Chapter 209: 209 | A Rivalry Flag Has Been Accepted
The ten-minute hydration break scattered Class 1-B across Field Epsilon like shrapnel from a controlled detonation. Some students clustered near the water station Steele had indicated with a jerk of her chin. Others found spots in the shade of the equipment building. A few just stood where they’d been standing, processing what they’d witnessed.
I grabbed a water bottle from the cooler and took a long drink while my brain ran through everything I’d just seen.
These students were strong.
Not uniformly, not in the same ways, but the raw potential assembled on this field was genuinely impressive. Suki’s voice-based paralysis was the kind of ability that changed the shape of engagements entirely. Rina’s comfort wool sounded soft until you realized she could functionally remove someone’s will to fight. Theo’s kinetic banking meant the harder you hit him, the harder he hit back. Camille’s projectile accuracy at thirty feet was better than most second-year students I’d read about in the Academy files.
And then there was the instructor herself.
Imara Steele stood near the equipment rack reviewing something on her tablet, her posture radiating the kind of authority that came from years of doing exactly what she was training us to do. She was compact and muscular in a way that communicated functional strength rather than aesthetic goals. Her dark skin caught the afternoon light, and her military-short natural hair emphasized the sharp angles of her face. She was probably mid-thirties, maybe younger, with the kind of bone structure that would make her beautiful at any age if she ever decided to deploy it in that direction.
She didn’t. Her expression was a locked door with a sign that said "Do Not Enter" in seven languages.
But underneath the professional distance, underneath the clinical assessment and the public transparency and the zero-tolerance policy for underperformance... Imara Steele was objectively attractive. The kind of woman who could make you forget your own name if she decided to look at you a certain way, which she never would, because she was your instructor and you were a bug under her microscope.
The System notification pulsed at the edge of my vision, the one I’d been ignoring since it appeared earlier.
〘 Rivalry Flag Detected: Imara Steele. Accept Rivalry? Unlocks: Rivalry Missions, Progression Bonuses, Specialized Rewards. 〙
I’d been avoiding this prompt since it first appeared because something about making my instructor into a rival felt like it was crossing a line I hadn’t fully mapped yet.
But standing here, watching her evaluate her tablet with the focus of a surgeon reviewing scans, I reconsidered the calculus.
She didn’t believe my adrenaline explanation. She’d clocked the gap between my registered abilities and my entrance exam performance. She was going to keep pushing until she found the answer or I gave her one she could accept.
Which meant she was going to push me harder than anyone else in this cohort.
And honestly? That might be exactly what I needed.
No one better to force growth than someone who refuses to accept your limitations. No one better to drive improvement than a teacher who sees through your cover story and demands you prove what you’re actually capable of.
I mentally accepted the rivalry flag.
〘 Rivalry Accepted: Imara Steele. Rivalry Mission Tree Unlocked. First Mission Available After Assessment Completion. 〙
The notification dissolved, replaced by a faint warmth in my chest that I chose to interpret as validation rather than the beginning of something complicated.
I finished my water and scanned the field for the social landscape.
Petra had isolated herself near the far end of the bleachers, her posture communicating that proximity was not welcome and conversation was actively discouraged. She sat with her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap, the picture of aristocratic composure even in athletic wear. Her blonde hair caught the light like it had been styled by professionals, and her features maintained that expression of mild disdain that seemed to be her default operating mode.
She’d made eye contact with exactly zero people since her demonstration ended. The message was clear enough that even Caden, who seemed constitutionally incapable of reading social boundaries, had given her a wide berth.
High-class bitch was maybe uncharitable, but it was also accurate based on available evidence.
I spotted Felicity near the water station, her blonde hair pulled back in a high ponytail that swayed when she moved. She was talking to someone I didn’t recognize, her hands moving in animated gestures that suggested she was explaining something complicated or possibly just existing at her normal energy level.
When she saw me looking, her face lit up with recognition and she waved me over with the enthusiasm of someone who’d been waiting for exactly this opportunity.
I walked over.
"Lukas! You survived Steele’s death glare! I saw her looking at you during your demo like she was trying to figure out where to bury the body."
"She has questions about my entrance exam performance," I said. "I gave her answers she didn’t like."
"Bold choice. Most people try to make their instructor happy during the first week."
"I’m not most people."
Felicity grinned. "No, you are definitely not." She tilted her head, studying me with those vivid blue eyes that always seemed to be cataloguing more than they let on. "Your Aspect is interesting, by the way. The golden arm things. Very dramatic."
"Phantom Touch," I said, using the registered name. "Telekinetic projection."
"Mhm." She took a drink from her water bottle, her lips wrapping around the rim in a way that I was absolutely not going to think about. "And that’s the whole story?"
"That’s the registered story."
"Smart boy." She smiled like I’d passed a test she hadn’t announced she was giving. "So. Question."
"Answer."
"Your girlfriend." Felicity’s tone shifted into something that sounded casual but probably wasn’t. "Sloane. The pink-haired goddess who walked into our common room this morning and made everyone remember they had somewhere else to be."
"What about her?"
"Is she always that..." Felicity paused, searching for the right word. "Intense? Territorial? Ready to incinerate anyone who looks at you for more than three consecutive seconds?"
