The cafeteria of the Triangle wasn't loud — it was alive.
Students moved in organized chaos, trays clattering, magic flickering, conversations overlapping in a dozen different tempos. But the actual noise wasn't what stood out.
It was the structure.
Class D students stayed in the far corner, glued together like prey animals.
Class C stayed closer to the center, nervous but proud.
Class B lounged confidently.
Class A sat at the top-center section — not separated by walls, but by fear.
Students didn't even look at our tables unless they had to.
I was halfway through my food when Lucas Væresberg slid his tray across from me.
"Thanks for saving a spot," he said casually, as if sitting with me wasn't the equivalent of a celebrity approaching a nobody.
Arlo Stanford plopped down next to him, grinning like he owned the place.
"Man, this is awkward," Arlo said between bites of eggs. "People keep looking over here. Feels like I'm getting judged."
"You're Class B sitting at a Class A table," Lucas replied calmly. "They're definitely judging you."
Arlo blinked. "Oh. True."
I took my time eating, letting the silence stretch — but Lucas wasn't the type to let things stay quiet.
He leaned forward.
"So, Dreyden… interesting score yesterday."
A few A-Class students nearby went quiet, pretending not to listen.
I raised an eyebrow. "Interesting how?"
"Most late arrivals land around 120k to 140k," he said. "You jumped straight past them."
"And past some early students too," Arlo added, casting a not-so-subtle glance toward a blond boy two tables away, who immediately looked away.
Lucas rested his chin on his hand.
"You're not just talented. You're hiding something."
This guy was too observant.
I didn't react. Didn't blink. Didn't take the bait.
"Everyone's hiding something," I said simply.
Lucas cracked a tiny smile.
"True enough."
Arlo laughed loudly. "Dude, you two talk like you're in a detective drama."
Before Lucas could respond, a tray slammed onto the table beside us.
A girl with white hair — Raisel Silvius — approached with the grace of someone who didn't need permission to walk anywhere. Her purple eyes scanned Lucas, then me.
She didn't sit.
Didn't smile.
Didn't acknowledge Arlo.
"Lucas," she said curtly. "Training later?"
"Sure," he replied. "After class."
She nodded once and left, ignoring me completely.
Arlo exhaled sharply. "Silvius family… man, she always looks like she wants to murder someone."
"She's not dangerous," Lucas said. "She's cautious."
"Same thing," Arlo muttered.
I finished the last of my food and stood.
Lucas glanced at me. "Training?"
"Later," I said.
He didn't push for more.
I walked out with my tray, the weight of dozens of eyes following me.
Not jealousy.
Not admiration.
Suspicion.
Late arrival.
High score.
Unknown background.
And worst of all — I wasn't a known family name.
In the Triangle, students weren't equal.
They were brands.
Products of families, clans, and bloodlines with power carved into their bones.
Stanford.
Silvius.
Dogers.
Væresberg.
And then… Stella.
My name carried the shadow of a clan that had erased me.
A clan that might realize I was alive.
I walked out of the cafeteria and into the halls, where students parted instinctively — not out of respect. Out of caution.
A student from Class C nodded at me meekly as I passed.
"Morning, sir."
Sir?
I wasn't used to that.
I didn't want to be used to that.
The class hierarchy made the Triangle feel less like a school and more like a kingdom — with Class A sitting on the throne and Class D bowing in the dirt.
Family mattered.
Talent mattered.
Strength mattered.
Everything else?
Disposable.
As I climbed the stairs toward class, I caught glimpses of students training in open rooms:
Magic blasting against reinforced walls
Wind slicing across targets
Fire erupting in controlled bursts
Everywhere I looked, competition burned.
Every student wanted one thing:
To survive long enough to graduate.
And if I wanted the same, I had to climb faster than Lucas, faster than Dhara, faster than the ones who didn't even exist in the original novel.
This world wasn't playing fair anymore.
Neither was I.