Challenge and Reunions

The next day, Gertrudes was still trying to process the revelation that she had been so close to the enemy without realizing it. Tyrin, however, woke up to a deep sense of tranquility. His secret was safe, and the headmistress had merely asked him to keep it that way until he was capable of defending himself. Personally, he had no idea when that moment would come.

— Gertrudes, are you teaching today? — Tyrin found his teacher in the library, engrossed in a botany book.

— Yes… Sorry, I got lost in thought and forgot. Is everyone already in the classroom?

— Yes, including Emilia.

Gertrudes let out a weary sigh.

— My God… I suppose I'll have to explain to her why we had to cancel almost two weeks of class.

When they reached the classroom, they saw Emilia talking to Luci. As soon as she noticed the teacher's arrival, Emilia crossed her arms and shot Gertrudes a sharp look.

— Well, well, Gertrudes Scar. I hope your absence will be compensated with good grades, or I'll tell my father what you did.

Gertrudes remained calm and replied firmly:

— Don't worry, Emilia. Your grades are safe. Now, let's pick up where we left off in the last lesson.

— Hold on! — Emilia frowned. — Aren't you going to tell us what happened? I mean… I know you went on some kind of adventure, and from the little I've heard, something went terribly wrong. What's the harm in telling us exactly what happened?

Luci, who had remained silent until then, stepped forward before Gertrudes had to respond.

— What happened is none of your business, Emilia. And I believe the professor agrees that we don't have to justify what we did.

Emilia narrowed her eyes, studying Luci for a few seconds before flashing a defiant smile.

— Hmmm… So this is the real Miss Luci? How about we settle this outside in a duel? That way, we can see who's better.

Already exhausted by this behavior, Gertrudes didn't waste any time.

— Emilia Dracont, you're crossing the line. Do you want to be expelled from my class?

— No, ma'am… — Emilia replied, reluctant.

— Then shut up and stay quiet. Today, we're going back to the topic of the last lesson.

From that moment on, Emilia didn't interrupt the class again, though she was visibly irritated.

Tyrin, on the other hand, was more eager to reunite with his friends than to focus on the lesson itself. He paid little attention to the argument, as his mind was occupied with the anticipation of seeing Cassandra and Damian again — after all, they still didn't know he had returned. But before that, he would have to get through Professor Manfred's piloting class.

When he entered the room, Manfred was already waiting for them with his usual enigmatic smile.

— My dear students, today I'd like to change the dynamics of the lesson a little. We've been trying to beat the simulation for weeks, and clearly, that's not going to happen. So, in the meantime, I want to test something different.

The professor was known for his eccentric methods. The headmistress liked that about him — always pushing students to think outside the box or, when necessary, knocking down those with inflated egos.

— I'd like some volunteers.

No one spoke up. The entire class hesitated, and Tyrin had a feeling Manfred just wanted to throw them into an impossible simulation, only to mock whoever tried. He figured it was best to stay silent.

— Well… Since there are no volunteers, I'll pick them myself. Tyrin, Viktor, Eleonora, and Robert, please.

Tyrin suppressed a sigh. Ever since Manfred had claimed that no noble in the class should be worse than him, an unspoken competition had emerged. This became evident when the others greeted each other but completely ignored him.

— Very well, students. In this simulation, you will relive the first rebellion that took place two hundred years ago. At the time, we fought a chaotic battle against the Tyrants, but in the midst of the conflict, there were infiltrated rebels. We didn't know who was an ally and who was an enemy. Your objective is simple: destroy the enemy before they destroy you. The highest score will come with a special reward — exemption from this month's assessments with a perfect grade.

The classroom fell silent. This kind of incentive was rare.

The score would be calculated based on the number of enemy ships correctly destroyed, but any mistaken attack on an ally would reduce it. The simulation began, and as expected, it proved to be extremely difficult.

Eleonora was the first to try, managing 400 points before being eliminated. Robert did even worse, with only 200 points. But what really caught Tyrin's attention was Viktor, who, surprisingly, reached nearly 1000 points on his first attempt.

That didn't make sense.

Tyrin knew Viktor. He had always been, at best, average. He certainly wasn't someone who should have outperformed Eleonora by such a wide margin.

Something was very wrong.

— Very well, now for the last but certainly not least. Tyrin, take a seat.

Tyrin slowly approached, sitting in the chair positioned at the center of the room while Manfred prepared the simulation collar. But before activating it, the professor leaned in and whispered, low enough that no one else could hear:

— You know, boy… You think you're clever, skipping my classes to run off who knows where. If it weren't for the headmistress, I would've sent you back to that frozen planet a long time ago.

Tyrin felt his blood boil, but before he could respond, he was pulled into the simulation.

___________

— Sir! Sir! We were attacked by an allied ship, but we have no solid information. What should we do?

Manfred's words still echoed in Tyrin's mind. He knew it had been a provocation, an obvious attempt to throw him off balance. But if there was one thing he wouldn't allow, it was for Manfred to come out on top. His instincts told him there was a way to turn the game around.

Suddenly, an idea struck him.

— I want all ships to activate their command room cameras immediately! — he ordered.

— But sir, that makes no sense! We're in battle against the Tyrants! We don't have time to—

— Shut up! That's an order! You don't have to speak to me, you don't have to look at me, just turn on the cameras. I want to see your faces. And do it now!

___________

Outside the simulation, Manfred, who had decided to display Tyrin's attempt to the entire class, frowned in confusion.

— Professor… Why is he asking all the ships to turn on their cameras? Does that make any sense? — Viktor asked, visibly uncomfortable.

