The day of the inter-house sports arrived with a sky so bright that even the clouds seemed to part for it. The entire school was alive with noise as students poured out in their designated sportswear, colors marking their year like banners of war.
The first-years marched forward in yellow and black, their bright uniforms glowing under the morning sun. Many looked nervous, clutching their sleeves or whispering excitedly, while others wore bold smiles, eager to prove themselves. Behind them came the second-years in purple and black, their movements sharper, their confidence already thicker from a year's worth of training. Finally, the third-years strode in last, clad in red and black. They carried themselves like veterans, eyes half-lidded as if the competition was beneath them.
When they reached the wide grassy plain, the groups separated, forming three distinct camps facing one another. The air grew heavy with anticipation. Some students fidgeted, others stretched or cracked their knuckles.
Then a voice boomed across the entire field.
"Good morning, students!"
The students twisted their heads in every direction, trying to find where the voice came from, but there was no podium, no floating crystal, no visible figure. Only the rustling trees at the far end and birds scattering into the sky. Yet the voice was unmistakable—it was the Dean's.
"Today marks the beginning of our inter-house sports," the Dean continued, his words rolling like thunder. "As you already know from previous announcements, this day is not merely for recreation—it is a test, one that will shape your growth. And so, without wasting too much time, let us get straight to the point. The challenge is simple: you will be catching monsters."
The plain erupted into murmurs.
"Catching monsters?" one of the third-years in red and black shouted, half-confused, half-amused.
"Yes. Catching monsters," the Dean confirmed firmly. "Every year group will participate. The rules are straightforward. The group with the highest number of captured beasts will be declared the winner, and rewards will be issued."
A purple-clad student raised his hand. "Dean, how many monsters do we need to catch? Is there a limit?"
"There is no limit," the Dean replied. "Catch as many as you can. Outperform the other years, and victory will be yours."
The first-years cheered, some pumping their fists.
"This is going to be fun!"
"Hah! Piece of cake!"
"We'll beat the older years this time!"
Their optimism earned sharp scoffs from the second- and third-years, who exchanged knowing looks.
"Kids," a third-year muttered.
"They'll be the first to get eaten," another sneered.
The Dean's voice cut through their chatter like a blade. "I see many of you think this will be easy. I must remind you: not everything that looks simple truly is. Many times, the simplest tasks hide the sharpest thorns. Keep that in mind, or you will fail."
A brief hush fell. Then Derek's sharper voice rang out.
"When the whistle blows, you will begin. Remember this: failure awaits those who underestimate today's event. And for some… death."
The crowd stiffened. Jaws tightened, eyes darted nervously. Whispers spread like wildfire.
"Death?"
"Is he serious?"
"This is just a sports event… isn't it?"
Even some third-years looked unsettled.
"Derek, don't terrify them already," the Dean chided, though there was little warmth in his tone. "Their spirits are faltering."
Derek smirked, unbothered. "Are they children that I must coddle them? Fear sharpens the senses. If they think today is mere play, they will regret it."
The Dean sighed and gave a small nod. "Perhaps you are right. Still, let us balance harshness with hope." He turned his invisible gaze back to the students. "Good luck to you all. May your efforts bear fruit."
But the mood had already soured.
"What does he mean by that?" one third-year snapped bitterly.
"He's always like this, arrogant as if he owns the world."
"Of course. He's the Dean's right hand. No one dares stop him."
Alex and Raphael stood among the first-years, listening without comment. When their eyes briefly met, both of them shook their heads.
What the other students did not know was that the teachers were right there with them. Derek, the Dean, Colt, Kelvin, and several others had cloaked themselves with invisibility. Earlier that morning, Derek had laid out the real reason for the event: the enemy was watching, waiting for an opportunity. The teachers would remain close, hidden, to protect the students and observe.
"The students don't like you one bit," Colt remarked dryly, his voice pitched low.
"I don't expect them to," Derek replied, his eyes tracking the first-years.
Colt smirked. "Spoken like a man trying too hard to sound above it all. But I know—it stings."
Derek shifted closer until his whisper was sharp enough to cut. "Unlike you, I don't waste time on popularity contests. I use mine to grow strong. You, on the other hand, polish your looks and bathe in fake compliments. If I were you, I'd use my energy wisely."
Colt's jaw tightened. His pride boiled, but he swallowed the anger down. This wasn't the moment.
The Dean glanced at them briefly and shook his head. He signaled to a nearby teacher, who raised the whistle to his lips.
The shrill sound cut across the plain.
At once, the three groups surged in different directions: the first-years broke westward, second-years north, and third-years south. Teachers followed invisibly, each group shadowed by a different set. Derek, Colt, Kelvin, and a female teacher moved alongside the first-years.
Alex and Raphael walked with their year group, scanning the horizon. Beside them, a boy approached with a friendly smile. He was short, with black hair and sharp blue eyes.
"Hey," the boy said brightly. "My name's Finn. What's yours?"
Alex and Raphael exchanged a glance before answering.
"I'm Alex," Alex said. "This is Raphael."
"Nice to meet you both. Mind if I join you?"
"The choice is yours," Alex replied, his tone flat.
Finn took that as approval and stuck close to them. He seemed eager to make conversation, but his words quickly touched dangerous ground.
"What do you guys think about Derek? About what the third-years were saying earlier?" Finn asked, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
Alex's eyes narrowed. "…What's there to talk about?" he asked, trying to sound uninterested. He knew the teachers were listening.
"I just want your opinion," Finn pressed with a shrug. "Doesn't hurt to speak the truth."
Alex studied him carefully. The boy's tone was casual, but there was something in his eyes—curiosity edged with testing. "I have no reason to hate him," Alex said finally. "He's strict, but he's protecting his students. That's all."
"But his attitude is awful," Finn countered.
"No one is perfect. Everyone has a darker side," Alex replied.
Finn tilted his head, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "You sound like you like him."
Alex's expression didn't shift. His voice was calm, clipped. "I don't like anyone. I'm just stating the truth."
Finn hummed as if amused, ready to push further—but before he could, Alex suddenly moved. One moment he stood there, the next he was gone, vanishing from sight so quickly Finn blinked in shock.
Raphael glanced sideways, hiding a smirk. He, at least, wasn't surprised.
Finn froze where he stood, staring at the empty spot Alex had just occupied.