"I told you—I want his support."
"He won't work for an aristocrat," I said, shaking my head. I was certain of it.
"I'm not asking for obedience," Clyde replied. "I'm asking for cooperation, Alan. And I'm sure he'll listen to you."
"I doubt that," I said. "What makes you so confident?"
"The fact that Storik has been getting on my nerves lately," Clyde said, irritation slipping into his voice.
"And?" I frowned. "What does that even mean?"
"It doesn't matter." He waved it off. "I just know that if there's anyone he'd listen to—it's you."
He stepped closer.
"Alan, if I want to change anything in this rotten system, I need allies among the specials. People like Storik. Strong. Disillusioned."
His gaze sharpened.
"And right now—you're the thread connecting two parallel worlds. You're the bridge, Holivan."
"You're seriously overestimating me," I said. "What kind of bridge? I'm dead weight hanging in the middle, annoying everyone."
"For now—maybe," he said. "But that can change."
His voice lowered.
"You can earn respect among the specials. I'll make sure the elites recognize you as well."
A pause.
"We could work well together. Not as elite and special. Not as master and servant."
His eyes locked onto mine.
"As equals."
"That's what you want from Storik?"
"Partnership."
I studied him.
"Tell me something, Clyde… what are you actually trying to achieve?"
I leaned forward slightly.
"And more importantly—why?"
"You're already at the top of the elite."
"I told you," he said, his jaw tightening. "I hate this system."
There it was.
Real emotion.
Sharp enough to make my skin prickle.
"I hate the way factions toy with people's lives."
"What happened?" I asked quietly. "Why do you hate something you're part of?"
"And why did you refuse to remain part of the elite?" he shot back immediately. "You have your reasons. I have mine."
A beat.
"That's not the point."
He moved again—closer.
"I want equality."
Each word landed heavier.
"I want elite users of power to go through real training."
"I want the most talented specials to stop wasting their lives boosting aristocrats."
His voice hardened.
"The best are always taken by the nobility—leaving scraps behind."
His eyes darkened.
"If that weren't the case—we wouldn't be dancing to the demons' tune."
A pause.
"We could fight back."
I didn't answer.
I just looked at him.
I hadn't expected this.
Not from him.
Not from someone like Silius.
"…Alright," I said at last. "I'll try to convince Andrew."
"Good."
He straightened.
"I want to be present during your conversation."
I stood.
Stepped closer.
The moment his hands came up—
I reacted first.
Forehead to forehead.
Counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
And pulled away.
He huffed softly.
Almost amused.
Then grabbed me.
And kissed me.
Hard.
Too hard.
I froze.
"Hey—stop!" I gasped, shoving him back. "Enough with your games! You don't need that for the link!"
"I've gotten used to it," he said calmly. "Think of it as my ritual."
"Then find someone else," I snapped, already turning toward the door, heat burning across my face.
"I like performing it with you," his voice slipped into my head. "I can't resist that annoyed look of yours… or the way your lips part for me."
"Shut up!" I snapped—out loud and mentally.
"Even without seeing you, I can tell," he continued lazily, "you're pouting. And blushing."
Damn it.
I forced my jaw to relax.
He was right.
I met Andrew behind the dorms.
A small recreation area—benches, tables, a worn basketball court, rows of targets.
Empty.
No one came here in winter.
"Hey!" I smiled, sitting across from him. "Is that for me?"
I reached for the steaming black coffee.
"Thanks."
"So," Andrew said, watching me closely, "how were your holidays? Nothing happened?"
"Taisha worked me like I'd personally offended her, Silius kept throwing errands at me, and I finally started figuring out my combat ability… even if I still suck at actually using it."
"And rest?" he frowned. "Alan… did you rest at all?"
"Only on New Year's," I admitted. "Didn't even make it into the city again."
"That's for the best," he said, expression darkening. "I checked the area. It's still not safe for you."
"What about you?"
He grinned.
"Got drunk with friends. Got into a fight. Spent three days in a holding cell."
I laughed.
"Andrew! You're a teacher!"
"In my defense," he shrugged, "those friends are regular people. They think I make a living hacking and robbing people. I had to maintain the image."
"You might've overdone it with the police."
"Not my fault. I committed to the role."
I smiled—
then grew serious.
"Andrew… how much longer do you have on your mandatory service?"
"Less than three years. Why?"
"So you've been out of the academy for seven years…"
I blinked.
"You were what—eighteen?"
"Seventeen," he corrected. "I'm twenty-four now."
"And you entered at sixteen?"
"Yeah."
"So you graduated in one year?" I let out a low whistle. "That's insane."
He shrugged.
"At first, I didn't even plan to finish. Thought I'd drag it out—stay a student forever."
A faint smirk.
"But Director Gordinstreet offered me a position. Teaching people like me."
He leaned back.
"I like it here. The director protects us from outside politics."
A pause.
"This place… it's its own world."
"You never wanted to change anything?" I asked carefully.
He huffed.
"Maybe when I was your age."
His voice softened slightly.
"I realized pretty fast I wasn't capable of anything beyond hiding behind the director and pretending I had freedom."
He looked away.
"At least here… I get to choose who I protect."
I took a breath.
"And if I told you… it might be possible?"
I met his eyes.
"Would you help?"
Andrew frowned.
And looked at me—really looked.