After all, Manfred had given him hints the day before, helping him achieve his outrageous score. Of course, he hadn't memorized all the information, but it had been enough for him to stand out above everyone else. What was Tyrin trying to do?

Manfred narrowed his eyes, then laughed, realizing the perfect opportunity to humiliate the commoner.

— I have no idea what that boy thinks he's doing… But I can use this. — He then turned to the class. — Pay attention, dear students! Witness the desperation of a commoner who has no idea what he's doing! I bet he's going to try and convince the enemy with kind words! HAHAHAHAHA! Watch with your own eyes how a commoner is nothing compared to us, the elite!

The entire class erupted in laughter… except for Eleonora.

She didn't find it funny at all. On the contrary, she felt a growing curiosity. Something told her that Tyrin wasn't acting randomly. The handsome commoner seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

And it didn't take long for the laughter to die out.

___________

— Sir, all ships are in line. What do we do now? — one of the simulation officers asked.

Tyrin carefully observed the screen, where dozens of commanders' faces were displayed. His mind worked quickly, memorizing each one. He analyzed every feature, every expression, every suspicious detail.

For two whole minutes, he just watched.

The tension in the room was palpable.

Then, finally, he ordered:

— You may turn off the cameras.

A brief silence followed.

— Sir, what's the next step?

Tyrin took a deep breath before speaking.

— Fire at ships 24, 34, 456, 321, 267, 328, 222, 756, 354, 132…

He continued listing numbers until he reached a total of thirty-two ships.

— Sir? — The officer hesitated. — That's thirty-two ships…

— I gave an order. Fire at all of them.

— Sir… Yes, sir! Firing!

SIMULATION ENDED

Tyrin emerged from the simulation, blinking a few times as he adjusted to the room's light.

What he found was absolute silence.

Everyone was staring at him, wide-eyed, unsure of how to react. He felt a grip on his shoulder and turned, only to be seized roughly by Manfred.

— What did you do?! — the professor growled, shaking him in the chair.

Tyrin broke free, straightening his posture.

— I did what you asked. I destroyed the enemy.

The words hung in the air like thunder, carrying something no one could quite name.

The screen behind him displayed the simulation scores. Above Viktor's name, which boasted an impressive "989 points," there was a single name:

Tyrin.

And instead of a number, just one word:

PERFECT.

Shock spread through the room.

Everyone had seen it.

Everyone had witnessed it with their own eyes.

Tyrin, without hesitation, had looked at the commanders and, without any apparent calculations, selected 32 ships out of 800 to be destroyed.

And he had gotten every single one right.

Viktor felt cold sweat drip down his neck. That was impossible.

Manfred, on the other hand, was livid.

— This… This doesn't make sense. — His voice came out as a whisper before growing in intensity. — You cheated! There's no way to know which ships were infiltrated just by looking at the commanders' faces! What did you do?!

Tyrin crossed his arms, meeting Manfred's glare with an unshaken expression.

— Simple. — He began, as if explaining something obvious. — The rebel ships needed to communicate with each other, so they had to be using some kind of discreet earpiece for contact. That alone eliminated over half of the commanders. Then, based on war records, I knew that the rebels used an identifying mark on their necks—small, almost imperceptible, looking like a mole or blemish. I combined that with other knowledge I've acquired… and maybe a little luck.

He shrugged.

— I'm dismissed, right? See you next month.

Silence.

Manfred didn't know what to say. Tyrin's logic made sense… and yet, it didn't. Not even he, with all his experience, had thought of those possibilities. He sank into his chair, his mind in absolute chaos.

For the first time, he had no response. No counterattack.

With a vague wave of his hand, he simply dismissed the students.

The room emptied quickly, but Viktor remained, his eyes fixed on the professor, who still seemed lost in his own thoughts.

— Don't worry, professor. — Viktor's voice cut through the silence. — We'll get our revenge.

Manfred, however, didn't react. He seemed distant, as if his pride had been shattered in a single blow.

The news spread like wildfire.

Tyrin, the student who drove Manfred insane.

Every classroom, every hallway, every whisper carried the same story: the commoner who had outdone one of the academy's most ruthless professors.

With each retelling, the rumors became more exaggerated—some claimed Manfred had snapped and thrown a chair, others swore he had stormed out of the room, unable to handle the humiliation.

Tyrin didn't care about the gossip.

He knew the truth.

Luck had little to do with what had happened—in reality, he had identified the enemies with precision, just by analyzing them with his ability. For a moment, he had feared misjudging someone through a camera, but in the end, everything had gone exactly as planned.

Still, he couldn't reveal that.

He had expected Manfred to challenge him, to demand a logical explanation for what he had done. So, he had prepared a convincing lie. But deep down, he knew the professor's blind arrogance would never let him see the truth so easily.

Either way, Tyrin had something more important to focus on now.

— WELL, WELL, WELL! Big bro disappears for two weeks and comes back humiliating professors? Holy shit, I'd give anything to see that bastard's face! — Damian cackled, throwing an arm around Tyrin's shoulders.

— Shut up, Damian. — Tyrin chuckled, pushing him away. — But it's good to see you.

— Come on, give your little brother a hug!

Before Damian could pull him into an exaggerated embrace, a well-aimed punch landed on his head.

— Don't embarrass me, brother. — Cassandra crossed her arms, rolling her eyes.

— Ow! That hurts, Cass! — Damian whined, rubbing his head.

Tyrin just laughed.

For a moment, everything that had happened—Manfred, the simulation, the stunned stares—simply faded away.

He was home.

And nothing in the world could compare to that.