The aftermath of the Academy Festival was… colorful.
Literally.
I still found glitter in my coat despite burning it twice.
Class C had gone to war with expectations, social standing, and fire safety protocols—and walked away triumphant. The "Gauntlet of Glory" was now the most talked-about attraction. Whether out of admiration or trauma, people couldn't stop discussing it.
And I? I got summoned.
To the staff meeting.
Of course.
I sat at the far end of the table, sipping tea that definitely wasn't poisoned, while a collection of instructors, senior faculty, and bored administrators reviewed the festival reports.
Headmaster Verrian, ever calm and unnervingly unreadable, set down a parchment.
"The results have been compiled," he announced.
Murmurs buzzed across the room.
"Class A," he continued, "placed second."
That drew more whispers.
Professor Renwick—Class A's instructor—looked like he bit into a lemon made of humiliation.
