"What exactly are you trying to say, Alan?"
"I'm saying I'm not the only one from the aristocracy who wants to develop their power. There are others."
"You want me to train elites?" Andrew scoffed. "For what? So they don't get bored?"
He leaned back, shaking his head.
"Come on, Alan. I thought you were smarter than that."
A pause.
"You know exactly what happens next."
His voice dropped—colder now.
"They graduate. Settle into their cushy positions. Hire bodyguards. Live comfortably while others bleed for them."
"Sounds logical," I nodded—
—and immediately heard an irritated voice in my head.
Right on cue.
"But what if these elites actually want to change the system?" I pressed. "What if they want equal training in the academy? What if leadership was based on strength and experience—not money and status?"
I leaned forward.
"What if they want to fight alongside us?"
Andrew snorted.
"I'd say you've got a fever. Or someone's been feeding you fantasies."
"But what if—"
"Alan."
He cut me off.
Sharp.
"You're asking me to join a group of idealistic idiots?"
His eyes hardened.
"If I get caught training elites—or even suspected of conspiracy—I lose my head."
A beat.
"They walk away clean. Like they always do."
"If someone's been whispering fairy tales in your ear," he added quietly, "I suggest you wake up."
"I don't want to be burying your body in the Black Cemetery."
I frowned.
"The Black Cemetery?"
"It's where they dump executed specials," he said flatly.
No hesitation.
No emotion.
"A pit. They dig a hole and throw the body in."
A pause.
"Every academy has one. Every branch of administration."
A chill ran through me.
"…That's grim," I muttered. "But that's not the point."
I met his gaze.
"I still want you to think about it."
A breath.
"I'm joining them anyway."
Another.
"But I'd feel safer with you there."
"So you're not backing down?" he asked. "Even after hearing about the cemetery?"
"No."
He studied me for a moment.
Then exhaled.
"…Fine."
"I'll consider it," he said. "If they prove they're serious."
— Damn it, the link is—
The voice in my head cut off abruptly.
Silence.
"How are they supposed to prove that?" I asked.
"Let them fight me," Andrew said.
Simple.
Direct.
"I'm not asking for much. I just want to see them get their hands dirty."
His gaze sharpened.
"I won't use my power."
A faint smirk.
"But they can—if any of them actually know how."
"Thank you," I grinned.
"I haven't agreed to anything yet," he said, though his tone softened slightly as he ruffled my hair.
"Why can't you just live quietly for once?"
"Because I'm unlucky?" I laughed.
He shook his head.
Smiling.
Silius hadn't heard Andrew's conditions.
Which meant—
I had to tell him.
I stopped outside his office.
Raised my hand to knock—
—and froze.
Voices.
I wasn't going to eavesdrop.
I really wasn't.
But—
"I don't like this," Christina said. Her voice was tight.
"I'll do as I please," Clyde replied calmly.
"You could choose anyone. Why him?" she pressed. "I like that boy. I don't want him getting hurt."
"I'm not going to hurt him," Clyde said, irritation slipping through. "I need him."
A pause.
"We all do."
"This could take years," she sighed. "But that's not even the point. Clyde—stop playing games. He's a good person."
"What if I told you it's not a game?"
A beat of silence.
"Don't joke like that," she said quietly. "I've known you since childhood. You've never taken anyone seriously."
"Drop it," he said. "I'm tired of this conversation."
"Not today," she snapped. "Unless you want daily two-hour lectures, you'd better stop."
Footsteps.
I knocked immediately.
"Hey, Alan," Christina smiled. "Ignore this idiot—and if he ever does anything to you, come straight to me."
"Christina, you can go," Clyde said, already turning toward me.
The door shut.
"What did he say?"
"He'll think about it," I said. "But he has conditions."
"What conditions?" Clyde frowned.
"He wants each of you to fight him."
I held his gaze.
"Prove you're willing to get your hands dirty."
"I won't use his power," I added. "But you can."
"Perfect," Clyde nodded immediately. "That works."
A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face.
"I knew he wouldn't refuse you."
"When? Where?"
"We didn't decide yet. Maybe you should talk to him directly?"
"No."
Sharp.
"If I show up now, he'll back out."
A pause.
"We'll meet at the duel."
He grabbed a sheet of paper, scribbled something, folded it, and handed it to me.
"Tonight. Tell him we're ready."
I left without another word.
Opened the note.
Black Cemetery.
Execution Ground.
Yeah.
Lovely.
Classes resumed tomorrow.
And instead of sleeping—
I'd been walking through a dark grove for the past forty minutes.
At least Andrew was with me.
He was tense.
Every sound—every shift of branches—made him react.
I understood.
He didn't trust them.
But he trusted me.
And I prayed that wouldn't turn out to be a mistake.
We stepped into a clearing.
No lights.
Just a raised platform in the center.
Bare.
Cold.
Wrong.
"Take a good look, Alan," Andrew said quietly. "This is where specials who cross the administration—or the aristocracy—end up."
A pause.
"If things go wrong…"
His voice lowered.
"We might join them."
"No need to dramatize, Storik."
The voice came from the dark.
Calm.
Controlled.
Andrew frowned.
"What are you doing here, Silius?"
"You asked us to come."
Figures emerged from the shadows.
One by one.
I counted.
At least a dozen.
Some I recognized.
Others—
not at all.
None of them wore uniforms.
Neither did we.
Andrew shifted slightly.
Instinctively moving in front of me.
"Afraid, Storik?" Clyde smirked faintly. "Relax. I won't touch him."
A beat.
"That's not why we're here."
He stepped forward.
"Pick your first opponent."
"'Opponent'?" Andrew scoffed. "You're fighting too?"
But he relaxed.
Just a little.
"I asked Alan to talk to you," Clyde said evenly. "I'm offering cooperation."
"No masters."
"No servants."
"Just people with the same goal."
His gaze locked onto Andrew.
"So tell me, Storik…"
A pause.
"Will you join us?"