The Academy League

Lena and Violet's acceptance letters from Gungnir dropped within two days.

Admissions were already winding down, but Lena got in late thanks to Draven pulling strings—basically cutting the line.

Her Class-B mental power rating beat Draven's lowball guess by a hair. It landed her right on the minimum threshold for Gungnir's command track—not too shabby, not too flashy.

He'd been banking on a C or D, something that'd kill all her chances and kill the whole military school plan. No dice.

If she'd tested A or higher, Draven might've had a case—talked Talia out of it, spun some story about her being a threat down the road.

But B? Stuck in the middle, just good enough. He was out of moves.

Gungnir's non-combat programs were a cakewalk to game, anyway. Draven had even overheard a coworker griping about it—said this year's combat-track applicants were watered down too.

The six big military academies usually cherry-picked the best from local planetary schools before sending them up the chain. If even that pool was diluted, it meant the galaxy's power players were meddling in Gungnir's business.

Draven kicked himself harder for letting Violet sign up, but the ship had sailed.

Three days from now, Gungnir's six-week boot camp kicked off.

Lena spent those days mostly chilling at the Cross Residence.

Violet, dead-set on the mecha-soldier path, got dragged off daily by Draven to train with his military buddies.

Talia, meanwhile, was riding high—her stepping-stone scheme was falling into place.

The smirk on her face grew sharper every day, and she even thawed a bit toward Lena.

So Lena took the chance to waltz Snowball's Samoyed form right through the front door, scoring Talia's okay to keep a "pet." No questions asked.

Snowball milked it, hounding Lena to take him out to the garden every chance he got.

Once they shipped off to Gungnir, it'd be a month and a half of lockdown training—no jewelry allowed, meaning he couldn't just hop back into the ring and tag along on her finger. He was soaking up freedom while he could.

"You could just stay here at the Cross Residence," Lena said, slouched on a garden bench, halfheartedly playing fetch. "Irish could hang out with you, keep you fed. You look like a dog anyway."

Snowball trotted back with a frisbee clamped in his jaws, mumbling through it.

"You don't get it!" He dropped the disc, which zipped off again on its own—interstellar auto-fetch tech at its finest. "Who's gonna watch your back at Gungnir if I stay behind?

Lena watched him bolt after it again, wondering if this was really a Class-SSS mecha or just a hyperactive mutt in disguise.

"Gungnir's that school Odin started, right?" Snowball panted, flopping at her feet after another lap. "Super sketchy place."

He lolled his tongue out, catching his breath. "Back in the day, he rounded up all the loose cannons to fill it."

"What, like some interstellar mob academy?" Lena snorted.

"Pretty much!" Snowball shot back, dead serious.

"That was ages ago. It's a legit military school now." She hauled herself up, figuring she'd jog a few laps around the garden.

Snowball barely blinked. He'd seen this routine—his scrawny master wheezing after a couple loops, looking half-dead.

Sure enough, she stumbled to a stop, and he trotted over, tilting his head. "How are you this weak? Seriously, how'd you even wake me up?"

Lena couldn't answer, too busy sucking wind. She'd been pushing this body lately, trying to whip it into shape.

It was a wreck—run too hard, and her throat tasted like copper.

But weirdly, she felt in tune with it. Like it was hers, just beaten down to a shadow of what it could be.

"You're so pathetic, I'm not kidding—if I'm not there, you're toast," Snowball said, craning his neck up at her. He opened his mouth to ramble on, but a voice cut through the air, sharp and sudden.

"Who're you talking to?" A blonde girl with a high ponytail strutted into the garden, all laid-back confidence.

Violet looked cooler out of uniform, her vibe easy and sharp as she walked up to Lena.

Lena glanced at Snowball, who'd flopped at her feet, playing possum. "Just talking to myself."

"What, you're doing solo speeches now? If you want to talk, just say hi!" Violet's energy was still full-on golden retriever—same as when they first met.

She spotted Snowball and grinned, loud and shameless. "Heard you got a dog. Finally seeing him today—he's not even that cute."

She threw Snowball a sneaky, teasing side-eye, totally on purpose.

Snowball clamped onto Lena's pant leg with his teeth, gnawing in silent fury. He couldn't snap back, and it was eating him alive.

"I think he's cute enough," Lena said, giving Snowball a quick pat to calm him down. She looked at Violet. "What's up with you today?"

