"This feels… wrong," I said, staring out the car window.
We left the hotel early that morning and headed toward the stadium. I'd expected something like the academy—hidden behind that warped, unpleasant shimmer of a barrier. And when we pulled up to a fenced-off industrial zone—an abandoned factory complex—my suspicions only grew.
But when we drove through the gates, guarded by several dozen men in black suits, nothing changed.
No illusion. No hidden layer. No shift.
Inside, the place looked just as dead as it had from the outside. Dozens of expensive cars and vans stood out sharply against the pale, worn-down factory buildings.
"There's no barrier here, if that's what you were thinking," Clyde said. "Places like this belong to the administration. Their land—they do whatever they want with it. So the interiors are renovated. The outside? Left to rot."
"Wouldn't it be easier to just put up a barrier like at the academy?"
"It's not worth it," he replied flatly. "This arena gets used once a year—for a few weeks at most. The rest of the time it just sits empty. Cheaper to hire a few dozen guards and install cameras than waste resources maintaining a barrier."
"Is it really that expensive?"
"It's not about money. It's about power." He glanced at me. "At the academy, specials are constantly training—releasing energy. The system feeds itself. Here? You'd have to recharge everything daily, or keep at least fifty people on-site just to supply it."
He paused.
"The only thing here is a basic ward against lesser spirits. It doesn't take much energy—and it keeps the low-level ones out."
"Like at the Holivan estate," I muttered with a sigh. "Got it… So stronger ones can get through?" I added, suddenly more alert.
"If you mean demons—yes," Clyde said coldly. "They'll be here."
The temperature inside the car seemed to drop.
I flinched and, without thinking, reached out and brushed my hand against his.
"Relax," I muttered.
He glanced at me, surprised.
I didn't know how to explain it, but I could feel it—whenever Clyde got irritated or angry, the air around him turned cold. And just like that, the moment I touched him, the chill faded.
The car came to a stop.
I took a breath, stepped out, and held the door open for him.
"Silius Clyde and his bodyguard candidate have arrived," he said to a young man approaching us.
"This way, Mr. Silius," the guy said, gesturing toward a smaller building beside the main structure.
He kept staring at me the entire walk.
"See something you like?" Clyde asked casually.
The guy flushed instantly and snapped his gaze away.
"I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare at your candidate like that."
"Didn't mean what?" Clyde pressed.
"He's just…" The boy faltered. "He's not like the others. I mean, I've seen plenty of candidates and bodyguards, but he's… he's just—"
"Refined? Pretty?" Clyde smirked. "Don't let the face fool you. He's good at everything."
Heat crept up my neck. Judging by the boy's expression, he'd definitely taken that the wrong way.
"I'm sorry," he said again quickly, handing over a keycard before practically fleeing.
Inside, the contrast hit immediately.
The building turned out to be a hotel—and not a cheap one.
My room even had a separate small bedroom. In aristocratic houses, they always attached a cramped side room to the master bedroom for bodyguards. Specialized hotels followed the same idea.
"Settle in," Clyde said. "We have a small banquet in an hour. I need to pick a second bodyguard—and make the rounds."
"I just hope the Holivans won't be there," I muttered.
"I wouldn't count on it," he said, giving me a pointed look. "He won't miss something like this. Not when he needs to clean the family name."
"No… it'd be difficult for him to try anything here," I said, more to calm myself than anything else.
"You'd be surprised," Clyde said quietly, stepping closer. "There are plenty of ways to get rid of someone during exhibition bouts."
He placed a hand on my shoulder and looked me straight in the eyes.
"Stay sharp, Alan."
"I'll do everything I can to restore your reputation," I replied just as seriously.
"Did I say anything about my reputation?" he cut in sharply. "I don't want to go looking for another bodyguard, Holivan. So do me a favor—stay alive."
His voice dropped.
"I don't care if you have to look like a coward, dead weight, useless—whatever it takes. I don't give a damn what the aristocracy thinks. Do you understand?"
"A good reputation means allies," I said. "You asked me to join you so I could be useful. That's what I intend to be."
"You won't be useful if you're dead."
"Maybe," I said with a faint smirk. "But at least I won't be a problem."
"Alan, I'm serious. Don't you dare get hurt. Or I'll—"
A knock cut him off.
Clyde clicked his tongue in irritation and went to open the door.
"I was already starting to think they'd found him," Kristina said, nearly shoving Clyde aside as she rushed in. "Thank God you're okay," she exhaled, looking me over from head to toe.
"Told you he's a lucky bastard," Robert added, stepping in after her. "So—ready?" he asked me.
"If I knew what I was supposed to be ready for," I muttered.
"I can't wait to get into the arena," Robert grinned. "Picked up a few new tricks. Want to try them out on real opponents."
"Try not to get yourself killed," Kristina said dryly. "I'm not scraping you off the floor and dragging your corpse back to the academy."
"Yes, my lady," he said with an exaggerated bow. "I promise it'll be my opponents getting scraped up."
Kristina rolled her eyes—but couldn't quite hide a small laugh.
Exactly an hour later, I stood beside Clyde in a vast hall packed with aristocrats, officials, and specials.
The divide was impossible to miss.
At the far end of the lavishly decorated hall stood the selected candidates from different academies—the ones who hadn't been taken on as personal bodyguards.
Each wore a uniform marked with their academy's crest.
Dark gray—ours.
Dark blue.
Dark green.
"Now I get why Kristina insisted we dress up," Robert muttered in my ear. "Every aristocrat here is showing off—parading their pets like trophies."
He jerked his chin toward a tall, broad-shouldered man in a blinding pink suit.
"We got lucky. At least ours aren't that pathetic."
Kristina and Clyde had already moved off, greeting representatives from other academies, administration officials, and various aristocrats.
I felt completely out of place.
But for some reason, the broad back of Silius—shielding me from the people he spoke to—made it just a little easier to breathe.