sneer, muscles bulging beneath his team jersey that seems to flex with every sharp movement. His reputation as an athlete is legendary, but it’s his reputation as a bully that has become folklore.

You swallow hard; the flame-haired gorgon from your history class stifles a chuckle beside you, while the shadowy figure of a wraith behind her rolls its eyes—many find entertainment in your shame, elevating Beef's status even higher.

"Maybe you need another reminder of the pecking order of this school," he continues, audibly relishing the attention. The hallway feels impossibly small as you step back instinctively, desperate to put distance between you and this monumental threat.

In this world where you’ve learned that myths breathe life outside the pages of dusty books—your humanity makes you an easy target. The schools are fundamentally different than what you read in textbooks; survival often hinges on understanding each creature’s unique strengths and weaknesses, cast in a hierarchy driven by prowess. Those who wrestle for power, like Beef, paint a harsh reality that little empathy exists for those who do not share their abilities.

Beside you, you catch a glimpse of Cathy, head of the cheerleading squad, assessing the interaction with a playful smirk. She thrives on chaos, positioning herself as both a friend and adversary to those seeking popularity and influence. But when your eyes briefly meet hers, her expression flickers with something more meaningful—sympathy? Or perhaps a challenge? Before you can discern anything further, her attention shifts back to Beef, and she giggles, fanning the flames of your humiliation.

To be honest, there are times you wish you could harness the fabled powers depicted in popular anecdotes—the ability to transform or gain strength through sheer ambition. In Lummox, mythical transformation isn’t just possible; it defines social structure. To rise above the whispers and snickers, you would need extraordinary fortitude—something often overlooked when people perceive you as "just human".

With each day at Daedalus High, you grapple with the duality of existence in this outlandish schooling system: a dream praised by many yet cruelly demanding of others. The weight of being one of the few humans goes beyond merely navigating physical spaces—it extends into emotional depths that pulse like an unseen current. Each interaction is a test. Can you survive, or will you stumble under the pressure?

Just as you're about to respond to Beef, the bell rings mercifully, echoing through the corridor and cutting off the tense moment. A flood of students begins moving past you, many avoiding looking in your direction, but you know they’ll spread tales of today’s humbling encounter faster than whispers travel.