Scene 1 — Homeroom (TJ POV)
"TJ! We challenge you and your group to a school duel!"
The shout cut straight through my nap.
I lifted my head off my arms and found Megan standing in the doorway like she owned it. One of her friends held the door open behind her like they were making an entrance on purpose.
They were still mad.
Good.
I blinked once, then rested my chin on my hand.
"No," I said. "Anything else?"
Megan's face twitched.
"You don't get to just melt—"
"Shut it," I cut in, calm. "Or do you want to lose access forever?"
That got the room's attention faster than yelling ever would.
Megan froze.
I sat up fully and let my eyes sweep the class—third-years pretending to be focused on notebooks, pretending not to listen, pretending they didn't understand exactly what "access" meant.
The average students just looked confused.
The smart ones looked away.
"You of all people should know the rules, Megan," I said, keeping my voice even. "Not my fault you traded your extras away so you could keep people under your thumb."
Her jaw clenched.
"Anything else I can help you with," I continued, "that's open to the general student body?"
For a second she looked like she wanted to swing on me.
Then she did the only thing she could do in public.
"This is why everyone calls you bastards Demon Stars instead of Rising Stars," she snapped. "All of you are dicks!"
I chuckled.
Megan stormed off, her friend scrambling after her with the door still swinging.
Silence settled.
Then a new voice drifted in like it belonged there more than any of us.
"Is there any more kid drama I need to hear about today?"
Mr. Simon walked in like he'd just woken up five minutes ago and regretted it. Clipboard in hand. Half-lidded eyes. Shirt wrinkled like he'd slept in it.
He did his usual routine—one glance at the roster, one glance at the room, one lazy count of bodies like he was checking inventory.
Then he dropped into his chair.
"Nope," I said. "Just an idiot thinking she's supposed to be Class A instead of B."
A few heads turned.
A few eyes stayed on us longer than they should have.
My group was the only cluster in this homeroom that didn't flinch when people stared. We were the only third-years locked in Class A together, the only ones promised A-tier by fourth year if we stayed on track.
That didn't make us liked.
It made us targets.
I felt Thomas' aura rise a notch beside me, like a warning to anyone thinking too loudly.
Mr. Simon didn't even pretend to care.
"Good," he said, voice flat. "Let's all have a wonderful year of none of you breaking my mind again."
He flipped his clipboard over like he was done.
"TJ—Alexis," he added, already halfway standing. "You're in charge of passing out the curriculum to the first-years. If the second-years cause issues, handle it."
Then he yawned.
"Other than that, don't get yourselves killed. I'll see you next week."
And just like that, he walked out.
He'd wasted an hour of our time.
And still managed to make it feel like we owed him.
Thomas leaned over. "Sparring halls?"
I nodded once.
Alexis stood and motioned me toward the teacher office.
We walked together down the hall, carrying stacks of books like we were normal students in a normal academy.
We weren't.
"What did they take away this year for the first-years?" I asked.
Alexis didn't slow.
"I'm swapping out the outdated history block," she said. "Replacing it with copies from the Odin diaries—adventures, field notes, mistakes. Real thinking."
I raised an eyebrow.
She kept going, voice picking up speed like she'd been holding this in all summer.
"Tiffany printed the packets. I'm passing them out with the curriculum. Second-years got bought off with the monster autonomy compilation Dex put together."
She glanced at me.
"You've been sitting on a gold mine, you know that?"
I didn't answer, because she wasn't done.
"If we prove it works, my parents will push it in the Society," Alexis continued. "If midterms go well, it becomes official. So—yeah."
Her mouth tightened.
"Our reputations are riding on this. I don't want to be called a Demon for the rest of my life."
There it was.
The part she pretended wasn't a big deal.
Me and Thomas didn't care about being liked.
Alexis did. Not because she was weak—because she was isolated. She wanted a world where people looked at her and saw more than a Helstrong name and a cold face.
I bumped her shoulder as we stepped into the office.
"It'll work," I said. "Trust the notes."
She glanced at me like she wanted to argue.
I didn't let her.
"I'm using Javi to find the future Class A," I added. "If the first-years show promise, I'll give them personal notes. Chiron already approved spreading methods last year. This test is over before it starts."
Alexis exhaled, half annoyed, half relieved.
"Quit being such a worry lightbulb," I said, and kept walking.
Scene 2 — Sparring Halls (Javi POV)
"Javi," Thomas said, and his voice hit the room like a bell. "Why are you here instead of with TJ?"
I paused in the doorway.
The sparring hall smelled like sweat and chalk dust. The floor was scarred from years of practice, and the people training inside were the kind of students who treated pain like a hobby.
Thomas stood in the center of his little circle, shirt half-open, grin lazy like he'd been waiting for someone to hand him entertainment.
"I was heading back," I said, nodding toward the three second-years behind me.
They weren't subtle. They didn't even try.
"These idiots told me I have to accept a challenge," I continued, "because I'm the representative of the first-years."
Thomas' grin widened.
"I didn't even know TJ was in my building," I added. "They rushed me here. Probably on purpose."
One of the second-years scoffed like I'd offended him by speaking.
Thomas didn't look at them at first. He looked at me.
"Need help?" he asked, like he was offering a snack. "They're upperclassmen. Sometimes they forget what that actually means."
He finally turned his gaze toward them.
The room's temperature shifted. Not literally.
But the second-years felt it.
They straightened.
Some of the guys in Thomas' group stepped closer without being told.
I shook my head.
"No," I said. "Just point me somewhere big enough."
My eyes slid to one of the staff weapons resting near the wall.
"And let me borrow that."
Before Thomas could answer, one of his guys handed it to me immediately, like he wanted front row seats.
Thomas chuckled.
"Good," he said. "Follow me."
He started walking out like the decision was already made.
"We'll use the tunnels," Thomas added over his shoulder. "If they want to fight one of our representatives… they can do it where it matters."
His group moved with him automatically.
And the second-years—whether they liked it or not—followed.
Scene 3 — Under the Tree (TJ POV)
"TJ! We have an issue!"
I looked up from my notes under the tree and saw Megan sprinting across the grass like the academy was on fire.
I stood slowly.
"Megan," I said, sliding my notebook into my bag. "Let me guess. You had nothing to do with this one?"
She stopped in front of me, panting.
"No," she snapped. Then hesitated. "But… yes."
I stared until she kept going.
"It was Ren," Megan said. "They're mad at Javi. So they got some buddies—second-years—to go fight him."
My irritation sharpened into something colder.
Ren.
The weird one. Always talking in plurals. Always treating everything like a group mind problem instead of a person problem.
And now she was dragging second-years into first-year business.
I started walking.
"You know the rules," I said.
Megan flinched.
"She's banned for escalating," I continued. "Already. Either you cut her loose…"
Megan's throat bobbed.
"…or I ban the entire group."
She opened her mouth, then shut it.
Because she knew I wasn't bluffing.
Because losing a fight hurt.
But losing access meant starving your faction.
It meant being locked out of manuals, methods, trades, favors—everything that made Odin Academy survivable.
Megan nodded once, miserable.
Even she had to admit Ren took it too far.
Thomas would take guilt the same way he took homework: by ignoring it.
But this wasn't about guilt.
This was about containment.
I adjusted my bag strap.
"Move," I said. "Take me to the arena."
Megan turned without another word.
And I followed—already deciding how many problems I was willing to let exist at the same time.