META

The courtyard was quieter than usual. The sky hung low and grey, a soft wind tugging at the long banners that lined the academy walls. Most students had already rushed off to the next combat module or found somewhere to recover from the day's brutal routines. But Sage, Kol, and Maple lingered.

Sage leaned against the edge of a raised stone planter, arms crossed, scanning the courtyard with his usual distant calm. His uniform jacket was unzipped and dusted with sand from earlier drills. His hair, darker now from sweat, clung to his forehead. He looked like someone who was used to carrying weight alone.

Kol, on the other hand, sat with one leg swung over the bench, wolfing down a meat bun. He looked relaxed, but his eyes were always moving. Not paranoid—just... aware. Like someone who had learned not to trust ease.

"You're gonna kill yourself eating like that," Sage said, not even looking his way.

Kol didn't miss a beat. "If I die from this, I lived a good life."

Sage smirked faintly.

Maple sat opposite them, back straight, flipping through a combat theory manual that none of them believed she was actually reading. Her katana rested beside her, clean and polished. She glanced up at the two boys, her face unreadable, as always.

"You could at least pretend to study," Kol muttered.

"I don't study," Maple replied, turning a page without looking at him. "I just win."

There was no warmth in her voice, but there was no ice either. Just fact.

Her eyes lingered on Sage a second too long when she said it. Not enough to draw attention, but enough for Kol to notice.

He narrowed his gaze slightly, chewing slower. "She's getting used to us," he muttered under his breath.

"I noticed," Sage replied.

---

Sage's eyes narrowed at a group near the archway.

A slim boy in a spotless Delta-tier uniform was walking through a narrow path between three Beta students. He walked not quite with confidence—just composed. And Sage could see why. His Delta badge stood on his uniform like a sore thumb.

His shirt was neatly tucked, his boots polished, and his hair carefully styled. His parents had to work for Metro, Sage guessed.

As he passed them, one of the Betas stuck out a foot.

Trip.

Meta stumbled slightly, catching himself mid-fall. Not glancing at them, he made an effort to move.

The Beta laughed like a child who'd just pulled a prank. "Oops. Guess your balance is made of coins too, huh?"

"Careful, rich boy," another one said, walking beside him. "Wouldn't want to crease your designer jacket. Is it silk? Or just silk-looking?"

The third one leaned in and grinned. "Bet he's got servants to put his boots on. Probably cries when his soap isn't the right flavor."

That got a laugh from the others.

Meta said nothing. He reached down to adjust his cuff where it had shifted during the trip, then moved to step around them.

But one Beta suddenly stepped in front of him and lightly pushed his shoulder.

"Slow down. We just wanna admire those shiny buttons. Who irons your clothes? Your butler?"

Meta turned his head just slightly — his expression blank, eyes cool — and then looked forward again.

The first Beta took a step closer and bumped him chest-to-chest.

"Too good to talk, huh?" he said. "What's wrong? Nothing clever to say?"

Then — slap — he knocked the books out of Meta's hand, sending them clattering across the stone.

"Oof," the other muttered with a wide grin. "Book down! I repeat — emergency in aisle Delta!"

Meta knelt down calmly. He didn't scramble. He gathered his books one at a time, like he'd done this before.

"Must be nice," one of them said behind him. "Skipping tryouts 'cause your parents donate a shiny chandelier to the school every year."

"I heard his mom paid for the last arena renovation," another added in a sing-song voice. "I bet the seats whisper 'good luck' just for him."

"Bet his dorm smells like roses and fear."

Meta stood, brushed off the last book, and turned to face them.

He didn't speak.

He didn't smile.

---

Sage's hands had curled into fists.

"Who's that?" he asked, voice low.

Kol, standing beside him, replied, "That's Meta. Delta tier. His parents are loaded. They fund half the library. Some say he bought his way in."

"He didn't seem weak," Sage said.

Kol shook his head. "He's not. Just smart enough not to fight back in front of everyone."

Maple, still seated nearby, added, "They want him to explode. That's the game."

Sage didn't speak. He watched Meta until the boy disappeared into the hallway — quiet, unshaken.

"They treat him like he's a joke."

Kol exhaled through his nose. "They hate that he doesn't give them anything back. No fear. No anger. Just silence."

Maple rose and stretched, sword balanced casually across her shoulder. "Silence makes some people louder."

Sage said nothing. But his eyes stayed on the path Meta had taken — thoughtful, steady, already planning.

---

"You're thinking of doing something, aren't you?"

Sage pushed off the wall. "Not yet."

But Kol and Maple both saw the decision forming. That same quiet conviction Sage always had before stepping into trouble.

Kol sighed. "You know, we could have a normal week. Just once."

Maple stood, sliding her katana back into place. "We're already past normal."