"I think it would be best if you went to Mallorca once the Academy is finished with you in August instead of coming back home."

"But-" Archie started.

Click.

Archie's eyes searched the ground of the sweltering, metallic generator room. He squeezed his phone in his hand so hard the plastic case creaked. His father had hung up on him. After what had just happened. After what he'd said. He'd just hung up.

Don't let your anger control you.

Archie shut his eyes and trembled, trying to keep it in. It rose up in him. His father's words. Losing to Jacob. Being humiliated in front of the Academy. All of it roiled in him, a dark maelstrom.

Boys let their emotions control them. Men are in control of their emotions.

He didn't care. He didn't care about any of that stupid fucking bullshit.

Archie clenched his teeth, stepped forward, and hurled his phone like an MLB pitcher throwing a fastball in the bottom of the ninth. It clanged against the far wall.

He hated him. He hated him so much he couldn't stand it.

"AHHHH!" Archie screamed. He smashed his hand against the railing surrounding some bulky, spaceship-like contraption. His head felt hot. His thoughts were absent. Everywhere he turned the same frustration consumed him. He clasped his hands to his head. It boiled up in his head like a kettle with no release, pressing against his skull, cracking it, threatening to explode.

The glint of his phone's camera caught his eye. He took a deep breath and marched over to it, his rage settling down to a simmer.

He picked it up carefully, turning it over in his hands like some delicate relic. The case had a mark from where it hit the wall, but it seemed fine. He opened it and clicked around on some apps to make sure it hadn't fried before slipping it in his pocket.

There you go, losing your cool like a child...

He fell back against the wall and sunk down to the floor.

He wanted to cry but he wouldn't. He'd already been weak enough to let his anger get a hold of him, he would not cry.

You couldn't even keep control of your emotions. Even that's too much for a useless disgrace like you.

"Shut up!" Archie took deep breaths. This wasn't the first time his father had made him want to explode. He'd handled it before, he could handle it again.

His heartbeat began to settle.

He had to remember it was all just a challenge. Everything was an opportunity to grow, to improve, each test a challenge to overcome.

Of course he'd been upset. How could he not be? First, the shock of the loss, then the berating, then the dismissal from the household. He'd let his emotions get the best of him, but now he was aware of it and he had to reign them in. That was the challenge now and there were no excuses now that he was aware of it.

Maybe it did say something about him as a person that what he'd just gone through was enough to make him lose it, or maybe it said something about how invested he was in the tournament, how much he valued what his father thought of him.

He had to believe that second one. That was the positive spin. And in reality, he'd put so much into the tournament, had been so passionate about it, how could losing not affect him? He wasn't a robot.

Archie sighed. It was over. Point blank period. He was done, finished, knocked out. It didn't seem real. Even these matches felt like something pre-emptive, some preparation for the tournament. Even after beating Schwarz last weekend he still hadn't really believed it was happening. Ever since he could remember the Tisdale Tournament had been something down the road, something to strive for, something to work for. Something that, one day, when he had practiced as much as he could, when he was ready, he would fight in. He would relish every moment, savour every microsecond of it, implant each memory in his brain permanently.

And yet here he was, out the other side of the tunnel, the past few weeks a rushing blur behind him. Had he made the most of it? Had he worked as hard as he could? Would he spend the rest of his life like his uncle, watching every year, commenting on the strategy, cheering at the victories, some small part of him still waiting for his turn despite knowing it had come and passed like a brief gust of wind, barely registered before it had vanished forever?

He knew better than to regret. He knew he'd given everything he'd had against Jacob and had lost. Even if he questioned it, he had to believe it. He had to.

How could he have lost to Jacob? He was just a boy, for crying out loud. A boy without a code of conduct, or morals, or anything, just like so many other people nowadays. What was the point of living with a code of conduct, being prideful, being in control of yourself, if it couldn't make you win?

"Stupid fucking bullshit," Archie hissed.

All that bowing and chivalry and rigid behaviour. Everyone would think it goofy posturing if he couldn't win, if he wasn't even strong because of it. So embarrassing.

What was the point of it all anyway? Why not say what he actually thought to others? What were they to him? Why not spend his money impulsively? Why not leave school? It wasn't like he needed any of it.

But didn't he?

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Mallorca... Dismissal from the household. Next would be disownment. He knew how these things worked. How many steps—blunders—was he from losing everything? From being sawed off and left to fall from the tree and rot away in the grass like just another bad apple?

Archie took a deep, shuddering breath in.

Would that be the end of the world? It would certainly be the end of his world, but would having no allowance, having his accounts frozen, taken from him, having all the superfluous benefits of his name and the far reaching network of nepotism be all that bad? Didn't every man want a chance to make it in the world for themselves? Didn't every man deserve a chance to make it in the world for themselves? Wouldn't getting himself disowned maybe be a blessing for him, as a man?

Here he went again with that 'man' crap.

"It's not crap," Archie said. He thought of his father, his uncle, his cousins, their money-grubbing, arrogant narcissism. His lip-curling disgust of all of them seemed the core of his very being, sometimes the only thing driving him to be who he was. Living by a code, keeping himself in line, was the only thing keeping him from that.

He should talk to Camilla about it. There were so few who could understand his familial nonsense, but she was one of them.

And no, he couldn't get himself disowned. Camilla would never want anything to do with him if he had no money, no name. He had to stick it out, be a family sycophant even though it took literal years off his life. Camilla was worth it.

And he had to admit, he was scared of the edge he'd fall off if he was cut off from the family safety net. Going around with next to no money in his bank account? He shuddered. He didn't know how people did it.

