I pushed off the weight rack, feeling the burn in my muscles as I stepped forward. The cool air of the training room caressed my sweat-damp skin, a welcome relief after the set I'd just completed.

Every eye in the room tracked me. Some curious, others wary, a few openly hostile. I could practically feel Raphael's glare burning into the back of my neck. The "Stray Dog" was on stage now, and I needed to play this role perfectly.

"Satori Nakano." My voice came out flat, deliberate. I scanned the faces around me, gauging their reactions. "Thermal Incision. I cut things, then I burn them. Simple but effective." I rolled my shoulders, allowing a hint of predatory confidence to leak through. "My goal is to build an empire from the ground up, using every resource at my disposal. And the thing I hate most?"

I let the silence stretch uncomfortably, feeling the weight of attention on me. Jacob shifted nervously in the corner. Isabelle's gaze sharpened with analytical interest. The twins exchanged glances.

"Being powerless."

Two words that contained the truth of both my lives. The System purred with approval in the back of my mind.

Braxton held my gaze for a long moment. Something passed between us. Recognition, maybe. The look of one predator acknowledging another across a crowded savanna. His tired eyes seemed to see through my carefully constructed facade, probing for the monster beneath.

Then he snorted and stood up, stretching his lanky frame. His joints popped audibly in the silence. "Alright. Now that the therapy session is over, let's talk about why you're all going to fail."

That got everyone's attention. Juan, who'd been half-asleep against the wall, actually opened both eyes. Even Jaime stopped flexing long enough to listen.

"See, here's the thing about Onyx," Braxton continued, wandering over to lean against the wall. His fingers drummed against his coffee mug, a nervous habit betraying his casual posture. "Every year, we usually get the rejects. The problem cases. The kids with big Aspects and bigger attitude problems. Kids who couldn't make the cut anywhere else, or pissed off the wrong people." He paused, taking a slow sip of what smelled like the world's worst coffee. "You know what our track record is?"

He waited, his expression challenging us to guess. No one spoke. I could see the calculations running behind his eyes—he was setting us up for something.

"Dead last. Every. Single. Year. We've placed fifth in the Guild Rankings for the past decade. Our graduates have the lowest first-year survival rate in Gates. Half of you won't make it to second year. The numbers don't lie."

Raphael bristled visibly, his hands clenching into fists as his face flushed with anger. "That's because they were weak. We're different."

"Maybe." Braxton took another sip of his terrible coffee, grimacing slightly at the taste. "Or maybe it's because kids like you think being strong means you don't need a plan. That power is a substitute for tactics. That your Aspect makes you special enough to break the rules that have killed better Hunters than you'll ever be."

His eyes swept across us, lingering on each face. When he looked at me, I felt like he was cataloging every weakness, every potential pressure point. For a man who projected such lazy indifference, his gaze was unnervingly sharp.

"Spoiler alert. It doesn't. Every single one of you could die in a D-Rank Gate if you're stupid enough. Your Aspects? They're tools. Expensive, flashy tools that'll get you killed the second you start thinking they make you invincible. The graveyards are full of A-Rank potentials who never lived long enough to realize it."

Isabelle's expression had shifted from polite disinterest to something like genuine curiosity. She straightened her perfect posture even further, her wine-red eyes calculating. "Then what separates those who survive from those who don't, Professor Miller?"

"Not a professor. Just Miller." He scratched his jaw. "And the answer? Knowing when to fold. Recognizing a bad beat before you go all in. Understanding that sometimes the right move is to cut your losses and run like hell."

Spoken like a man who's been on the wrong end of too many close calls.

"You're saying we should run from fights?" Hikari asked, her expression genuinely confused.

"I'm saying you should pick your fights. There's a difference between bravery and stupidity. Bravery is facing a threat you can handle to protect something that matters. Stupidity is charging an S-Rank spawn because you think your C-Rank Aspect makes you special."

He pushed off the wall.

"So here's how this is going to work. I'm going to train you lot to not die horribly. That's it. That's my entire job description. If you want someone to hold your hand and tell you you're destined for greatness, you should have gone to Argent. If you want to actually survive long enough to become great, you stay here and you do exactly what I say."

Braxton's eyes found mine again.

"That includes you, viral boy. I don't care if you ranked first. I don't care if you made Julian Valerius cry at a fancy party. Down here, in the dirt where it matters, you're just another kid who hasn't died yet. Understood?"

I met his stare and didn't flinch.

"Understood."

"Good." He drained the last of his coffee and tossed the cup toward a nearby trash can. It bounced off the rim and clattered to the floor. He didn't pick it up. "Now. First lesson. Survival starts with knowing your teammates' capabilities. Not their stats. Not their rankings. Their actual, real-world limitations."

Braxton gestured to the training mats.

"Pair up. I want to see what you can actually do when someone's trying to cave your face in. No holding back. No crying when someone gets a bloody nose. This isn't a demonstration—it's a fight. You've got five seconds to pick a partner before I do it for you, and trust me, you don't want me deciding who gets to kick your ass."

Chaos erupted.

Raphael immediately locked eyes with me. "Nakano. You and me. Right now."

Of course.

"No." Braxton's voice wasn't loud, but it flattened the rising noise into silence. "Vargas, you're with the lazy kid." He pointed at Juan, who groaned without opening his eyes. "Maybe he'll teach you what conservation of energy looks like."

"What the hell—"

"Did I stutter? Move."

Raphael looked ready to commit murder, but he stalked toward Juan's corner.

Braxton's tired eyes scanned the rest of us. "Twin one, you're with the shadow kid. Twin two, you're with the force pusher. Bodyguard girl, you're with the healer. Anxious kid, you're with the illusionist."

Jacob looked like he might faint.

"Philosophy girl, you're with the fox. Should be interesting. And Nakano—"

I waited.

"You get me."

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