Exam - 8 Day Three Starts

The cell lights dimmed the moment Alex left, as if the room itself had decided it needed a nap after that conversation.

In the observation chamber, Jamie let out a breath that had clearly been waiting for at least five minutes. "Sooo... we're keeping the jackalope?"

Marell, arms folded, didn't answer. Jenkins, eyes wide behind his glasses, muttered, "He destabilized a repulsion glyph by breathing near it. I didn't even think that was possible."

"We're keeping him," Jamie decided, tapping something into her tablet. "Name Rahul S. Sabuda. Possible code name: Bounce."

"Absolutely not," Marell muttered.

Back in the corridor, Alex was already walking fast. He didn't want to hear anyone's commentary, not even his own internal monologue, which was currently stuck between "what a risk" and "maybe it'll pay off."

And underneath that, a much louder voice in his head was busy cursing Relen Tyvaris and his entire ancestral line. All eighteen generations of pompous, manipulative, rule-massaging administrators that made Alex's job harder every single time they opened their mouths or even breathed near policy scrolls.

Nine older generations who probably invented unnecessarily vague bylaws just to feel important. The one who introduced seventeen types of disciplinary parchment. The one who added sparkle enchantments to the Council robes as a mandatory statement of "gravitas." The one who banned interdisciplinary spellcasting on Thursdays. And the founding Tyvaris ancestor who probably once told a fire spirit to take a number and wait its turn.

And nine upcoming ones—their smug, paperwork-hugging, future heirs with triple majors in Obstruction, Delay, and Passive-Aggressive Memos. The intern who thought mana-taxation needed emotional categories. The cousin drafting an etiquette policy for hallway nods. The niece proposing background checks for familiars.

They needed talent. Even the unpredictable kind. Maybe especially the unpredictable kind.

Besides, it wasn't like anyone normal was signing up to work with him anymore.

For what it was worth, Davor—his head of security—was still the most stable force in the team. With cultivation at Peak Knight level, he could've crushed most threats with a look. But Arcane City had rules. Use of energy above Mortal level was strictly regulated within the city limits. That meant Davor fought with strategy, not strength. For now.

Day Three began with a groan and the smell of slightly overcooked mana-toast.

Alex shuffled into the meeting room with the energy of a wet towel, hair sticking up in three directions and eyes half-closed.

"Why am I getting this much tension at such a young age?" he muttered, not to anyone in particular, just to the cruel gods of schedules and responsibility.

Jamie slid a mug of something caffeinated toward him without a word. Marell was already halfway through her second breakfast scone and deep into a report. Jenkins, cheerful in the most annoying way, was listing off all the "exciting data points" from Day Two.

"We logged twenty-seven unique resonance manipulations, three minor system breaches, one full breakdown in Room 34—illusion overload—and Rahul." He paused dramatically. "Who is officially still weird."

"Understatement," Jamie added. "He's like if chaos got a part-time job and forgot to clock out."

"He's useful," Marell said, still reading. "Which makes him our problem now."

Alex sipped from the mug and winced. "Tastes like hope and regret. Perfect."

He sat down, rubbing his temple. Day Two's mess was still fresh in his mind, and Day Three had barely begun. There was planning to do, talent to track, politics to dodge, and now—one jackalope chimera with a Will Manipulator cultivation who might spontaneously rewrite the team's operating budget just by sneezing near the archive.

But at least he wasn't bored.

And that, somehow, made it worse.

Jamie broke the silence with a mouthful of toast. "Anyone catch the fire-wielder in Section C yesterday? The one who set his own robe on fire while monologuing about destiny?"

"Oh, I saw that," Jenkins said, beaming. "He yelled something about legacy and promptly tripped over his own spell circle."

"The robe survived," Marell muttered. "Barely. Dignity didn't."

Alex muttered, "Maybe I should try that next time. People might lower their expectations."

Jamie grinned. "Please. You so much as blink wrong and half the arena starts whispering like it's a prophecy."

"You're practically the face of teenage stress for Arcana now," Jenkins said. "Congratulations. You've outpaced three nobles, two sponsored prodigies, and a girl with glowing eyebrows."

Alex groaned, face in hands. "Just once, I'd like to blend in like a normal overworked child prodigy."

"Too late for that," Marell said flatly. "You're already the subject of at least one underground betting pool. Jenkins has the screenshots."

Jenkins nodded cheerfully. "Odds were two-to-one you'd tame a feral spell beast by Day Five. I may or may not have bet against you."

Alex reached for another toast slice and muttered, "I should've joined the Potion Studies club like a sane person."

Jamie raised an eyebrow. "And miss all this fun? Absolutely not."

The day was already spiraling. But at least they had toast, sass, and a sentient jackalope on the payroll now. Arcana, as always, was thriving in chaos.

The laughter faded as Jenkins cleared his throat. "So. Speaking of chaos—Professor Nyss was spotted walking out of the East Tower with a representative from House Varn last night. No announcement. No citation. Just… walking and talking."

Marell frowned. "That's the third instructor this week seen cozying up to a House. And none of them are even pretending it's neutral anymore."

"It's worse in the lower sections," Jamie added, tone sharpening. "Some instructors have started giving private sessions to students from 'recommended family lists.' A few of those students are jumping entire evaluation brackets overnight."

"And the ones without House ties?" Alex asked, already knowing.

"Left behind," Marell confirmed. "Or quietly redirected. If this keeps going, the exams won't be about skill anymore. It'll be about who brought the right sponsor to the arena."

Alex exhaled slowly, his toast suddenly less appetizing. "Arcana's turning into a House-funded talent auction."

"Not turning," Jamie corrected. "It already is. We're just finally seeing the tags on display."

There was a long pause.

Then Alex stood, brushing toast crumbs off his coat. "Alright. We adjust. Track every instructor involved. I want cross-referenced data—House affiliations, student gains, exam placements. Jenkins, build me a spider chart. Marell, prep the privacy filters. Jamie, start looking for the ones getting left behind. The ones no one's noticing."

Jamie gave a crooked grin. "The misfit market is heating up."

Alex's voice was calm, but firm. "Then it's time we start bidding."

He paused, rubbing his forehead again, expression darkening just slightly.

"Also," he added, "start checking the clan registries. I want someone to look into the ridiculous antiques certain clan juniors and elders keep bringing in as 'study tools.' There's no way a third-generation heir suddenly needs a celestial bone flute to analyze battle arrays."

"Are we talking about House Aradel's golden spirit fan?" Jenkins asked innocently.

"Or the time someone from House Kelvran used a gravity-defying tea set to 'balance elemental flow'?" Jamie added, deadpan.

"Yes," Alex muttered. "All of that. And worse."

He looked up, eyes sharp. "And I want pattern tracking on recruitment behavior. Not just students getting sponsored—but who they're pulling from, how fast, and whether there's any link to instructors. If this is a game, someone's setting the board. I want to see the hands moving the pieces."

There was silence.

Then Marell, nodding slightly, replied, "On it."

Jenkins gave a mock salute. "Operation Antique Shenanigans is a go."

Jamie just muttered, "If someone shows up tomorrow with a dragon-scale tuning fork, I'm quitting."

Alex smiled grimly. "No, you're not. You're taking pictures."