The next day, I woke up to three terrifying things:

  A trumpet bst from the courtyard.

  Rielle screaming about missing registration.

  Gram calmly sipping a potion beled "May Induce Tactical Genius or Explosive Ftulence."

  Ah, yes. The day of the Grand Inter-Academy Exchange Tournament.

  Because when you’ve just gotten used to being beled a potential national security hazard, it’s only natural your school throws you into a battlefield dressed as a sporting event.

  Two Tournaments. Double the Chaos.As we arrived in the main pza—now transformed into something that looked like a lovechild between a coliseum and a carnival—we were met by fgs, enchantments, illusion screens, and more cheering than I was emotionally equipped to process.

  And then came the announcement:

  “There will be two tournaments, dear students and honored guests!” the announcer boomed from atop the administration tower. “One Individual Combat Tournament—one-on-one duels to showcase your skills. And one Team Combat Tournament, where your squad cohesion will be tested!”

  Cue appuse.

  Cue internal screaming.

  “The Sarnhild students will participate in one tournament of their choosing. The Wellstion students, however…” A dramatic pause. “...will participate in both.”

  I swear, I heard the collective spirit of the entire student body die in that moment.

  Squad 7: The Mandatory Participants“Oh great,” I said. “Double the matches, double the trauma.”

  Rielle, unsurprisingly, was thrilled. “Good. Now we get to beat them twice.”

  Gram just muttered something about stress potions.

  Eli was already stretching, like she was preparing for a dance recital where the audience gets kicked in the face.

  And then came the matchups. Big boards with illusion ink lit up across the campus. Student names sparkled to life, brackets forming, and there, in the Individual Bracket, I saw it:

  Lucien Wyrhart vs. Albrecht Eisenhardt

  “Oh. Fantastic,” I sighed. “They gave me the one guy whose name sounds like a sentient warhammer.”

  Rielle snorted. “I got paired with a girl named Solveig. Sounds like she chews iron nails for breakfast.”

  “Same,” Eli added. “Except mine looks like she eats dragons.”

  “What about you, Gram?”

  “I... accidentally registered as a medic.”

  Of course he did.

  Carnival of Carnage... and Cotton CandyOutside the arena, it was festival central.

  Merchants had set up glowing stalls—selling everything from spell-enhancing food to hex-proof accessories. Some were clearly just here for profit. Others were from noble houses trying to show off.

  “Get your Mana Berry Bst—enhance your spells for thirty seconds or die trying!”

  “Enchanted grilled wyvern! Not actually wyvern!”

  “Pre-battle buffs! Discimer: May cause nosebleeds!”

  It was chaos. It was colorful. It was everything I hated before coffee.

  And Then Came the ParentsBecause yes, this wouldn’t be a nightmare without parental involvement.

  As we walked through the crowd toward the battle prep area, I spotted them:

  Kael Wyrhart, my ever-so-proud father, fnked by Rielle’s terrifying mother, Eli’s military father, and Gram’s cheerful but suspiciously alchemy-scented older brother.

  Behind them were a few dozen nobles and—oh, right—the Crown Prince.

  The guy who’s supposed to be the next ruler of this country.

  I froze. “Why is my dad walking with the Prince?”

  “He’s the Court Mage,” Gram reminded me.

  “Oh right,” I whispered. “Political bomb with a side of expectations.”

  The Prince—tall, composed, and blessed with the kind of jawline that probably had its own family crest—walked straight up to us.

  “So,” he said, eyeing us with the curiosity of a biologist studying rabid squirrels. “You’re the infamous Squad 7.”

  “We prefer ‘selectively problematic,’” I offered.

  He smiled. That kind of I'm judging you in 4D smile.

  Then, before I could dig my grave deeper, Princess Sylvaria appeared like a damn thundercp.

  “Brother,” she said sweetly, pcing herself directly between him and us, “my Squad is preparing for battle. You’ll forgive me if I keep them focused.”

  “Your squad?” he raised a brow.

  “I’m investing in their future,” she replied without blinking. “And perhaps the Empire’s.”

  I choked on my own saliva.

  The Pre-Battle Pressure CookerAfter the royals and parents went off to the fancy viewing balcony that looked down on us like we were gdiators in magical cospy, we were herded toward the back staging area.

  “Tomorrow’s the Individual Tournament,” Rielle said, cpping her hands together. “Time to prepare.”

  “You’re enjoying this too much,” I said.

  “I’m enjoying the idea of you being set on fire less than usual.”

  Gram took out another potion. “This one should give you the reflexes of a squirrel on caffeine.”

  “I don’t want to be a squirrel!”

  Eli was sharpening her bde while staring at the bracket.

  “You guys do realize if we beat these people in public, we’ll basically decre ourselves the unfiltered chaos of Wellstion, right?”

  I blinked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  Tomorrow, We Fight. Today, We Panic.As the sun dipped and illusion lights began to flicker around the arena, casting soft glows and battle repys from previous years in the sky above us, the air got heavier.

  Even I couldn’t sarcasm the tension away.

  Tomorrow, I’d step into the ring against an elite from another empire—someone trained since birth to be the best of their generation.

  And I’d do it while everyone watched.

  Parents. Professors. Nobles. Royals.

  And Sylvaria. Who hadn’t stopped smirking since the moment she arrived.

  No pressure, right?