You ever get that feeling something's off? Like that calm before the storm? That itchy sensation behind your neck that whispers: “You're being pyed.”

  Yeah. I had that feeling the entire st day of our suspension.

  Kael was too quiet.

  That meant one of two things: Either he was pnning to sell me to the military like a low-grade cattle mage, or he’d finally given up trying to fix me and had chosen strategic ignorance as his coping method.

  Turns out, it was worse.

  The Letter of DoomThat morning, I caught my father reading a letter at the kitchen table. His face was its usual “I command the elemental forces of creation” seriousness, but something in his eyes flickered.

  Suspicion levels: critical.

  He looked up, folded the paper carefully, and stood.

  "You're going back to the Academy tomorrow. Be ready by dawn."

  No fireball to the face. No threats. No lectures.

  Just that.

  Too simple.

  Too clean.

  Rielle, munching toast beside me, gave me a side-eye.

  "Did he just say dawn?"

  "He did," I said.

  "Is he... broken?"

  "No, he's scheming."

  And dear gods, he was.

  Return to the Crime SceneThe next morning, we arrived at the Academy gates just before sunrise—bodies dragging, minds still somewhere between “barely awake” and “eternally resentful.”

  Gram stumbled out of the carriage with a pillow still clutched in his arms. Eli had a potion fsk in one hand and a sharp stick in the other. I wasn’t going to ask.

  Rielle? She was suspiciously alert.

  Never trust morning people.

  We walked through the gates like heroes returning from exile.

  And that’s when I noticed something was wrong.

  Everyone was staring at us.

  Like, more than usual.

  Welcome to the Shark TankA staff member appeared with a clipboard, smiling with the glee of someone who absolutely knew we were in for a bad time.

  "Squad 7. Welcome back. You've been relocated."

  "Relocated?" I asked.

  "To Elite Division: Second Year Track."

  "...Excuse me?"

  "Your curriculum has been advanced due to your ‘exceptional’ performance in dungeon operations," she read mechanically. “Recognition granted by the Academy and endorsed by Her Highness, Princess Sylvaria Elion Wellstion.”

  I stared at her.

  “Say that again. Slower.”

  "You're now second-year elite students, effective immediately.”

  Behind me, Rielle blinked. “...What.”

  Gram dropped his pillow.

  Eli swore under her breath.

  The Hall of CondescensionWe were escorted through a wing of the academy I’d never seen before.

  High walls. Glowing runes. Students with the posture of people who either owned estates or had killed to take one. Their uniforms were slightly different—trimmed in silver and bck instead of gold. Their badges gleamed.

  As we passed, conversations stopped. Eyes turned.

  We might as well have had “fresh meat” written on our backs.

  “I feel like I’m in a lion pit,” Gram whispered.

  “They look like they drink dragon blood for breakfast,” Eli muttered.

  “Correction,” I sighed. “We are in a lion pit.”

  And then we entered our new cssroom.

  The Elite Css ExperienceIt was more of a small arena than a css.

  Wide, tiered seating. Spell-resistant walls. Projection glyphs overhead. Every desk had a built-in spell calibration crystal.

  And every student in that room?

  Older than us. Bigger than us.

  Smarter? Probably not. But I wasn’t about to test that theory while outnumbered and undercaffeinated.

  They all turned when we walked in.

  The silence was so heavy it could’ve been a spell.

  “Oh gods, the children are here,” someone muttered from the back.

  “Is this a prank?”

  “The first years? Really?”

  A tall swordsman with white hair and golden eyes leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

  “These are the dungeon heroes? I expected taller.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered. “I expected fewer trust-fund faces.”

  A few students snorted.

  One girl even smiled.

  Progress?

  The Princess’s ChainsBefore we could process the social death we’d just been gifted, a shadow passed through the door.

  An older student. Uniform perfectly pressed. Expression bnk.

  Ptinum blond hair. Violet eyes like an executioner who’d learned etiquette for fun.

  “Morning,” she said crisply. “I’m Cassandra Vaelwyn, Student Council Secretary.”

  “I already don’t like her,” I muttered to Gram.

  “I’m here on direct orders from Her Highness Princess Sylvaria Elion Wellstion.”

  And now I liked her even less.

  “You will be monitored as part of your promotion terms. Your progress, behavior, combat readiness, spell discipline, css decorum, and personal conduct will be reported daily to the council.”

  “Does that include how often I blink?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said without blinking.

  I flinched.

  Homeroom: Trial by FireOur new homeroom professor was a skeletal old man named Professor Altin, whose robes smelled faintly of sulfur and who introduced himself by listing the names of his former students that died in action.

  “Magic is not a toy,” he rasped. “It is a weapon, and most of you wield it like children swinging sticks.”

  He paused on us.

  “Let us see if these promoted mbs survive the wolves.”

  Rielle leaned toward me. “Is it too te to go back to first year?”

  “Yes,” I muttered. “They’ve probably already converted our old seats into firewood.”

  Advanced Csses, Advanced MadnessThe rest of the day was an exhausting blur of tailored nightmare schedules.

  Advanced Elemental Theory: Where spells were cast in sequences that resembled symphonies more than incantations. The teacher made me duel a senior who summoned a mini-blizzard. I countered with a fmethrower spell. We both got detention.

  Battle Tactics: We were given miniatures and real-time maps of war zones. Eli accidentally blew up the table trying to simute a raid.

  Spell Weaving: I tried to thread wind and fire into a fming cyclone. Accidentally lit Gram’s sleeve. He didn’t notice. Called it “warm.”

  Sword Combat (Mandatory): Rielle went feral and tried to challenge a Rank 3 senior. He accepted. She nearly took off his eyebrow. He’s still in the infirmary.

  Lunch: The Only RefugeWe huddled in the farthest corner of the mess hall, away from the glowing hair, expensive perfume, and duel invitations.

  “Okay,” Gram said, chewing bread. “This isn’t horrible. Just horrifying.”

  “I miss being a delinquent first year,” Eli sighed.

  Rielle looked unusually quiet. She kept gncing toward the windows, lost in thought.

  I nudged her. “You okay?”

  “...They don’t like us here.”

  “No one likes us anywhere,” I said. “But at least we’re consistent.”

  “I want to be strong,” she muttered. “I don’t want them to look down on us.”

  I watched her for a moment.

  For all her bravado, Rielle did care. About strength. About status. About being taken seriously.

  “I’ll stand behind you,” I said quietly. “Even when you throw me at the next monster.”

  She grinned a little. “As a meat shield?”

  “I’m versatile.”

  End of Day: Cassandra's Lovely SurveilnceBefore we could colpse, Cassandra reappeared.

  “Report.”

  “What report?” I asked.

  “Your daily activity summary. You have five minutes.”

  I stared.

  “You’re joking.”

  She handed me a mana-recording crystal.

  “This will monitor your tone. Be honest. Or the Council will be notified.”

  I took it.

  Held it.

  Then muttered:

  “Dear Student Council: Today I fought a blizzard mage, lit my best friend on fire, watched Rielle almost assassinate a noble, and resisted the urge to set this entire building abze.”

  Cassandra blinked.

  “Acceptable.”

  Then she walked away.

  Final Thoughts: We’re So ScrewedThat night, lying in the unfamiliar elite dorm beds, I stared at the ceiling.

  We were now second years.

  Elite section.

  Surrounded by prodigies, sociopaths, and the occasional literal war criminal.

  Under constant surveilnce by the royal family.

  Being tailored for something that felt a lot like a future they had in mind, not us.

  And worst of all?

  No one had told us in advance.

  Kael.

  You bastard.