—--
The words "PRECISION MARKSMANSHIP" flashed across the digital display as students gradually filed into the south wing of the dome.
Rhea entered with a small cluster of her classmates. Everyone was dressed in the standard academy's sport wear, but even that seemed to adapt to the tone of the room. The boys in her class were clad in sleeveless athletic tops that hung slightly loose over their toned arms and muscles, a testament to their rigorous training and constant drills.
Their black joggers, snug at the waist and tapered at the ankles, were both practical and sharp. Most had slung their Academy- issued jackets over their shoulders or tied them at the waist, a few with sweatbands pushing their messy hair back.
They stretched idly, as if unsure they had something to prove or nothing to lose.
The girls, including Rhea, wore titted black joggers with sleek silver stripes down to the side, nicely paired with charcoal-gray compression shirts stamped with the Academy's crest just above the heart.
She fixed her fingerless gloves back in place and glanced around the neat room, immediately struck by the stark contrast between this chamber and the lively track they passed earlier, where the seniors were laughing and roughhousing. Here, the air was colder and almost clinical. The place exuded a sense of order that bordered on surgical, the kind of atmosphere that demanded silence and discipline.
When the bell echoed earlier in class, Elira had informed her about the test they'd be having today, and unfortunately for Elira, she couldn't join due to her condition.
Rhea couldn't help but imagine her luck knowing she'd be doing a test that would get her started on her merit points. Although she didn't care about the merit points, and that had no connection to why she came here, slacking off was still not part of the deal. Being a part of each of the school's curriculum counted. Elira had told her the academy doesn't joke around with it, but she hadn't imagined the academy would treat it with such gravity.
The floor beneath her feet shimmered like polished obsidian, interrupted only by crisp white lines demarcating individual shooting lanes. Along the rare walls stretched a long, matte-black counter lined with rows of identical training rifles– sleek, minimalistic designs. Though they were replicas, they carried the exact weight and feel of real firearms, modified to fire pressurized capsules that burst on contact with embedded impact sensors.
The entire setup felt less like part of a school curriculum and more of a high-security simulation chamber– something out of a military-grade war film. Rhea instinctively straightened her posture for this one. She really couldn't underestimate anyone here, but neither should they.
"Line up, all of you!" a commanding voice rang out from the far end of the training dome.
Rhea turned along with the others, her eyes settling on a gray-haired man striding toward them with the experience in his steps. A faded scar stretched down the side of his neck, the kind that made Rhea's eyes narrow. From the looks of it, it didn't seem to Rhea like a weapon caused it, more like claws? But she didn't bother to ask.
Their instructor didn't look like a man who belonged in a school– more like someone who'd walked straight out of a war zone and had never quite learned how to leave it.
"I hope you've all come prepared for today's Marksmanship Examination," he said, his tone curt as the students shuffled into a line. "Earning the golden certificate isn't just a vanity badge. It's a mark of pure discipline, precision and skill. Some of you might think this is just another drill, but let me be clear– fail this, and your merit score will drop significantly. I gave you a full week to prepare. That was me being generous. Today, I expect results."
He gestured sharply toward the counter where a row of weapons laid out on a table beside him. "Each of you will take a turn. Select your weapon and choose your lane. You'll be scored accordingly."
There was a flicker of both excitement and hesitation as the students moved forward to select a firearm of their choice, and Rhea frowned slightly.
Wasn't this sort of thing illegal?
But then again, maybe it didn't count– not if the weapons weren't real.
"You there."
Rhea's head turned toward the instructor and realized he had his gaze fixed on her. His tone was sharp, cutting through the murmurs of students like a blade.
She approached him with a quiet composure.
"You must be the new student I was informed about," he said, studying her with a mixture of curiosity and reservation. "You weren't present for the previous lessons that covered the basis of this exam. I'll allow you a few weeks to prepare and retake it—"
"No, thank you," Rhea interjected calmly, her refusal shocking the rest of her classmates. "I'd prefer to take the test alongside the others. I only need a clear explanation of the rules."
The instructor blinked, equally taken aback. "Are you certain?" he asked, his brow furrowing. "You do realize you've only just arrived. Failing the test could severely impact your initial assessment. I'm extending this offer only because I was informed you enrolled just yesterday. I suggest you take advantage of it and prepare properly."
"I understand the risks, sir," Rhea said, maintaining a respectful tone, but her decision never wavered. "I'm confident I can handle it. I just need to know what's expected of me."
"Yeah right," someone amongst her classmates scoffed, his tone sarcastic, and the rest broke into a laugh. It was pretty obvious no one here believed her, not even the instructor, but Rhea didn't give a damn about what they thought of her, since she simply wanted to get this test over with.
Before the instructor could respond, a sudden excited shriek cut through the air.
"OMG LOOK!!"
The shriek of excitement from a group of girls sliced through Rhea's concentration. She and the instructor instinctively followed the direction of their pointed fingers, only to find their gazes drawn upward– toward the topmost level of the training dome.
There, six elite students loomed like marble effigies, observing the scene below with unreadable expressions. Their presence cast a shadow over the place, thickening the air with a quiet intimidation.
Rhea's expression faltered the moment she met his gaze.
Him. Again.
That same unsettling stare pinned her like a blade through silk– dissecting, disturbingly still, and almost possessive. It wasn't just looking: it was claiming. Like he was measuring the distance it would take to reach her, to take her and never let go. His eyes didn't flicker. Not once. As if blinking might mean losing her.
It crawled across her skin like frost and fire, raising goosebumps she pretended were from the wind. She told herself it disgusted her immensely, that she hated how he looked at her like she was some priceless ruin he wanted to destroy just to know how it worked.
But her pulse said otherwise.
No one has ever looked at her like that. Not with worship.
Not with hunger.
Not like she was the beginning– and the end– of someone's madness.
And Rhea, for all her sharp edges and carefully curated indifference, felt the crack split a little wider.
"Don't mind us," one of the elites called down, his voice smooth as velvet and laced with amusement. His smile was dazzling— dangerous in its perfection. Rhea didn't know him, but she recognized four of the others: three from the auditorium, and one she had bumped into near the koi pond under last night's moonlight.
"We're just here to watch. Please, carry on."
"They look jobless," Rhea muttered under her breath, earning a sidelong glance from the instructor. He didn't scold her, but his frown deepened, and his eyes lingered on the elites above a moment too long.
The timing of their appearance felt… deliberate. Like sharks circling just before blood hit water
Something wasn't right.
"You still want to take the test?" he asked, but this time, he didn't wait for her answer. "Fine. Just remember– you're putting your grades on the line here. First rule, no shades. Take them off, choose your weapon and pick a lane."
Rhea simply nodded, her jaw set in quiet defiance. She took off her shades, leaving everyone awestruck by her eyes.
"I thought they were contact lenses," someone whispered, and another round of murmuring circulated in the dome.
Rhea's gaze flicked up one last time– just in time to catch Kael lift a hand in a slow, taunting wave.
In response, she raised her middle finger without hesitation, as if stating his actions had no effect on her, and it dripped with contempt.
His grin only widened at her stubbornness, all arrogance and amusement, as if her hostility had become his new favorite game. That smile of his made her fingers twitch for a weapon.
Rhea tore her gaze away before she did something reckless. She certainly didn't want to end up in actual prison this time, and if she messed this up, her new father might be the one to send her there.
Fighting the impulse, she turned on her heels and moved toward the rack of weapons, each step sharp with unspent rage. Behind Kael, one his companion leaned in to whisper.
"Remind me why we're here again?"
Kael didn't take his eyes off her as he responded. "Just watch. I invited someone over."