"I wasn't expecting any favors anyway," Robert said tiredly as we headed to the showers.
"I wouldn't call canceling training a favor. We've got to be in class in an hour. Probably another briefing. The exhibition fights start the day after tomorrow."
"Yeah… fair," he muttered. "They've been running us into the ground all month. Even I thought I was going to die. How the hell did you survive all that with your scrawny body?"
"My body's tougher than it looks," I snapped.
That hit a nerve.
It always did.
It genuinely bothered me.
I'd even gone to the doctor to check if something was wrong—because how else do you explain training like a maniac and still not gaining any muscle?
Nine months.
Nine.
And all I got was a faint hint of abs in the first few weeks.
After that—nothing.
"Holivan, your body is perfectly fine," Samantha had concluded.
"Coming from the academy's best doctor?" I shot back.
"The best doctor in the district—and one of the top three in the country," Clyde corrected lazily from the examination couch.
"It happens," Samantha said calmly. "You're completely healthy. Just because your body doesn't change visibly doesn't mean it isn't getting stronger."
When we entered the assigned classroom, two other candidates were already there.
Just the four of us.
No one else.
"So this is just for the elite's pet candidates?" Robert asked.
"Cut it out. That sounds pathetic," I frowned.
"But it's true," he shrugged. "That's all we are to them—pets for aristocrats."
"What matters is that you know it's not true."
"I'm not even sure it isn't," he admitted after a pause. "Behind closed doors, sure—I can tell Kristina to go to hell. But in public? I'm the obedient guard dog. And you know what? We'll never actually be alone. I'll always be acting. And eventually…"
He let out a quiet laugh.
"The act becomes real."
He shook his head.
"Feels like I got played."
"Yeah…" I said slowly. "That… actually makes sense."
We didn't get to continue.
The door opened.
Pavel walked in—
and the room fell silent.
"Good morning, selected students," he said. "Two days remain before the exhibition matches. The four of you will be representing not only the academy—but also the elite students who have honored you by choosing you as candidates for their personal protection."
Robert let out a quiet snort.
Pavel's gaze snapped to him instantly.
"Something to add, Torrent?"
"No, sir. My apologies."
Despite everything, Robert respected Pavel.
And I understood why.
We rarely crossed paths with the director's personal bodyguard—but the man's presence alone demanded respect.
He wasn't young anymore.
And yet he still held that position.
Most aristocrats replaced their guards the moment they started losing their edge—reassigning them or sending them off on missions that were basically a death sentence.
But Gordinstreet had only one.
Pavel.
That alone said enough.
"Training has been canceled today for two reasons," Pavel continued. "First—to give you time to rest before an important event. For both the academy and yourselves. Second—to make sure you understand the basic rules. For those who still don't."
His gaze lingered on Robert.
Then on me.
"Rule one: always remain close to your employer. Yes, you are not yet full bodyguards—but during the exhibition, you will be treated as if you are. Clear?"
"If my aristocrat tells me to leave, I can go, right?" Robert asked.
"Torrent, did you hear what I said?" Pavel replied calmly. "If your employer orders you to leave—you leave. Which brings us to rule two: you obey your employer without question. But don't forget rule one. That means—you leave in a way that still ensures their protection."
"So basically, we're glued to them 24/7?"
"Yes. And that won't change until your contract ends, your employer hires additional protection—or you die."
"Sounds… cheerful," Robert muttered, then straightened instantly under Pavel's stare.
"At events like this, each department provides reserve candidates for personal bodyguards," Pavel continued. "That allows you to participate in matches while your employers remain protected. Each academy also assigns several instructors for this role. Questions?"
"Mr. Rigor," I spoke up, "am I right in thinking our job is to escort our employers to the stands, hand them off to additional guards, and then head to the arena?"
"The exhibition lasts a week," he replied. "You won't just be fighting. You'll accompany your employers to meetings, banquets, and other events."
"And what about participants who aren't bodyguard candidates?" the only girl in the room asked.
"That's not your concern. They'll be given opportunities to build connections—with other Specials, aristocrats, and officials."
He paused.
"If there are no more questions—you're dismissed. And find your employers. Unlike the others, you'll be traveling with them. The moment you leave academy grounds—consider the exhibition already begun."
He stressed the last sentence—
and left.
"What do you think he meant by that?" I asked.
"About what?"
"That the exhibition starts the moment we leave."
"Probably means we turn into proper lapdogs from that point on—until we step back inside."
"If we make it back," the girl said as she passed us, throwing me a quick glance.
"You think Alan can't handle it?" Robert smirked.
"I think he's an idiot," she replied coldly, "for choosing to become a Special after already being on the other side."
"You don't know what my life was like there," I snapped.
"Whatever it was—this will be worse. Worse than for any Special. And you'll drag Silius down with you."
"I didn't ask to be his bodyguard," I shot back.
"Exactly. Makes me wonder what he saw in you," she said, then extended her hand. "Amelia."
I hesitated—
then shook it.
"Let's see what you're capable of," she added, her grip firm, "when Silius, Teacher Storik, and the academy's 'no killing in duels' rule aren't protecting you."
She let go—
and walked out.
"What a bitch," Robert muttered.
"I've got a feeling this is just the beginning," I sighed.
But even then—
I had no idea.
The awkward tension.
The contempt.
That was only the smallest part—
of what was coming.