"Ryan Nether…" Pims said, her tone flat as stone. "Rank 387."

For a moment, I thought I misheard her.

Rank three hundred and eighty-seven?

I gripped the edge of my desk, forcing myself not to leap out of my chair like some lunatic who just won a lottery.

My mind raced anyway.

Three-eight-seven out of two thousand students.

That… wasn't bad. Not bad at all. Actually, screw that, this was great.

For someone like me, who didn't have an ability, didn't have a bloodline or bought technique, didn't have years of sword training or martial arts crammed down my throat from age five, this was basically top-tier.

And if I'm being honest, I expected worse. Much worse. I half-expected her to say, "Ryan Nether, rank one-thousand-and-something, please pack your bags and leave the academy through the trash chute."

But no. Rank 387. I wasn't Yara with her rank one smug silence, but still… this was the kind of result I could live with for now at least. Maybe even brag about if I wanted to.

Relief washed over me, and my shoulders loosened for the first time since stepping into this suffocating room.

****

The rank calling dragged on. Name after name after name. At some point, Pims stopped, lowering the tab with a clipped finality.

"That will be all. The remaining students may check their rank on the academy site, it has been posted publicly."

Her tone was colder now, distant, as if anyone below rank five hundred didn't deserve the effort of her breath.

And honestly? That's probably exactly what she thought.

Failures. Useless trash. That's the kind of language Instructor Gari had been using since day one, and the academy lived by it.

Didn't matter if you were the son of a billionaire, the heir of some corporate empire, or just some nobody scraping by.

In here, strength was halfly everything. Weakness got you ignored, or crushed.

The irony was almost funny. Some of those so called "trash" kids below five hundred were probably richer than few of the "worthy" people.

But rich didn't mean powerful here. And in this world, rich but weak got you eaten alive somehow.

I let out a long sigh, relief sinking deeper into me.

Thank the stars my name got called before that cut-off.

If Pims had stopped at one hundred? I'd have been instantly labeled useless trash.

At least this way, I was on the slightly less humiliating side of the line. 387 wasn't glory. But it was survival.

Gari's voice cut through the settling chatter. Calm. Heavy.

"So now that ranks are settled, I just noticed that some of you…" He paused, his lips twitching into the faintest grin. "…might need a seat change. Am I right?"

The class fell silent. No one dared answer, but the silence was enough. Everyone knew exactly what he meant.

Before the rankings, sitting arrangements were meaningless. Just random pairings, random faces beside you.

But now? That "random person" could suddenly be your rival.

Or worse, the one who stole the rank you thought belonged to you.

Gari leaned back slightly, scanning the room like a hawk.

"Let's take ten minutes. Move if you must."

Chairs scraped almost instantly. Desks shifted. Students moved across the room with the subtlety of stampeding rhinos.

I sat still, watching them, a crooked grin tugging at my lips.

Could they make it any less obvious?

The class reshuffled like puzzle pieces being forced into the wrong slots, rivals avoiding rivals, sycophants dragging their chairs closer to the higher-ranked students, hoping to leech some imagined status.

I didn't move. Not yet at least.

I glanced sideways at Yara.

She hadn't shifted an inch. Didn't even twitch.

For some reason, I expected her to move.

It made sense, didn't it? I had already annoyed her more times than I could count, managed to crush her pride more than once, and now she was literally the top of the class while I was… rank 387.

If you asked me, that was more than enough reason for her to pack up and sit somewhere else, far away from the useless trash by her side.

But she didn't. Yara sat still, her expression the same as always, flat, unreadable, as though emotions had been permanently erased from her face.

And that was the problem with her. You look at her and think, 'Oh, she's calm. She's collected. Maybe even nice if you catch her on a good day.'

Then you find out she has anger issues the size of a mountain and the patience of a landmine.

Yeah. That kind of person.

The boys in class were still sneaking glances at her when they thought she wasn't looking.

Admiration. Fear. A mix of both. I couldn't tell if it was because of her powerful family name or her terrifying personality. Probably both.

Me? I wanted no part of it. Sitting beside her felt like hugging a live grenade, waiting for the pin to slide out on its own.

Sooner or later, being near her would bring me more bad news, and I hated bad news.

With a sigh, I pushed myself up from my chair.

I figured I'd find another seat, maybe somewhere safer, somewhere without a predator breathing down my neck.

But the second I turned, a hand clamped around my wrist.

My head whipped back instinctively. It was Yara. Holding my hand. Like, what?

Her grip was firm, her fingers cold, her eyes locked on mine with a glare that could've killed me ten different ways if looks had the power.

I froze, because the aura radiating off her wasn't normal. It wasn't kind. It wasn't human. It was predatory.

"Are you perhaps... leaving?" she asked, voice flat but her eyes drilling holes into me.

"… Yes," I said, cautiously.

"You aren't," she replied, not even blinking.

"I am."

"You aren't going anywhere."

"I am already."

Her eyes narrowed.

"You aren't leaving anywhere. You are staying with me. Here."

Her sudden possessiveness hit me like cold water down my back.

My pulse jumped, and I nearly asked if she'd lost her mind.

A second ago, she couldn't care less about me, and now she was chaining me to her side like I was some kind of pet?

"Sit," she ordered.

I stared at her, deadpan.

Who exactly did she think she was to command me like that?

"I said, sit."

I didn't move. My pride wouldn't let me.

Her fingers tightened. Slowly. Deliberately. The pressure built until it felt like my bones were going to crack under her grip.

A sharp jolt of pain shot through my wrist, crawling up my arm.

I bit down on my lip and kept my face blank, but inside I was screaming.

She didn't even flinch at my glare. She wasn't bluffing. She was ready to break my wrist if I didn't obey.

And the truth was simple. Between her strength and mine, I didn't stand a chance.

So, yeah. I caved.

I sat back down, slumping into my chair, glaring at her the whole time like it would do something. Spoiler, it didn't.

She still hadn't released my hand. The grip had softened, but it lingered, like she was marking her territory, like I belonged there whether I liked it or not.

Finally, after a long moment, she let go.

I immediately pulled my hand back, rubbing the aching skin, trying to work the pain out. My glare snapped to her again.

"What do you want this time?" I asked, my voice low, half frustration, half genuine curiosity.

Because honestly, I had no idea anymore.

The moment I asked the question, Yara's glare snapped toward me like a blade being unsheathed.

I didn't flinch. At this point, her glare was becoming as common as the air I breathed.

Honestly, my curiosity weighed heavier than whatever intimidation she was trying to throw my way.

"… What makes you think you can leave," she said slowly, voice low and sharp, "when I haven't?"

I blinked, her words rolling around in my head for a moment before settling.

My gaze softened in disbelief.

"… Is that seriously the reason?" I asked.

She didn't answer. Just kept staring at me like a stone statue carved to look annoyed.

I dragged my hand up to my forehead, pressing my palm against it as a dull headache began to form.

Of course. Of course it had to be something like this.

So she stopped me… because she hadn't left yet. Meaning if she was glued here, I had to be glued here too.

"What did I do to deserve this…" I muttered under my breath. Then louder, without thinking, "But how is that my problem?"

Her jaw tightened, teeth gritting. Still no reply.

"You can leave all you want. I don't care," I said, trying to wave her off.

Her eyes narrowed, her voice cool and cutting.

"And you think I need your permission before I do so?"

That made me sit straighter.

"And do you think I need yours either?"

"Yes."

The confidence in that single word nearly knocked me off my chair.

I stared at her, stunned, before forcing myself back together.

"Then, if that's the case," I shot back, "you need my permission to leave too."

And that... did it.

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