Violet was the Cross family's golden ticket to the mecha-soldier life. Talia and Draven had her practically chained to the training grounds.

"We're heading out the day after tomorrow," Violet said, dropping onto the bench next to Lena. She swung her legs like a kid. "Draven gave me two days off—said I shouldn't wear myself out."

She let out a sigh. "Boot camp's six weeks, and only the top twenty make the mecha track—real mecha soldier material. Lately, I keep dreaming I'm stuck at twenty-first."

The mental power test was just the ticket in. Actually killing it in the mecha world? That took rare, next-level skill—stuff you don't see every day.

Violet's A+ rating got her through the door, but it wasn't a sure thing for mecha soldier status.

"If I were a freak like Zane with his S+, I'd be golden," she said, sounding a little dreamy.

She went on, "No one's ever questioned he'd make it—the military's basically drooling over him. And guess what? He signed up for Gungnir too. That's one less top-twenty spot. Ugh, I'm so jealous."

Lena, sitting on her SS secret, didn't flinch. She had an SSS mecha flopped at her feet—currently pouting like a squashed marshmallow.

"His grandpa's Admiral Nebulon, big shot at Mjölnir's," Violet went on, frowning. "Why's he skipping a top school like that to pile into Gungnir? Mjölnir's always a contender in the Academy League."

"Academy League?" Lena's ears perked up.

"Oh yeah," Violet said, lighting up. "The Alliance schools jump in too. It's all virtual, run by the Interstellarnet Group—happens in their online sim space."

So, not just some playground fight. It was basically the Empire and Alliance flexing their next wave of military talent.

"Right now, we count on Mjölnir and AoL to hold it down against the Alliance," Violet said. "Their heavy hitters are the Military Academy of the Alliance and Orion Defense Academy."

She stopped, then perked up out of nowhere. "Wait—Zane joining Gungnir's freshman class might actually boost us. Maybe we won't totally suck this time!"

"Gungnir's that rough?" Lena asked. Snowball, still faking dead, jerked his head up, staring at Violet like she'd lost it.

Violet didn't notice.

"Yup," she said, slumping a bit. "Gungnir's the school Admiral Odin started, right? Used to be the king—ran the league for, like, twelve straight years. But after the second head, Admiral Astrohawk, died and stepped down, it's been a slow crash. Now? Bottom of the pile."

From top dog to total joke. That's one heck of a fall.

"I heard Gungnir's downfall ties back to Admiral Astrohawk being a hardcore war hawk," Violet whispered, leaning close to Lena's ear.

"The peace faction—those slimy old-timers—couldn't stand him. Astrohawk was Odin's right-hand man, dead-set on crushing the Alliance. He raised Gungnir's crew with the same grit. The doves couldn't touch him while he was alive, so after he went missing, they've been grinding Gungnir down ever since."

Even the toughest trees bend under enough snow.

Gungnir's diehards held out for over a decade—spines straight, but brittle. Last year's Academy League? They hit rock bottom. First time ever taking dead last.

"It pisses me off," Violet said, her voice simmering. "It's straight-up bullying—spitting in Admiral Odin and Astrohawk's faces. This year's League? I'm gonna drag Gungnir back to the top, I swear!"

"Cool," Lena said, giving her a quiet little clap, playing along.

Violet opened her mouth to keep going, but an uninvited guest crashed the garden party.

Draven strolled in, hands clasped behind his back, eyes locked on Violet.

"Draven! I'm off today—what's your deal?" Violet shot him a wary look.

"Mom wants a word," Draven said, unruffled. "You're leaving the day after tomorrow. She sent me to grab you."

Talia's name was the trump card. Violet pouted, peeling away from Lena reluctantly—she still had steam to blow off.

Once she was out of sight, Draven lingered. Lena plucked a leaf, twirling it between her fingers. He wasn't here for Violet.

"Violet's gone, so I'll cut to it," Draven said, staring her down. "Boot camp rankings matter. If there's any team-up phase, I want you steering clear of HER. Don't hold her back."

So that's what this was about. Lena met his gaze. "How do you know I'd be the dead weight?"

Draven snorted. "Because I have eyes."

Lena scooped up Snowball and stood, brushing past him. "Teaming up or not—that's my call, right?"

"Really—" Draven's brow furrowed.

She threw him a smirk over her shoulder. "Depends on MY mood."