There’s a moment in every poor bastard’s life when the brain just clicks and goes:“Right. I either start pretending I’m competent or my life goes straight into a fming ditch.”

  For me, that moment came with the arrival of the Midterm Announcement Scroll.

  And it had a very bold title:

  ACADEMY NOTICE: MIDTERM ASSESSMENT FOR ELITE DIVISIONFailure results in expulsion and reassignment to military or vocational sectors per Royal Mandate Section 7A.

  Now, if you're a noble or a battle-crazed lunatic with a personal tutor and six enchanted swords at your hip, this probably just meant some good old-fashioned flexing.

  But for me?

  It meant one thing:

  “Get serious or get shipped off to the frontlines—or worse, a wedding.”

  The Stakes of DoomLet me break this down for you.

  If I failed the midterm?

  Kael, in his infinite fatherly love, had already drafted paperwork to throw me into the Mage Corps.

  Rielle’s mom had picked out wedding rings because—according to her—“you two idiots clearly need structure.”

  Gram would lose his potion license-in-training and become a glorified herb-hunter with zero funding.

  Eli? Her military father had already sent a formal proposal to House Harven—aka, the arranged marriage she’s been running from since she was twelve.

  So yeah.

  This was no longer school.

  This was war.

  Operation: Pretend to Be Talented“Alright, listen up,” I announced one evening, standing over our dorm’s cluttered war table (okay, dining table).

  Rielle, Gram, and Eli looked up with various levels of dread in their eyes.

  “We need a pn.”

  “Do we though?” Gram asked. “We could just run away.”

  Eli nodded. “I hear the Northern Bordernds are warm this time of year.”

  “No,” I said, deadpan. “We’re going to act like the elite students they think we are.”

  Rielle raised an eyebrow. “...We’re pretending?”

  “Oh, I don’t need to pretend,” I said with mock pride. “I just need to finally study the attributes I’ve been ignoring since we got here.”

  Gram coughed. “Wait, you’ve just been winging it with fire and wind?”

  “Fire is fun. Wind is stylish. Water and Earth are boring.”

  “But necessary,” Eli chimed in, pointing at the curriculum scroll.

  Water for healing, defense, flow magic. Earth for shielding, reinforcement, environmental manipution.You know—grown-up stuff.

  Squad 7's Study Arc BeginsWe split duties like survivors splitting rations in a zombie apocalypse.

  Lucien's Elemental EnlightenmentI started waking up early.

  Yes. Me.

  Voluntarily.

  There was a Water Focus Room in the East Wing, which was a glorified freezing pool with mana threads humming through the walls. To connect with water, you had to sit in it, feel it, breathe through it.

  I froze my balls off.

  But you know what?

  It worked.

  Once I stopped focusing on brute force and started thinking like water—calm, deep, flowing—I found I could manipute moisture in the air. Condense it. Turn it into scalding mist. Cool steam. Needles of condensed water pressure.

  It wasn’t fshy, but it was surgical. Controlled.

  Earth was harder. Too dense. Too still.

  Until I stopped thinking of it as “rock” and started thinking of it as support—like bones to my fme.

  Once that clicked?

  Boom. Stone ptforms. Earth wall yers. Ground reinforcement under my feet when I unched wind leaps.

  “Congratutions,” my elemental instructor said dryly. “You’re no longer a firework.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’m now a volcano.”

  Rielle & Eli’s Sword BootcampRielle, ever the sword-addict, actually calmed down for once.

  With the pressure of expulsion and marriage, even she decided maybe learning actual sword forms instead of just “hit it until it dies” was worth her time.

  Under the brutal guidance of Instructor Theon—also known as “That Man With Dead Eyes and a Scar Across His Entire Back”—Rielle and Eli were put through sword hell.

  Day one?

  1,000 strikes.Day two?

  Bdes weighed down with mana weights.

  Day three?

  Blindfolded sparring in a maze of illusions.

  By day five, Rielle was quiet for the first time in recorded memory.

  “I think I saw god,” she whispered to me during lunch.

  “Did he have abs?” I asked.

  “...Maybe.”

  But she was improving. Her movements had rhythm now. Flow. Form. Even when Eli trash-talked her.

  “Nice swing, Rielle. You almost scratched my aura.”

  “Say that again and I’ll remove your aura with a boot.”

  Ah. Friendship.

  Gram’s Potion PrisonGram, meanwhile, had been leashed directly by the one instructor crazier than him: Instructor Helsha, a woman known for carrying vials that hissed, glowed, or giggled disturbingly.

  She had one rule:

  “Brew it big. Brew it fast. Brew it dangerous.”

  So Gram had an entire b now.

  But it wasn’t the fun “throw shit together and watch it explode” b. It was reguted. Efficient. Professional.

  Helsha wanted bulk potions for combat.

  Healing. Mana. Resistance.

  “Use monster parts. Learn what reacts. Brew like you’re fueling an army.”

  And gods help him, Gram loved it.

  He even wore a b coat now.

  It was always on fire, but it was still a b coat.

  The Weeks of Blood, Sweat, and TearsWe trained like possessed demons.

  Lucien the zy fire mage?

  Gone.

  Now I was cramming elemental theorems, scripting spell-weaving drills, and forging hybrid spells like “Earthen Fme Lash” and “Mist Veil Burn.”

  Rielle and Eli went from wild brawlers to disciplined killers who could duel circles around nobles.

  And Gram?

  His potions had bels now. Labels.

  He even started bottling combinations for squad use.

  “ManaPop” – recharges spells like a sugar rush from hell.

  “ThickSkin” – temporary stone-skin resistance.

  “OopsAllFire” – we’re not allowed to talk about that one anymore.

  The Night Before the TestThe library was quiet.

  The four of us sat around our table, too tired to talk, too wired to sleep.

  “...So,” I muttered, “if we fail tomorrow…”

  “We get expelled,” Rielle said.

  “Married,” I added.

  “Drafted,” Eli said.

  “Turned into a mushroom farmer,” Gram muttered.

  We sat in silence.

  Then we ughed.

  Because somehow, someway, we had become real students.

  Horrifying.

  Midterm. Day of Reckoning.We arrived in uniform. Hair combed. Faces neutral.

  Each of us was summoned for individual assessment.

  Magic, sword, potion, tactics. Every subject.

  The pressure? Immense.

  But we moved like we belonged.

  Lucien Wyrhart – showed elemental manipution in all four types, deployed hybrid spell, sustained active casting for ten minutes.

  Rielle Verden – fought a ranked instructor to a draw in duel simution. Passed with commendation.

  Eli Harven – demonstrated sword disruption techniques and field acrobatics. Ranked top 5 in css.

  Gram Fenrick – submitted field-ready bulk potions with self-calibrating alchemical codes. Labeled “dangerous but brilliant.”

  The ResultsA day ter, the results were posted.

  Squad 7.

  Passed.

  All of us.

  High marks. Scary remarks.

  “Wyrhart: Unstable, unorthodox, but devastating in application.”“Verden: Combat prodigy. Should not be allowed to duel students unsupervised.”“Harven: Gifted duelist. Needs emotional outlet before she breaks a limb on purpose.”“Fenrick: Chaos incarnate. But useful chaos.”

  We didn’t celebrate.

  Not really.

  We just exhaled.

  Final ThoughtsFor once, we were caught up. No death chases. No royal politics. No magical artifacts trying to bond with our souls.

  Just us.

  Trying.

  Fighting.

  Learning.

  Squad 7.

  The freaks, the weirdos, the almost-expelled failures.

  Now?

  We were survivors.