"I'm not playing along with this," Marcus Holivan said coldly. "Whatever this trial is supposed to be, there are no restrictions in the rules about choosing a candidate."
"Yes," Blocking replied smoothly, "but the rules reflect how the hidden world actually functions."
A faint pause.
"And Alan does not fit that structure."
His gaze moved across the judges.
"Am I wrong? Would any of you call this fair?"
Silence.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
"Marcus… Mr. Blocking is right," Sandra said quietly. "This… this isn't normal. Alan is your son, and—"
"That special is not my son," Marcus cut in sharply. "Right now, he's nothing more than entertainment. Stay out of this—you're not even participating."
"Mr. Holivan."
The voice was calm.
Unhurried.
The old man in the ill-fitting gray suit.
"I believe your wife and Director Blocking are correct," he said. "This situation is… irregular. But the fact remains—he is your son."
A slight pause.
"That alone makes this unequal."
Another.
"Whether you intend to protect him… or destroy him… you cannot treat him as you would any other candidate."
Something shifted in the air.
Subtle—
but absolute.
Authority settled over the space.
Every word carried weight.
No one interrupted.
No one objected.
He wasn't just another aristocrat.
He stood above them.
All of them.
"…If even the Director of the Administration doubts my ability to follow the rules," Marcus said through clenched teeth, "then I have no choice."
A beat.
"I will select someone else."
His gaze shifted.
"Matthew Wauzer."
Director of the Administration.
I looked at the old man again.
Just moments ago, he had filled the space without effort.
Now—
he looked like nothing more than a tired old man.
"Oh, Marcus," the man chuckled softly, "you can call me Nathaniel. No need for formalities. You've only ever used them when you disagreed with me."
A faint smile.
"Some things don't change."
"My apologies," Marcus said stiffly. "I didn't expect you to interfere in something so… trivial."
"The event may be trivial," Nathaniel replied, "but the circumstances are not."
A pause.
"We'll discuss it later. Over tea."
He folded his hands.
"For now, let's not waste time."
"…Understood."
I had never heard Marcus speak like that.
"So," Samir said, clearing his throat, "Marcus Holivan has selected Matthew Wauzer of Gordinstrit Academy."
Matthew stepped forward.
We exchanged a brief glance.
Nothing needed to be said.
"Second pick," Marta continued. "Director Blocking?"
"I believe I'll also choose from Gordinstrit," Blocking said lightly. "The leader of the previous trials."
His eyes found mine.
Held.
"Alan Holivan."
My chest tightened.
I didn't know which was worse.
Marcus—
predictable.
Dangerous.
Or Blocking—
something else entirely.
Something I couldn't read.
I glanced at Clyde.
His gaze was fixed on Blocking—
burning with open hatred.
When he looked at me—
I stepped forward.
A silent apology.
I'm not breaking my promise.
I just don't have a choice.
"Candidates selected. Cameras assigned," Marta announced. "Dear viewers—you may follow all twelve streams, or focus on one. Each candidate has been assigned a number based on selection order."
She smiled brightly.
"We will resume in thirty minutes."
The red lights on the hovering cameras dimmed.
"Any objections?" Samir asked.
"Doesn't this go against the traditions of the hidden world?" Kristina spoke up. "We chose candidates to become our personal bodyguards. Today they serve others. Doesn't that contradict everything?"
"The candidates are being tested," Nathaniel said calmly, cutting in.
"This trial was designed by me."
A pause.
"And it will become permanent."
He looked across the group.
"Consider it from another angle. These twelve are the strongest."
Another pause.
"But strength alone is meaningless."
His voice remained calm.
Controlled.
"Obedience. The ability to follow orders without hesitation—that is the foundation of a special."
"They protect."
"We command."
"More like puppets and puppet masters," Clyde said flatly.
A flicker—
barely noticeable.
Nathaniel's gaze shifted to him.
"A personal bodyguard is meant to be a foundation. Stability. Trust. Letting others use them—even briefly—changes that. I won't allow my future bodyguard to serve someone else."
"Future," Nathaniel repeated. "That is the key word, Mr. Silius."
A pause.
"You are still a student. Your candidate has not taken the oath."
Another.
"He belongs to no one."
Silence.
"This trial allows you to see them as they truly are."
"Strength does not guarantee survival."
"Over the next twenty-four hours—you will decide who is worth keeping."
His gaze swept across everyone.
"And now… we proceed to the temporary oath."
We exchanged glances.
No one understood.
Not really.
We were led inside.
Lined up outside a room.
"Wauzer."
Matthew went in.
"Holivan."
I stepped inside.
The room was simple.
Another door on the far side—
closing behind Matthew.
A flash of gray fabric.
Gone.
Blocking sat in one chair.
Another waited across from him.
Between us—
Nathaniel.
"Sit."
I did.
"Your hand."
I placed it in his.
He turned it palm-up.
A flash of steel.
A scalpel.
A shallow cut.
Quick.
Precise.
Blood welled slowly.
Nathaniel extended his other hand.
Blocking placed his palm into it.
Then—
Nathaniel pressed his hand over mine.
Our palms met.
Blood between them.
His hands closed over ours.
Warmth surged through my arm.
Not gentle.
Not controlled.
Something binding.
"Say it."
"Twenty-four hours," I repeated.
The current stopped.
Nathaniel let go.
Blocking withdrew his hand, wiping the blood away with a white handkerchief before discarding it.
I looked down.
No cut.
No wound.
Nothing.
"Come," he said.
We stepped out through the opposite door.
"What was that?" I asked.
I had expected words.
A ritual.
Something formal.
"This?" Blocking smiled faintly. "The bodyguard's oath."
A pause.
"For the next twenty-four hours…"
His gaze lingered.
"…you belong to me."
A chill ran through me.
"As you wish… sir," I said, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.
He let out a quiet laugh.
Behind us, the camera lit up again.
Red.
Watching.
Always watching.
"The show begins," Blocking said, glancing at it. "Come. I have business in the city."
"…Understood."
I followed.
And for the first time—
I felt it clearly.
This wasn't a trial anymore.
This was a trap.
I just didn't know—
for what.