Don't touch what's mine

I was on my way back from the main building when I heard someone yelling near the Class B training ground.

Yelling, then laughing.

Mocking.

I wouldn't have cared—until I heard that voice.

"Look at you. Gods, are all of Class C this pathetic?"

Felix.

Of course it was Felix.

And of course, he'd found a new way to attract disaster before noon.

I turned on my heel.

The Class B training ground was supposed to be off-limits for my students, but clearly, someone forgot that detail—or more likely, ignored it. I arrived just in time to see Felix trying to explain something, hands flailing as he backed away from a man twice his size.

Gregor. The Class B groundskeeper.

I recognized the idiot.

He used to be a third-rate mercenary until the Academy gave him a broom and told him he was a professional.

Now he thought he owned the place.