You ever had to guide people around a pce you barely understand yourself, while pretending you’re not actively pnning to throw yourself into the nearest magical explosion?

  Yeah. That was today.

  The Sarnhild Academy delegation arrived.

  Fifteen students dressed like they stepped straight out of a military parade and a fantasy fashion catalog—gold-trimmed uniforms, polished boots, and expressions so serious they could curdle milk. Behind them were three professors who looked like they graded papers with blood and smiled as a st resort.

  I was already sweating.

  “Oh look,” Rielle muttered beside me, “they brought the entire National Sword Team.”

  “Can I fake a stomach curse?” I whispered to Gram.

  He didn’t respond. He was too busy staring at a ptinum-haired girl wielding a nce like it was a natural extension of her soul. “I think I just fell in love.”

  “Good,” I said dryly. “You can die for her during the sparring matches.”

  We were standing in the open courtyard outside the main building—our so-called “Welcome Pavilion”—because apparently the school needed a stage for our public humiliation. Professors lined the steps, students filled the balconies, and decorative illusion spells danced around us like we were hosting the opening ceremony of a magical Olympics.

  Then came the kicker: the Princess herself stepped forward with her student council entourage, glittering like she owned the entire continent.

  Because she probably did.

  “To our esteemed guests from the Sarnhild Empire,” Princess Sylvaria said in that smooth, regal voice, “we welcome you to the Empire of Wellstion and the Grand Academy. May your stay here build friendships and forge stronger futures.”

  Polite appuse. I cpped. Very convincingly. Really.

  Then the assignments began.

  Each foreign student squad was paired with one of ours. Guess who got the final group—the one led by Leonhart von Dresner, the tall, perfect, dead-eyed Adonis of Sarnhild with the kind of stoic presence that made statues jealous?

  Yes. Us. Squad 7.

  “Because of course,” I muttered under my breath. “We don’t get the chill alchemy nerds. Noooo. We get Team Final Boss.”

  Leonhart walked up with his squad—three other prodigies, all clearly crafted in a b where sarcasm was outwed—and looked at us like we were half-feral beasts being granted parole.

  “Leonhart von Dresner,” he said, voice like cold steel. “It is... a pleasure.”

  He lied.

  “Lucien Wyrhart,” I responded, matching his formal tone but with the subtle energy of someone dying inside. “This is Rielle, Gram, and Eli. Welcome to our chaos circus.”

  He blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “She means we’re pleased to be your guides,” Eli cut in smoothly, elbowing me with enough force to realign my ribs.

  We were given a route: Academy tour, City tour, Dorm tour. Like they were our exchange siblings and not, you know, temporary friendly rivals with better hair.

  Touring: AKA Herding Cats with SwordsWe started with the Academy itself. I tried to stick to the script.

  “This is the Central Tower,” I expined, pointing at a building that, according to three separate history professors, was older than half the royal bloodlines. “It’s where we study advanced magical theory, elemental sciences, and where I routinely fail to make it on time.”

  Leonhart raised a brow. “You mock your own schedule?”

  “I mock everything. It’s how I cope.”

  His teammate—some tall girl with silver streaks in her hair and more medals than sense—whispered something to him in a nguage I didn’t know.

  I assumed it transted to: “Are you sure these are students?”

  Next was the potions b. That was Gram’s domain.

  “This is where we blow things up in the name of science,” Gram said, grinning as he threw open the doors. “I once made a potion that gave me wings. I hit the ceiling and passed out for three hours.”

  The Sarnhild students said nothing.

  Seriously. Nothing. Their faces could’ve been carved from marble.

  By the time we reached the Training Grounds, Rielle had given up on being polite and decided she’d just outwalk everyone by striding ahead like she owned the pce.

  “This is where we practice,” she said with zero enthusiasm. “You’ll be fighting here. Or being humiliated. Depends on the day.”

  Leonhart turned to me. “Are all your squad members so… casual?”

  “Casual is the polite word,” I replied. “The less polite word is ‘unhinged.’ But we’re effective, so the faculty hasn’t exiled us. Yet.”

  Dorm Tour and Culture ShockAt the dorms, Eli actually tried to soften the vibe.

  “These are the common rooms. Students mix here. Py games. Drink terrible tea. Argue over which fire spell is best.”

  The ptinum-haired girl—Ingrid, I think—finally spoke. “We train during downtime.”

  I smiled. “So do we. Rielle trains by threatening us until we agree to spar at swordpoint. Gram trains by drinking potions and seeing what happens. It’s very scientific.”

  She looked deeply disturbed.

  Good.

  The Real Match Lurks AheadAfter what felt like three years of social agony compressed into a few hours, we were finally dismissed to the upper courtyard, where the Princess and the Council members were waiting to give their final remarks.

  “Let this visit begin with camaraderie,” Sylvaria said, hands folded in that elegant, terrifying way. “And end with strength.”

  Oh yes. Because nothing says friendship like being told: Soon, you’ll be pummeling each other into magical mulch.

  I leaned to Rielle. “So. We’re the warm-up clowns before the real match.”

  She didn’t deny it.

  Leonhart nodded at us before turning with his team. “I hope your actions in battle match your words, Lucien.”

  I smiled sweetly. “I hope you’re as easy to burn as your patience.”

  He blinked.

  And I knew right then: this was going to be fun.