Silas

  I still couldn’t believe the words had left my mouth.

  They looped in my head the whole walk back, each step slapping the pavement like a bad hand I couldn’t fold. Training grounds. Sunday. Mock battle. Loser becomes the bread shuttle for a week.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  Elia caught up first, arms crossed tight across her chest. “Bread shuttle? Really?” She shook her head once, sharp in disapproval.

  Hana fell in beside her, phone already forgotten in her pocket. She punched my shoulder lightly. “You’re going to be carrying trays for Section VI like some glorified waiter.”

  I shrugged, hands deep in my pockets, trying to look unbothered. “Hey, free bread for a week if we win. That’s a win-win in my book. Worst case, we carry it instead.”

  Renard kept pace on my other side, bag swinging against his hip. He didn’t say much, just gave me a flat look that said everything. "Dude, who's 'we'."

  Inside, a small voice kept whispering: You just agreed to fight a guy from Section VI. On four days’ notice. Brilliant, Silas. Really nailed it this time. Though, if I could turn back time I'd still say yes.

  Assuming I keep that ability.

  Corin adjusted his glasses, half-amused, half-concerned. “You do realize this guy is from Section VI, right? They’re not exactly pushovers.”

  “Exactly,” I said, flipping a card between my fingers as we walked. “That’s why it’ll be fun. Besides, he bumped into me first. I was just being polite. Courtesy and all.”

  Renard gave me another disapproving look. “Polite is not the word I’d use.”

  Elia stayed quiet a moment longer, then added softly, “You know this is going to be all over the school by tomorrow, right?”

  I grinned, spinning the card faster. “Good. Let them talk. Maybe they’ll finally stop calling us the Failure Club.”

  Mitsuo, walking a step behind, suddenly let out a short, wheezing laugh. It caught everyone off guard. His shoulders shook, and he tried to play it off, wiping his eyes like he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world.

  “What?” I asked, turning to look at him.

  He shook his head quickly, still smiling. “Nothing. Ah… I just—” Another chuckle slipped out. “—thought it was gonna turn into something else. Old habits, I guess.”

  Hana nudged him with her elbow. “You good?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” He looked lighter than I’d seen him all day. “This is just… really funny.”

  The group kept walking, the conversation drifting into lighter jabs and eye-rolls. I half-listened, half-lost in my own head, already turning my thoughts over.

  ***

  Now at first I was worried I dumped myself into a corner, until Layhen started talking about extra scores or something, and that was just, perfect.

  So you're telling me, if I just win against this one guy. I get to : elevate our status as failures, get a whole cafeteria butler, secure free scores in the class AND get main character energy? That's about as good as a deal gets.

  Though I guess.... the problem is that this problem still sits on a big fat 'IF.'

  Shit.

  “So yeah, that’s kinda what happened,” I finished, launching another dart upside-down, sprawled the chair like a corpse. Hair hanging, falling to the floor.

  The dart sailed cleanly across the dorm room and thunked dead-center into the 100-point ring on the board. I smiled heartily. “You know the cool part about my ability? I can throw darts pretty well. And card tricks. And just about anything related to casinos or gambling."

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  Another dart. Another perfect 100.

  “But the shit part is that other people can rip apart walls, so you know who's really benefitting here?”

  My roommate was sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, not saying much. Just the faint sound of him scrolling.

  I launched another dart. 100 again. “So ding ding ding, here's the problem.. how the fuck am I supposed to one: win the duel, two: not be a bread shuttle, and three: get free marks?”

  He finally glanced over, one eyebrow raised. “You’re asking the wrong guy.”

  “Dude, come on,” I said, putting on my best help-your-junior-out tone, complete with a dramatic wink. “I’m sure you beat up a couple higher grades as a first-year, right ‘senior’?”

  He snorted, finally setting his phone down.

  For the first time since I started talking, he actually shifted from his spot. The oversized pink t-shirt hung off him like a tent. A pair of ridiculous shark socks ended in cartoon maws at his ankles. Ginger hair curled in every direction, and he wore that permanent half-tired, half-lazy look in his eyes.

  His official uniform lay crumpled on the floor in a sad pile, the golden “Section II” badge glinting on top like it had given up too.

  The name on the badge read Asher Vale.

  He sighed, but a lazy grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “First of all, I did. Second of all, I was actually stronger than them. Third of all, it means you can’t take advice from someone like me who’s the opposite of you.”

