Monday morning arrived with a silence that felt deliberate.
Echelon Academy had changed overnight.
It had beco more rigid.
Not in structure, but in presence.
State security personnel lined the walkways in uniform formation, positioned at intervals like fixed points in a grid.
Their presence was not loud, not aggressive.
It was controlled. Observational. Watching.
Instructors moved among them, exchanging brief nods, clipped instructions, and confirming lists on handheld devices.
No one needed to be told the Trials had begun.
The buses were already waiting in the academy parking grounds—long, reinforced transport vehicles parked in perfect alignnt.
The engines were idle. Doors open. Empty interiors waiting to be filled.
Students gathered in waves.
Not talking much. Not laughing at all.
Only moving in practiced order.
The auditorium was full within minutes.
Rows upon rows of students filled the seats, uniforms crisp, expressions restrained.
Even the usual noise of youth was absent, as if the building itself had swallowed it.
The air felt compressed.
Still.
A silence so tight it felt like sothing could break it just by existing too loudly.
Professor Wakefield stepped onto the podium.
No introduction was needed.
The mont he raised his hand, the room settled even further.
Though it was already quiet enough that even breathing felt noticeable.
He began the briefing.
Class-vs-class matchups.
Trial procedures.
Transport rules.
Ergency protocols.
The students had heard versions of all this before—in earlier years, earlier evaluations, earlier cycles.
Yet none of them spoke. None of them looked away.
They listened anyway.
Because repetition did not make it less important.
It made it more real.
Professor Wakefield listed the rules.
"No unnecessary aggression."
"Engage only within assigned paraters."
"Once your opponent is down, you stop."
His gaze moved slowly across the auditorium filled with black-uniford students.
"If you are ordered to retreat, you retreat imdiately."
A pause.
"If you reach your limit and feel you can no longer continue, you report it to the supervisors."
Another pause.
"That is all."
A faint rustle moved through the seats as students absorbed the finality of it.
There was no encouragent. No inspiration.
Just structure.
Professor Wakefield lowered his notes slightly.
"Class pairings and brackets have been posted in your classrooms. Do well to check them before departure."
He stepped back.
A brief silence followed, as if the room itself was waiting for sothing else that had not yet been said.
Then he turned his head slightly.
"Mr. Wallace."
Mr. Wallace stepped forward from the side of the stage.
Unlike the instructors behind him, he did not look prepared for the ceremony.
He looked unusually stern. Like soone who had already seen too many outcos he did not approve of.
He stood at the podium for a mont without speaking.
The silence deepened.
Even the security personnel seed to grow stiffer.
Then Mr. Wallace spoke.
Only one sentence.
The most important rule.
"Do not kill anyone."
And that was it.
The hallways were flooded with students.
Doors opened and closed endlessly as crowds moved from classroom to classroom, searching for the freshly posted pairings and brackets.
Conversations overlapped.
Argunts broke out.
Speculation spread faster than facts.
Class 11-D was no different.
A small crowd had gathered around the board at the front of the classroom where a large chart had been pinned.
Soraya stood closest to it, arms folded as she carefully studied the contents.
The longer she looked, the deeper her frown beca.
"What?" soone from behind exclaid.
Soraya didn't answer imdiately.
Another student squeezed through the crowd and looked over her shoulder.
A second later, his face paled.
"Wait... what?"
More students pushed forward.
Questions quickly turned into alarm.
"Why are we against them?"
"That can't be right."
"There's no way."
The complaints multiplied as more of them read the chart.
Again and again, Class 11-D appeared beside higher-tier classes.
Senior-year classes.
Classes famous for having nurous high-ranked students.
And then there was Class 11-A.
The room erupted.
"This has never happened before."
A student jabbed a finger toward the chart.
"We're usually paired with other juniors."
"Or classes below us."
"Why are they putting us up against seniors?"
Another student laughed nervously.
"Do they want us to die or sothing?"
Nobody found the joke funny.
At the back of the crowd, Yesu stood on her toes.
She stared at the sea of heads blocking her view.
After a few seconds, she gave up and quietly returned to her seat to look out the window.
The complaints continued.
Questions flew from every direction.
Nobody had answers.
Eventually, all eyes turned toward Soraya.
As class prefect, she was expected to do sothing.
Soraya pinched the bridge of her nose.
The noise was becoming unbearable.
"Enough," she said.
Nobody listened.
She exhaled slowly and turned toward the door.
"I'll go speak with Miss Heaven."
The room imdiately quieted.
That seed reasonable.
Soraya took two steps.
Then stopped.
Soone was already standing at the door.
Miss Heaven.
Hands clasped behind her back. Red-rimd glasses resting on her nose.
She looked upon the class with open displeasure.
The room froze.
Several students imdiately returned to their seats.
Others straightened up as though caught committing a cri.
Miss Heaven's gaze swept across them.
"What," she asked flatly, "is all the noise about?"
Nobody volunteered.
Soraya took a deep breath and stepped forward.
She gestured toward the chart.
"It's the class pairings, Miss."
"What about them?"
"We've been repeatedly matched against higher-tier classes. Even senior-year classes."
A brief pause.
"So students are concerned."
Miss Heaven glanced at the chart.
Then back at the class.
Her expression did not change.
"It is for evaluation purposes."
Silence.
Several students stared at her, waiting for more.
It seed that was all she intended to say.
One student couldn't help himself.
"But—"
"If you believe being matched against stronger opponents is a death sentence," Miss Heaven interrupted coldly, "then perhaps you do not deserve to be here."
The words struck the room like a slap.
Nobody spoke.
Miss Heaven adjusted her glasses.
"Other students are already leaving." She stepped aside from the doorway. "Get out of my sight and board your buses."
Nobody argued.
They gathered themselves and departed.
Hearts and minds troubled.
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