He'd lost today, but he was still one of the strongest mages in the Academy, and recovering from it would make him stronger, more mature. If he let something like his loss shake his faith in his ideals, in himself, was he really any better than his family? Was he really any better than some lowly, gold-grubbing goblin?

A quote he loved came to mind:

Try again. Fail again. Fail better.

Archie pushed himself to his feet and took a deep breath. Thinking of the tournament seared him, but it was over, and now he had a buoyant freedom with which he could play.

The first thing to do would be to congratulate Jacob on his win. Just thinking about it drove a lance of ice through his heart, but the more difficult the task, the more important the task. He had control of his emotions now. He had lapsed earlier, but now he was stronger for it and he would not let them rule him.

Archie took a deep breath, set his jaw, and strode out of the boiler room.

----------------------------------------

Jacob let his feet take him to the cafe, focusing on not giving in to the urge to look over his shoulder.

Holy fuck, he'd just done that. Lying to his parents was one thing, but Mr Michaelson? He shivered. What if he got caught out?

But he wouldn't. That was the best part wasn't it? He'd only lied about not knowing about the break in. If they knew he'd done it, they would have confronted him already. There was no advantage to them trying to catch him in a lie. So, he was safe there.

And he hadn't actually outright lied about learning from Mr D'Angelo. Only twisted the truth. He'd found those were the best lies, if you even considered them lies. And he had a feeling that if they did ask Mr D'Angelo about it, he'd cover Jacob's ass.

Jacob entered the Richter Building and shivered, trying to push the encounter out of his mind. Damn prof, ruining his victory high.

The cafeteria was packed to bursting. Every table was full, and a few people even leaned against the walls, plates of food in their hands. Everyone seemed to be chattering excitedly about the matches. The scent of the day's dinner—chicken burgers and mashed potatoes—made Jacob's stomach rumble.

He grabbed a plate and got his food, then scanned the cafe for Blake and Camilla and Grace.

"Hey! Sick win dude!" John Altman called out from a nearby table.

Jacob raised his hand. "Thanks, man."

"I feel a little better about that loss now, you know?" He laughed.

Jacob grinned. "Tough first round draw."

"Exactly!"

Jacob spotted Blake's brontosaurus neck and made his way over to their table. Grace, Camilla, Blake sat with Tobi Yengue, Stephen, and two people he vaguely recognized. Archie was still absent.

"Room for one more?" Jacob asked.

"Hey, hey! There's the man of the day!" Tobi said. "We were just talking about your match."

Jacob sat down and dug into his food.

"What did Mr Michaelson want?" Blake asked.

"Wanted to know where I learned that spell," Jacob said around a mouthful of chicken.

"Oh, thought you were in trouble or something."

Jacob shook his head. Almost was, though. Christ, that was close. He needed to be more careful.

"Where did you learn that spell, though?" Blake asked.

Jacob stopped eating and eyed his roommate. The question was completely innocent. He didn't like lying to Blake, but he hadn't cleared everything with Camilla and Tanaka, and until he did he had to keep his mouth shut. "Camilla's dad."

"Ah, shoot. I keep forgetting you actually know him in person," Blake turned to Camilla. "Hey, Camilla! Any chance you could introduce me to your father?"

"Hey, good idea!" Tobi said. "Me too!"

"Make that three!" Stephen chimed in.

Camilla raised an unamused eyebrow. "No. Not a chance."

"Aw!"

Suddenly they all went silent.

"Uh, I think I hear someone calling my name," Stephen said. He got up and pushed his chair in and scuttled off into the crowded cafeteria.

Everyone at the table was looking at Jacob. Or, right above Jacob.

Jacob frowned, and turned around.

Archie stood there, a tray of food in his hand. Steam curled from the heap of mashed potatoes. He smiled at them. "Can I join?"

"Of course. Yeah," Blake said, gesturing to Stephen's empty seat, which happened to be right next to Jacob.

Jacob oddly didn't feel anxious, which in and of itself was more shocking than Archie's sudden appearance. An awkward confrontation like this normally would have sent him spiralling, but tonight he found he didn't care about anyone else. He eyed Archie expectantly.

Archie sat down, pointedly ignored his own food, and turned to Jacob, his cobalt blue eyes locking Jacob's gaze.

"Caibo, I was quite upset after our match," Archie began. "But, I have to admit, I couldn't have predicted that spell, and you used it well. You fought well. You got me. Congratulations on the win, that was an exquisite match."

The words seemed earnest, and if he knew anything about Archie, it was his uncanny ability to just speak the truth, regardless of what people thought of him. The boy was suppressing something, but Jacob couldn't tell what. Anger, maybe? Frustration? But those were natural, weren't they?

A part of him had expected Archie to be noble in his loss like this, yet it still relieved him. Jacob nodded sharply. "Thank you, Archie." On an impulse, he stuck out his hand, initiating the handshake for once.

Archie blinked in surprise, then clasped Jacob's hand in his professional handshake, and grinned. A cord of tension that had laced through their group since the Round of 32 dissipated. In Jacob's periphery Camilla and Blake both unconsciously relaxed.

Jacob didn't ask if him and Archie were cool, or friends again. That was the thing about Archie, he didn't have to ask, he just knew.

If the boy was worried or ashamed about Jacob overhearing his phone conversation, he didn't show it, and Jacob didn't ask.

"I do have one question," Archie said.

"What's up?"

"This extends to McGinnis as well," Archie cleared his throat. "How do you two live with hardly any money in your bank accounts? What I mean is, how do you not panic knowing that you're nearly broke and could very easily be flat on your face?"

Ah, well, it appeared Archie was back to his normal self.