The cafeteria didn't calm down after the announcement.
It escalated.
The moment the words next week settled into reality, the entire academy shifted into something sharper. Conversations didn't just resume — they accelerated. Tables that had already blurred across years now pulled even tighter together, voices overlapping with urgency, speculation, and just enough reckless confidence to make it dangerous.
Because now — it wasn't hypothetical.
The tournament was real.
And right in the middle of that rising chaos, Torres thrived.
He didn't just move through the energy. He amplified it.
"I'm telling you," he said, already dragging a chair across the floor again like he was establishing territory, "this is no longer a casual system. This is high-risk, high-reward, emotionally unstable betting infrastructure—"
"No one asked," Lucian said.
"That has never stopped me," Torres replied immediately.
He turned — eyes locking onto Little Bean.
And that was a mistake.
"…you."
Little Bean blinked. "…me?"
Torres stepped forward like he had just discovered something monumental. "Yes. You."
Before anyone could intervene, he grabbed Little Bean by the shoulder and pulled him slightly forward, turning him to face the rest of the table like he was presenting a case study.
"Listen carefully," Torres said, voice suddenly serious in a way that immediately made everyone suspicious.
"…because this matters."
Little Bean straightened instinctively. "…okay."
Torres placed a hand dramatically on his chest. "Since technically we share the same mentor—"
He gestured vaguely toward Kael.
"—you are now my younger brother."
A pause.
"And when we are gone—"
He pointed outward like he was addressing the entire academy.
"—you will be the one who continues my legacy."
Silence.
Not respectful silence. The kind of silence where everyone was waiting to see what went wrong first.
Little Bean didn't react immediately. He looked at Torres. Really looked at him.
Then his expression shifted. Not confused. Not overwhelmed. Serious.
"…I don't think I can do that."
Torres blinked. "…what?"
Little Bean shook his head slowly. "I don't think I can learn to talk like you."
That was not where anyone expected this to go.
Torres stared at him. "…that's not — what—"
Little Bean stuck his tongue out. Seriously. Measured. Like he was conducting an experiment.
"…my tongue isn't long enough."
The room froze.
Torres didn't move. "…what does your tongue have to do with anything?"
Little Bean pulled it back in. Looked at him. "To talk fast."
A beat.
"And do this."
Then he did it.
He mimicked Torres. Exactly.
The hand movements. The pacing. The exaggerated gestures. The way his shoulders moved just a little too much when he talked. Even the way his head tilted when he emphasized something.
"I'm telling you," Little Bean said, copying Torres' tone almost perfectly, "this is a high-risk, high-reward situation—"
He stopped. Looked at his own hands.
"…see?"
That was it.
The cafeteria broke. Completely.
Sylas was the first casualty. He had just taken a drink. A mistake.
The moment Little Bean finished that sentence, Sylas choked — hard — spitting his drink across the table as he doubled over, coughing and laughing at the same time.
"…NO—"
Lila slammed her hand against the table, laughing openly now, completely unrestrained. "That was perfect—"
Viktor turned away, one hand covering his face. "…that was too accurate."
Even Lucian — Lucian — looked away, shoulders tightening just slightly as he tried, and failed, to maintain composure.
Torres didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
"…I don't — sound like that."
"You do," Kael said immediately.
"I absolutely do not—"
"You do."
"I refuse—"
"You do," Ryven added.
That ended it.
Torres turned slowly. Looked at Ryven. "…you're supposed to be neutral."
"I am."
"…that didn't feel neutral."
"It was accurate."
Torres placed both hands on his head. "…this is betrayal."
Below, the laughter kept spreading. Not controlled. Not polite. Alive.
And above, the observation deck didn't survive either.
Commander Mercer had recovered earlier. Barely.
This finished him.
The moment Little Bean mimicked Torres — Mercer made a sound that shouldn't have come from a human being, somewhere between a laugh and a system failure, before falling backward in his chair hard enough that it tipped.
He hit the ground. Again.
"…I CAN'T—"
He rolled onto his side, clutching his stomach, shoulders shaking violently.
"…HE — HE GOT THE HANDS—"
Commander Tanya Vance didn't even look down this time. "You deserved that."
"I DID NOT—" Mercer gasped, immediately laughing again.
Above them, even the 3G's shifted.
Fleet Admiral Valecrest laughed openly now, not bothering to hide it. "…that kid's dangerous."
Grand Marshal Draeven didn't laugh. But there was the slightest shift at the corner of his mouth. Which, for him, was the equivalent.
Dr. Rho watched silently. "…he learns through replication," he said.
Kennison nodded once. "Fast."
A pause. "Too fast."
Below, Torres finally moved again.
He pointed at Little Bean. "…you."
Little Bean froze. "…yes?"
Torres walked closer. Slow. Measured.
"…you are not allowed to do that again."
"…okay."
A pause.
"…but I can still train, right?"
Torres stopped. Blinked.
"…yes."
"…okay."
That was enough.
Little Bean turned. And moved again. This time, without hesitation.
Behind him, Kael watched. Didn't interfere. Didn't correct. Because he didn't need to.
The foundation had been set. And it was already growing.
Around them, the cafeteria settled again — not back to what it was, but forward.
Because now, the lines were gone. And something else had taken their place.
Not rank. Not status. Understanding.
And for the first time, the academy didn't feel divided. It felt unified. Even if no one had planned it that way.
And somewhere in the middle of all that, Torres leaned back, exhaled slowly, and muttered, "…I created a monster."
Kael didn't look at him. "You did."
"…I regret nothing."
"You will."
"…I probably will."
And for once, Torres didn't argue.
Because for the first time, he wasn't entirely sure he was joking.