Chapter 203 | Entitled Failures

Blair Davenport slammed the door of their borrowed classroom with enough force that the wood cracked against the frame. Four faces turned toward her—none displaying appropriate levels of concern for the complete humiliation they’d just suffered.

"Garbage," she hissed. "He called us garbage."

Charles Leone leaned against the windowsill, his athletic frame blocking half the afternoon light. "Vale’s an asshole. Always has been."

"A washed-up has-been who got kicked out of three guilds," Dante Pope added, not looking up from his phone. "Who cares what he thinks?"

"The entire academy cares what he thinks." Blair paced the length of the empty classroom, her designer boots clicking against the polished floor. "He just announced to our entire class that we’re entitled failures who can’t coordinate for shit."

Javier Mendoza raised his hand like they were still in lecture. "To be fair, our coordination could use some work. Remember the wolf simulation when Charles broke formation to—"

"I was saving Blair’s life," Charles snapped.

"I didn’t need saving."

"The wolf was three feet from your throat."

"Because I was baiting it into position for Hikaru’s trap, which you completely ruined."

Charles scoffed. "There was no trap."

Hikaru Tanaka, perched on a desk in the corner, finally spoke. "There was." His voice was soft but carried a weight that silenced the room. "Northeast quadrant. Trip wire. Explosive tags. You didn’t see it because you never look at anyone’s position but Blair’s."

Charles’ face turned red, and Blair could see the excuses forming on his lips before he even opened his mouth. But instead of letting him spiral into another defensive tirade, she cut him off.

"Vale’s assessment was humiliating, but accurate," Blair said. Her voice had dropped several degrees, frost spreading through her words. "We have better individual stats than the Midnight Foxes in literally every category, and they’re still close to us."

"By sixty-five points," Dante said, finally putting his phone down. "That’s nothing."

"It’s close to second place." Blair spat the words like poison. The image of her father’s last video call flashed through her mind. The disappointment etched into every line of his face when he’d asked about her team’s performance. The way his voice had turned clinical, detached, as if he were discussing a failed business venture rather than his own daughter’s squad. "My father doesn’t fund second-place squads."

The room went quiet. Everyone understood what that meant.

Javier broke the silence, his eyes bright with the kind of optimism Blair found exhausting. "We can definitely extend the gap tomorrow. Our individual abilities are stronger. We just need to coordinate better."

"We’ve been trying to coordinate better," Charles said, and Blair wanted to throw something at his stupid, handsome face.

"Maybe we need a different approach." Javier pulled out his tablet and brought up footage from their last simulation. "If we analyze the Foxes’ patterns, we might—"

"The problem isn’t patterns," Blair interrupted. "It’s Monroe."

Four pairs of eyes locked on her.

"Monroe?" Charles laughed. "The fat lottery kid?"

"He’s not fat anymore," Hikaru said quietly.

"I noticed." Blair stopped pacing and faced her squad. "Three weeks ago, Monroe could barely run a mile without collapsing. Now he’s outperforming guild-trained students in physical benchmarks. He killed an alpha on Friday. He now has multiple abilities. Something isn’t adding up."

Dante shrugged. "Maybe he’s just training hard."

"Nobody transforms that dramatically in three weeks."

"Steroids?" Charles suggested.

Blair shook her head. "Academy blood tests would catch that immediately."

"What if it’s his ability?" Javier leaned forward, excitement written across his face. "Maybe it’s some kind of physical enhancement that activates under specific conditions?"

"Or maybe," Charles drawled, "he’s just not the worthless loser we thought he was."

Blair’s eyes snapped to Charles. "Excuse me?"

"I’m just saying, maybe we underestimated him. Maybe he’s been sandbagging this whole time."

"Nobody sandbags that convincingly." Blair turned to Hikaru. "You’re his roommate. What’s he doing differently?"

Hikaru’s expression remained neutral. "He wakes up at five. Works out until six thirty. Trains with his squad before and after class. Studies. Sleeps. Repeat."

"You’re telling me he’s just working harder? That’s it?"

"Hard work yields results."

"Not these kinds of results, not this quickly." Blair couldn’t keep the frustration from her voice. "There has to be something else. Something we’re missing."

"Like what?" Dante asked.

"I don’t know. Special training? Performance enhancers? Maybe Vale’s giving him private lessons?"

"Why would Vale do that?" Charles asked.

"Because he hates my father, and seeing me lose to a lottery squad would be the ultimate revenge."

The room fell silent again. Blair could see it in their faces—they thought she was being paranoid. She wasn’t. Something about Monroe’s transformation felt wrong, unnatural, and she was going to figure out what it was.

"Hikaru," she said. "I need you to watch him more closely. What he eats. Who he meets with. When he’s alone in your room, what’s he doing?"

Hikaru’s eyes narrowed slightly. "You want me to spy on my roommate?"

"I want you to gather intelligence on our competition."

"I don’t see how this helps us prepare for tomorrow’s gate."

Blair closed the distance between them, lowering her voice. "Because we need to understand what we’re up against. If Monroe has found some advantage—something that’s letting him accelerate his development—we need to know what it is."

"Or," Hikaru said evenly, "we could focus on improving our own performance. The problem isn’t Monroe. It’s us."

Charles stepped between them. "I agree with Blair. Something’s off about Monroe."

"You agree with everything Blair says," Dante muttered.

"What was that?" Charles turned, fists clenched.

"Nothing." Dante looked back at his phone.

Blair rubbed her temples, feeling a headache forming. This was exactly the dysfunction Vale had called out. They couldn’t even agree on a basic strategy without fighting.

"Look," she said, trying to modulate her tone. "Tomorrow’s gate determines our ranking going into winter evaluations. If we lose to the Foxes, my father will start asking questions I don’t want to answer."

"So what’s the plan?" Javier asked.