4: The Path Forward

As the bus rumbled through the streets, Blaire looked out the window, her mind racing. Almost twenty people were aboard, and every single one of them seemed to radiate an air of superiority. The ones who passed the written exam were always the best and brightest from their respective schools, after all. She glanced around the bus, noting the confident expressions on their faces. These were the top students, the ones who had likely been groomed for this kind of opportunity for years.

Blaire's gaze landed on Tiffany, who was sitting near the back of the bus. The girl sneered at her, clearly unable to hide her contempt. Without her usual group of followers, Tiffany looked smaller, less intimidating. Blaire could see the hint of insecurity lurking beneath her sharp eyes, and for the first time, she felt a flicker of satisfaction. Let her sneer. I'm not here for her approval.

The bus slowed, and as they disembarked, the towering gates of Silvercrest Academy loomed before them.

The campus was massive, with manicured lawns, towering buildings made of polished stone, and well-maintained walkways that stretched as far as the eye could see. Silvercrest was one of the most prestigious schools in the country, known for producing top scholars and elite athletes. It had resources that public schools like Thrive High could only dream of.

Blaire couldn't help but feel small in comparison, but she quickly shoved the feeling aside.

As they entered the massive training hall, a murmur rippled through the crowd. The facility was even more impressive than the rest of the school, with high ceilings, bright lights, and walls lined with state-of-the-art equipment. It was the kind of place only the elite could dream of training in.

Blaire barely had time to take it all in before Tiffany's voice rang out, sharp and mocking.

"Wow, Blaire. I didn't know they were letting charity cases in this year."

The room went quiet. Several students turned to watch, sensing an opportunity for entertainment.

Blaire clenched her fists but forced herself to keep her expression neutral. She had dealt with Tiffany's taunts before.

Tiffany smirked, flipping her perfectly styled hair over her shoulder. "Seriously, what did you do? Cheat on the written test? Or did they just let you in for comic relief?" She laughed, and a few others snickered along with her.

Blaire exhaled slowly. Don't take the bait.

But Tiffany wasn't done. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice but making sure everyone could still hear. "You're going to embarrass yourself so badly out there. The first trial hasn't even started, and you already look like you don't belong."

Something inside Blaire burned at those words. The doubt, the humiliation—it was exactly what she had been fighting against her whole life.

She took a step closer, her voice cool and steady. "You're right, Tiffany."

Tiffany blinked, caught off guard by the agreement.

Blaire tilted her head slightly. "I don't belong here. Not in this school, not in your little social club, not in your world. And yet…" She let her eyes scan the crowd, then locked back onto Tiffany's. "Here I am."

The smirk on Tiffany's lips wavered.

"I'll let my performance speak for itself," Blaire added before turning away.

There was no comeback for that. A few students exchanged glances, amused by Tiffany's rare silence.

The tension lingered in the air as everyone turned their focus back to the upcoming trial.

Blaire exhaled, shaking off the lingering irritation from Tiffany's taunt. She had bigger things to focus on.

The atmosphere in the training hall shifted as students started warming up. Some stretched, others jogged lightly in place, psyching themselves up. The air buzzed with nervous energy—this was where things got real.

She observed the competitors carefully. Some looked relaxed, confident, as if they had done this a thousand times before. Others were visibly anxious, their hands fidgeting, their legs bouncing as they waited for instructions.

To her left, a boy from one of the top-ranked schools was shadowboxing, his movements quick and precise. His eyes flickered toward Blaire briefly before dismissing her entirely.

Further ahead, another girl was doing push-ups, her muscles taut with determination.

Blaire rolled her shoulders, feeling her own pulse steady. I can do this.

The doors at the front of the hall swung open, and the exam proctor strode in, flanked by two men who radiated power.

The first man had raven-black hair, sleek and effortlessly tousled, falling just past his ears. His red eyes gleamed with a sharp intensity that made the air feel heavier, as if he could cut through a person's very soul with a single look. He was breathtakingly handsome, but in a way that was almost unnatural—too refined, too perfect, too dangerously beautiful.

The sharp angles of his face, the high cheekbones and chiseled jawline, made him look like he had been sculpted by a master artist obsessed with perfection. His presence alone seemed to make the oxygen in the room thinner, and despite his silence, he demanded attention without ever needing to ask for it.

If there was a man who could make people question whether gods walked among mortals, it was him.

But the second man was no less striking—just in an entirely different way.

His wavy golden hair fell in loose locks that shimmered under the bright hall lights, framing a face so perfect it looked like it belonged on the cover of an elite fashion magazine. His amber eyes were warm, filled with a lazy sort of confidence, yet there was an undeniable sharpness beneath them—a predator's awareness hiding behind a playboy's smirk.

The way he carried himself was effortless, almost arrogant, as if he knew he was the most attractive person in the room and had never been proven otherwise. His broad shoulders and toned physique were wrapped in tailored athletic gear that somehow looked more expensive than the entire hall itself.

He had the aura of a prince who had never lost a battle—whether in war or in seduction.

And then, as if sensing her gaze, the golden-haired man winked directly at her.

Blaire's breath caught.

It wasn't just a casual, meaningless wink. It was slow, deliberate, laced with amusement, like he had already decided she was an interesting distraction before the trials had even begun.

A ripple of energy passed through the room as other girls noticed. A few whispering voices broke the silence, followed by the subtle sound of breaths being held.

Blaire quickly looked away, her face heating. What the hell was that?

But she wasn't the only one affected.

Even though the black-haired man hadn't spared anyone more than a glance, his presence alone had altered the room's atmosphere. People unconsciously straightened, some shifting uncomfortably, as if looking unimpressive in front of him was a crime worthy of punishment.

Between the two of them, they weren't just handsome. They were lethal, hypnotic—walking proof that genetics could be downright unfair.

And the worst part?

They knew it.

The sound of clapping suddenly broke the moment as a middle-aged man with piercing green eyes and brown hair stood at the front of the room. His presence alone was enough to silence the whispers instantly.

"Welcome," he said, his deep voice commanding absolute attention. "And congratulations to all of you who have made it this far. You've passed the written exam, but now the real test begins. The physical exam is where you will prove yourselves further. Physical fitness is paramount, especially among shapeshifters. Only those who are capable of pushing beyond their limits will succeed."

Blaire's pulse quickened at his words.

"The exam will be grueling," he continued. "It will test your endurance, your reflex, and your will to succeed. Only the strongest will move on to the next phase."

Blaire stood up straighter, her resolve hardening. This was it. She would prove she deserved to be here.

The proctor's gaze swept over them one last time before he uttered the words that sent adrenaline surging through the room.

"The first trial begins now."