Strangely enough, my advice actually worked—by Friday, Matthew had managed to feel his power.
"How the hell did you not tell me?" Robert snapped.
"You figured it out yourself," I waved him off.
By now, almost everyone in class was training with the suspended spheres.
Everyone except me.
"Holivan. Starting next week, I'm taking you on as my personal student. We'll move on to defensive techniques," Miror said at the end of the lesson.
"Teacher," one of my classmates I hadn't spoken to yet raised his hand, "if you take Holivan as your personal student, does that mean we won't have general classes with you anymore?"
"That's right. The rest of you will continue with one of my colleagues. You'll meet them on Monday."
Matthew had already been assigned a personal instructor for firearms. Robert's enthusiasm caught the attention of the mixed combat teacher. Alma didn't go unnoticed either—even before we'd had any classes in surveillance or intelligence work, her sociability had already reached the right ears. A tall, slender woman approached her during lunch.
By the end of the week, a lot of first-years had already managed to stand out.
Professor Wong made sure to point that out during the post-class assembly.
"You will now proceed to the general assembly on the first floor. Attendance is mandatory every Friday."
I let out a long, tired breath.
So much for collapsing into bed before training with Andrew.
We headed downstairs. Upper-year specials and elites were already gathering.
The elites stood just like us.
No special treatment.
They were lined up on the right, arranged by year in clean vertical rows. Fifth-years in front. First-years closer to the exit.
Among the specials, there were now seven rows. We stood near the door. Two students ahead of me—Sally right at the front.
A few minutes later, the director descended the stairs with her bodyguard—her deputy.
She scanned the rows.
Nodded.
"Fifth-year elite class."
"All present."
Down the line.
Then—
"First-year elite class."
"All present."
Then she turned to us.
"Eighth-year students."
"All present," Sally answered.
"Sixth-year."
"All present."
"Fifth-year."
"All present."
I noticed the fourth and third years were packed—easily over fifty people in each row.
Then it clicked.
The formation depended on the number of badges.
We had none.
So we'd just lined up however we could.
I stood somewhere in the middle, trying not to stand out.
"First-year students."
"All present," Robert answered loudly—again sounding like a damn soldier.
"Excellent. We'll proceed to the main part. Teachers."
There were more of them than I'd expected.
No wonder they could afford to take personal students and dump the rest of us on someone else.
"I would like to commend a second-year special student for an outstanding duel performance," a large man stepped forward. "Nick Volkin has mastered a concealed attack style. For that, he is awarded a badge."
A student stepped out.
I almost choked.
Nick.
The same one who'd confessed to me under Miror's influence.
One by one, teachers stepped forward—calling names, handing out rewards, issuing warnings, announcing personal students.
"I would like to announce my personal student: first-year special division, Alan Holivan."
Andrew.
I stepped forward—
And immediately stumbled.
Damn it.
I caught myself and kept going.
"Thank you for your trust, Teacher Storik. I won't let you down," I said, extending my hand like the others had.
"I would like to announce my personal student: first-year special division, Alan Holivan."
Miror.
I had barely made it back before stepping out again.
"Thank you for your trust, Teacher Miror. I won't let you down."
Same words.
Didn't even feel like mine anymore.
"I would also like to commend a first-year for exceptional progress in mastering power. Alan Holivan felt it on his very first day and has already grasped its flow."
Again.
I stepped forward.
Silence fell over the hall.
Not empty silence.
Heavy.
Pressing.
I could feel it—irritation, resentment, something darker.
Stella pinned a white badge onto my empty pennant.
And in that moment—
I wanted to cry.
There it was.
Official permission for everyone to beat the hell out of me in duels.
Matthew got one too—for hand-to-hand combat.
Then the director stepped forward again.
"Elite students. If anyone has something to say—step forward."
Theodore stepped out.
And a cold line of sweat ran down my spine.
"I request a mandatory psychological and mental evaluation of first-year special student Alan Holivan," he said. "I don't believe I need to explain why."
A pause.
The director nodded.
"Yes, Mr. Holivan. Your request is justified. It is granted. First-year Alan Holivan is to report to the academy's chief physician for evaluation. Anything else?"
"I would like it carried out immediately."
"Understood. We will proceed right after the assembly."
I stopped listening.
The noise in my head drowned everything out.
Too loud.
Too fast.
No.
No, no, no—
I tried so hard to avoid this.
I dragged Alan into the academy to escape it.
And they still found me.
There's no way out.
What are they going to do to me?
Don't panic.
Think.
Think.
Calm down, Anna.
"I would like to bestow a mark of favor."
Clyde.
Even the others reacted this time. A ripple went through the hall. Even the director faltered—for a second.
"To first-year Alan Holivan."
My head snapped up.
No one expected that.
Not them.
Not me.
My legs barely held as I stepped forward.
Clyde was already waiting near the director.
He pinned a gold badge onto my pennant.
Looked me straight in the eyes.
"I… don't know what I'm supposed to say," I blurted, heat rushing to my face.
"You say you're honored by my attention," he said quietly, "and that you'll do everything to meet my expectations."
I winced.
Just a little.
Only he saw it.
I repeated it.
Every word.
Then went back to my place—
and barely made it through the rest of the assembly standing upright.