Lucas shot up from his bed like someone had set it on fire.
"NOT AGAIN."
He looked at the light coming through the window. Way too bright. The kind of bright that meant he was already late and had been late for several minutes while asleep and unaware of it. He grabbed his uniform off the chair, knocked the chair over, tripped on the chair, kept moving.
Three minutes later he was sprinting through the academy corridor with his collar half open and his hair doing something that could generously be called a style.
Students peeled out of his way. Some annoyed, some clearly entertained. One second-year shook his head like he'd seen this exact scene before, which he probably had.
"Hey guys, I'm here!" Lucas skidded to a stop in front of Nova and Gideon, slightly out of breath, hands on his knees.
Nova turned around with the expression of a man who had been waiting long enough to have opinions about it. "Lucas. What took you so long."
"I slept late. Couldn't fall asleep quickly last night so—"
"You said that yesterday," Gideon said.
"And the day before," Nova added.
"I know, I know. I'll do better next time—"
"THE NEXT TIME NEVER ARRIVES."
Both of them. At the same time. Perfectly synchronized, like they'd rehearsed it, like this was a performance they'd been building toward for weeks.
Lucas looked between them with a deeply tired expression.
'What kind of tag team did I end up with.'
The system flickered cheerfully.
[This is entertaining. Encourage them to shout more at this fool.]
His eye twitched. He said nothing.
Just then a small commotion nearby pulled all three of their attention sideways. A group of cadets were bowing slightly toward someone at the edge of the corridor, voices overlapping with gratitude.
"Thank you so much for your help, Sylvia!"
"Seriously, we wouldn't have gotten through that theory section without you."
Sylvia stood in the middle of it looking mildly uncomfortable with all the appreciation being pointed at her. "It's nothing," she said, in the tone of someone who means it and wants the conversation to end.
Nova watched this for a moment. Then he let out a low whistle and folded his arms. "You know... a few months ago we were all new here, nervous, didn't know anyone. And now look at her." He gestured vaguely in Sylvia's direction. "Top of the class. Best in combat. Best in theory. Helps everyone who asks. She's just..." He searched for the word. "Perfect. Like genuinely perfect. Studies, fighting, presence, all of it."
Gideon turned to look at him very slowly.
Nova kept watching Sylvia with a thoughtful, admiring expression, completely unaware.
"Nova," Gideon said.
"Hm?"
"You're staring."
"I'm observing."
"You're staring and smiling a little."
Nova's head snapped around. "I am NOT smiling—"
"You were."
"I was making a neutral observation about a classmate's academic performance—"
"Your face was doing something, Nova."
"My face was doing NOTHING—"
"You like her," Gideon said simply.
Nova went the color of a brick. "I- what- that's- why would you just say that out loud, we're in a corridor, people can HEAR—"
"Do you or don't you."
"I — she's — obviously she's — I mean look at her, anyone would—" Nova straightened up suddenly, crossed his arms, and adopted the expression of a man who has never been flustered in his life. "I admire her. As a fellow cadet and competitor. That's it. That's all this is."
"Mhm," Gideon said.
"Very convincing," Lucas said.
"Both of you stop it," Nova said through his teeth, ears still red.
Lucas had been half listening to this while watching Sylvia from a distance. After the forest last night, the way she'd stepped in without hesitating, the thunderbolt that had rearranged the landscape, the quiet walk back, he kept finding himself noticing things about her that he hadn't before.
Not just her strength. The way she stood in the middle of all that gratitude looking like she'd rather be somewhere quieter. The way she caught his eye for exactly one second as she turned to leave the group, and gave the smallest nod.
He looked away before it became something he had to think about.
"We should get to the hall before Starc shows up," he said.
"Finally something useful comes out of your mouth," Nova muttered, still recovering.
The three of them moved through the corridors and slid into their seats with maybe thirty seconds to spare. Lucas had just fixed his collar when Professor Starc walked in.
"Good morning." Starc's voice settled the room without effort. He smiled in that way he had — composed, like he was the only person in the building who wasn't in any kind of rush. "I hope everyone survived the midterms in reasonable condition." He clasped his hands behind his back and began his slow walk across the front of the hall. "Today I won't be running a standard class. I have an announcement."
The room shifted immediately. Whispers broke out and Starc let them run for exactly two seconds before continuing.
"The academy tournament will be commencing soon."
Then everyone started talking at once.
Starc raised a hand and the noise folded back on itself. "You'll be competing against other first-years as well as cadets from higher years. Second and third years. People who have been here longer, trained longer, and will not be going easy on you because you're newer."
Someone near the front raised their hand. "What does the tournament actually test?"
"Multiple rounds," Starc said. "Strategy and decision-making. Precision and control, whether that's elemental magic, pure mana work, or combat technique. And direct combat rounds. You against another cadet, full ability, no holding back." He paused. "This tournament is your final evaluation for the Final-terms."
A wave of shock hit the room like a physical thing.
"FINALS?"
"Written exams and theory scores will not be your primary measure anymore," Starc continued, cutting through the noise calmly.
"Your performance in the tournament will determine whether you advance to the next class. Exceptional results can push you ahead of schedule. Poor performance..." He let it hang for a second. "You may find yourself repeating the year."
The weight of that pressed down on every face in the room.
Starc was already moving toward the exit. "Registrations have begun," he added, almost casually, like it was a minor detail. "Apply soon. Don't waste time."
The door closed behind him. The hall erupted.
Lucas leaned back in his seat and stared at the ceiling.
Seniors. Experienced fighters. Multiple rounds. Final evaluation.
He thought about the spider from last night, the boar, the months of forest hunting in the dark while everyone else slept. He thought about Shadowfang sitting in both hands, the green trails following every swing, the numbers that had been climbing slowly and steadily one fight at a time.
A slow smirk came to his face.
'Hunting mana beasts every night was useful,' he thought, 'but this will level me up faster than any beast in that forest.'