"Yeah, he's... like that." Jinny realized two words too late that what she said was probably revealing. "I mean, I beat the shit out of some short mouthy kid and I [i]think[/i] he thought it was funny. It's hard to tell with the mask."

As the seconds stretched into minutes, and no teacher appeared in front of them, the lull over the class steadily transformed into a confused murmur. There was one tall student in the back who had taken the opportunity to rest, face down on the desk with their hood up. Students began to talk to their neighbors, conversations crossing the desk.

"Maybe class is canceled?"

"Maybe the teacher died."

"Oh, come on - on the first day?"

“It could happen! I heard there’s a secret fighting ring for the adults…”

“Well, [i]I[/i] heard there’s a club for bioweapons and explosives…”

A boy with what looked like feathers frowned, nudging the tall sleeping student at the desk beside them. “Hey. Hey!”

“Mmwha?” A muffled yawn and a bleary stare met him. She seemed annoyed. "What?"

“...Do you actually go here? You – you don’t go here, do you?”

All of a sudden, the “student” straightened up and smiled. That bleary gaze became razor sharp as she pulled the hood back and stared at the feathered student. 

“Hm. Not bad. Not bad at all.” She stood, unzipping the hoodie and standing up to reveal that she was indeed, not a student. As she strode to the front of the class, a hush followed. “Mr. Thorpe, right? What was the giveaway?”

The boy balked slightly, but went ahead. “Your pants are the wrong color. They’re gray, but. Um. Too light. They don’t match the uniform.”

“Sharp eye! Well done Mr. Thorpe. Treat yourself.” She reached into her pocket and tossed something across the room. Thorpe revealed a crisp $20 folded into a little crane, grinning as he tucked the money away. With that settled, her attention swept over the assembled class. “You all are about 2 minutes behind the quickest time, but I’ll chalk that up to being the last class of the day.”

She was very tall for a human woman wearing a crisp, ash gray suit and black shirt. Minimal makeup showed the gleam of health in her warm brown skin. Her dark dreadlocks were bound back in a neat ponytail, and there was something about her that exuded a professional ease.

“Good afternoon, class! Let's get started. Ian Fleming. Mata Hari. Benedict Arnold. Aldrich Ames. Virginia Hall. What do all of these names have in common?"

A hand shot up, and the woman pointed to the student. “They are all spies?”

"Yes, good. They're all spies. What else?"

Another hand, another indication. "They're all super famous?"

"Excellent! They are all well known names. Now, what does being famous mean for them?" A confused silence ensued. "No one? That's alright, you're here to learn. What fame means is that every single one of those people has utterly [b]failed[/b] as an agent of espionage."

Silence reigned as her statement drew the class' attention further.

"The work that spies do is highly lucrative and in highly demanded. If you are incredibly good at what you do, you can make an extremely comfortable living. But if you are seeking fame, excitement, and glory? If you want your name to go down into the annals of history?"

She seemed to stare down each student individually, pinning them with a cool gaze before continuing. 
 
"You are asking for disappointment, and you might as well leave now."

"End a dynasty? Save the planet? Nothing but silence awaits you. When you do your job properly, very few know of your success and even less praise you for it. If being a very rich, very transient, incredibly untrustworthy, isolated and ultimately, anonymous individual appeals to you? Welcome to Intro to Spying. You may call me Miss Queen – I have a lot to teach you."