Dominic Vale tapped the hologram, scrolling through the list of nas with exaggerated concentration. The classroom felt like a lottery drawing—everyone holding their breath, waiting to see if today would make or break them.
"Before I assign your teams," Vale said, "let explain how this works. This first-year class is fifty students per house. If we put you in squads of five, how many squads will there be total across all houses?"
His eyes scanned the room. Several hands shot up.
"Yes, you with the red hair! Stand up when you answer."
Blair Davenport rose from her seat, her custom-tailored uniform sohow looking more expensive than everyone else’s. Her short red hair caught the morning light streaming through the windows. Every movent radiated aristocratic precision.
"There are ten squads per house," she answered, voice crisp and confident. "Fifty squads total across all five houses."
Vale smiled. "Correct! And for the first sester, you’re not just competing against your fellow Obsidian classmates. You’re going against every other first-year on the leaderboard."
A hand shot up from the back row.
"Can we switch teams if we don’t like our assignnts?" asked a boy with slicked-back blonde hair.
Vale’s laugh filled the room. "No, you cannot move teams for the first sester. However, if your team finishes in the top five by winter, you can trade one of your players for soone from a team not in the top five... or decide to stay put." His mismatched eyes glead. "Think of it as a reward for success and incentive not to murder your annoying teammates."
My stomach tightened. Team assignnts ant I couldn’t just focus on my own survival anymore. Four other people would be tied to my performance.
"Now, let’s get these teams sorted!" Vale clicked the remote again, and the hologram rearranged itself into a grid of nas.
I scanned for my na, finally spotting it in Squad 8:
SQUAD 8:
Monroe, Jace
Wayne, Jordan
Love, Naomi
Fox, Belle
Aya, Misato
Holy shit. Lady luck was bending over backward for .
I’d scored Naomi—my actual romantic partner who I’d already extracted from. Belle—who I’d been building rapport with since day one. Jordan—the laid-back genius who’d rather nap than cause drama. And Misato Aya—Blair Davenport’s right-hand woman and personal assistant.
Speaking of Blair, I glanced over at the red-haired heiress. Her normally pale face had flushed crimson as she stared at the board. Her squad assignnt glowed mockingly:
SQUAD 3:
Davenport, Blair
Pope, Dante
ndoza, Javier
Tanaka, Hikaru
Leone, Charles
A nightmare cocktail. Javier ndoza—the earnest protagonist whose life I was steadily hijacking. Hikaru—my secretly-female roommate who hated all n. Dante Pope—a na I vaguely recalled from the story as soone with significant insecurities. And Charles Leone—the walking, talking embodint of male privilege.
Blair stood up so quickly her chair scraped against the floor.
"This is unacceptable." Her voice cut through the murmurs. "Misato belongs on my team. Switch her with this lottery loser." She jabbed a finger toward Javier, who sank lower in his seat, face burning.
Vale’s smile widened. "No."
Just that. One word. No explanation, no justification.
Blair’s perfect composure cracked. "Do you know who I am?"
"Blair Davenport, first-year student, currently worth exactly zero points on the evaluation board." Vale’s voice remained light, but the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. "Sa as everyone else here."
"My father—"
"Isn’t in this classroom." Vale cut her off. "When you’re ranked number one, you can make demands. Until then, you follow the system like everyone else."
The silence that followed was beautiful in its absolute totality. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Blair stood frozen, her blue eyes wide with shock that soone had actually told her no.
Vale glanced at his watch. "You have fifteen minutes to find your teams, choose a na, and register it. Starting now."
The room erupted into chaos as students scrambled to find their assigned teammates.
"Well," Jordan said beside , not bothering to stand up. "This just got interesting."
Belle was already on her phone, typing furiously. "I’m texting Misato to co over here. She’s on the other side of the room."
"Wait," Naomi looked at with genuine concern. "Isn’t Misato Blair’s... person? Won’t that be awkward?"
I shrugged. "Probably. But awkward is better than being on Blair’s team."
"Truth," Jordan muttered.
A minute later, Misato Aya approached our cluster of seats, her li green hair impossible to miss. Up close, she was even more striking—athletic build, sharp features, golden-brown eyes that assessed each of us with naked suspicion. Her uniform fit her curves well and she moved with the confidence of soone who knew exactly how dangerous she was.
"So," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "This is my team?"
Belle waved. "Hey, Misato. Welco to..." she glanced at us, "whatever we’re called."
"We need a na," Jordan said, still not standing.
"Sothing intimidating," Belle suggested. "To make up for..." she waved vaguely at and Jordan.
"Hey!" I protested.
Misato’s eyes narrowed. "Blair is furious."
"Not our fault," I pointed out.
"I know," Misato surprised by agreeing. "Vale’s assignnts are deliberate. He’s separating us to test how we function independently."
Jordan finally sat up. "Or he’s just an asshole who enjoys chaos."
Misato’s lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile.
"That too."
Naomi, who’d been quiet, suddenly spoke up. "What about Phoenix Squad?"
We all turned to look at her.
"You know, because we’re all kind of... starting over here? New beginnings?"
Belle made a face. "Too soft."
"Sleeping Giants," Jordan suggested.
"You just want an excuse to nap," Belle shot back.
"Obsidian Shadows," Misato offered.
"Sounds like a tal band," I said.
Belle snapped her fingers. "Midnight Foxes."
"Just because your na is Fox—" Jordan started.
"It’s perfect," Misato cut in. "Foxes are cunning. We work in shadow. We strike when others sleep."
I stared at her, surprised by the sudden intensity. "You really thought that through in two seconds."
Misato shrugged. "I’m efficient."
"Midnight Foxes it is," Jordan declared, clearly wanting to end the discussion.
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