  I flicked the next dart straight at his eyes. Something about that tone.

  He caught it mid-air without even looking, the tip stopping an inch from his face. Then he turned it over in his fingers and said, deadpan, “Like you said, right? ‘Who’s really benefitting here?’”

  This time I actually burst out laughing and grabbed the nearest pillow, hurling it at his head. It landed perfectly on top, covering his face like a sad little hat.

  “At least this pillow compliments your vibe.”

  He didn’t even flinch. Just left it there for a second before knocking it off with a swipe, like a cat.

  “Nice shot,” he said, dry and really matter-of-factly.

  I spun another dart between my fingers. “Come on, man. Throw me a bone here. You’re an elite. Plus you’ve got that whole ‘effortlessly strong but pretends really hard not to care’ thing going on right.”

  He sighed, but the grin stayed. “Fine. Rule one: stop calling it a ‘duel.’ It’s a mock battle. Rule two: don’t treat it like a card game where you can bluff your way out. These Section VI guys train like it’s their job. Rule three…” He paused, eyeing the dart in my hand. “If you’re gonna lose, lose in a way that looks good. Bread shuttle for a week is embarrassing. Bread shuttle while looking like you don’t care? That’s gold.”

  I laughed despite myself. “So your advice is basically ‘lose with style’?”

  “Pretty much.” He stretched, the oversized shirt riding up. “Or win. That works too.”

  I flicked the dart. It sailed across the room and stuck right next to the others.

  100 again.

  He watched it land, then shook his head. “You’re somehow really lucky and unlucky at the same time. You know you’re screwed on Sunday, right?”

  I grinned, spinning another card between my fingers. “Yeah. Probably.”

  But for the first time all day, I wasn’t worried. I’d already thought of something.

  This was going to be fun.

  Bets were always fun. Especially with the odds against you.

  The thought pulled me under. Like it always did.

  The room faded.

  A heavy fur coat draped over broad shoulders. The man sat on a sofa that looked too big even for him, one arm stretched lazily along the backrest, the other holding a glass of something dark. Smoke curled from a cigar between his fingers, slow and deliberate, like the whole world was waiting for him to speak.

  He didn’t look at me. He never really needed to.

  “Kid, let me ask you this," he said, voice low and smooth, “What's your goal?”

  I was small in that memory. Scared. But I answered anyway.

  “I… want Mom and Dad to become normal again.”

  The man didn’t look stunned, or surprised. Just… shifted. Leaned forward a fraction, the leather creaking under his weight.

  “What do you think rules the world?”

  I answered without thinking. “Money?" My thoughts trailed into the next obvious thing. "And power."

  A slow smile. Not a kind one. A knowing one.

  “Exactly. But out of money and power, there are those who shape the world with it… and those who get shaped by the world instead.”

  He took a long drag from the cigar, letting the smoke drift between us like a curtain.

  “The funniest part? You can’t change someone who’s already been shaped by the world. And you can’t undo the changes you’ve already made to it. Once the world bends you, you stay bent. Once you bend the world… it stays bent too.”

  He tapped ash into a crystal tray.

  “So tell me, kid… where do you think they fall into all this?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. He saw it in my eyes. Through me entirely.

  He leaned back again, the fur coat shifting like a living thing. Alive.

  “In that same way, the world of power is decided through bets and deals. Some literal. Some philosophical. Some metaphorical. Some nonsensical. But at the end of the day, it’s always a clash of beliefs. A clash of wills. A rigged jury against a desperate defense attorney. Unfair odds. The more unfair it is, the greater the gain for the weaker side… if they’re willing to pay the price.”

  He looked at me properly this time. The smoke made his face hazy, almost unreal.

  “You’re a clever kid. I’ll get to the point.”

  He reached his hand out across the table, palm up.

  This time I could finally see it. His face. The first 'real' smile I'd ever seen, as if everything else before paled in comparison.

  It was terrifying.

  “It’s a bet with me.”

  The odds were in his favour.

  I shook it.

  Silas would never decline a bet again.

  The memory faded.

  I was back in the dorm, staring at the dartboard, the last dart still trembling in the 100 ring. Reverberating through the wood.

  Asher was watching me, one eyebrow raised.

  “You good?” he asked.

  I blinked, then smiled.

  “Yeah.. I’m good.”