"Horseshit!" Cal jeered at the arena below. Taking another drink and having part of it drip over him. "This is rigged!"

A hand found his shoulder, steadying his swaying form.

"Perhaps," Benjamin said, a concerned look on his face. "You may want to slow down."

No, he really didn't. However, he did appreciate the confirmation that his drunken act was being bought. He was really just copying what he saw elsewhere in the stadium.

Cal was very much not inebriated. Okay, he might have had a slight buzz on account of the sheer amount of alcohol he'd ingested. There could be no doubt in others that he was absolutely plastered.

Using his considerable skill in augmentation to counteract the effects of booze almost felt disrespectful. But he had dedicated untold hours running magic through every fiber of his being, which earned him the right to do with his ability what he pleased. That there was an end game in mind didn't hurt.

"It's not rigged; you're just bad at gambling." Ryan nudged him, shaking his head and pointing at a woman standing on a blue-colored chariot. "I told you to bet on her."

True, but the boy had forgotten to mention that his last two predictions were wrong.

After finding out there were bookies in the Colosseum, Cal decided to liven up his experience. It was not going particularly well, but it wasn't like he was blowing everything he had on him.

That may have had more to do with the low bet limits than actual self-control.

"There are more factors to consider than simple ability," Sebastian pointed out with a hoarse voice. He'd been doing some yelling after Cal's repeated prompting. Trying to drown out the people next to you was part of the fun.

The event going on below was a mixture of a race and king of the hill. The chariots were more like platforms attached to a pair of horses. There were no drivers, and the horses knew to circle the track. Each round was composed of ten laps. The combatants would fight on top of the moving chariots, and points were determined based on what place the chariot you were on finished in for a given lap. Should more than one competitor be on a chariot at the time they crossed the line, then the points were divided among the two.

Fairly chaotic, all things considered. Still, after seeing one round and the ability of the competitors, Cal felt confident in determining the general skill level of them.

Despite that, he consistently found himself on the losing end. Whether it was betting on which chariot would be first in a given round or who would actually finish the race, he'd gotten everything wrong.

"It's the performance aspect," Benjamin explained, pointing at a fight between two sword-wielders. "The one with the rapier could have disarmed his opponent three blows ago, but he's playing to the audience. They're deliberately taking on disadvantages in pursuit of their long-term ambitions of fame."

Huh, when he put it like that, they weren't all that dissimilar. Except he wasn't out to be famous.

"You don't think you could have said that." Cal tried and failed to remember how many bets he'd placed. "A while ago."

There was a scoff from the side.

"He tried," Gregor commented with tinted cheeks. After Cal, he had the most. Which wasn't saying much given how conservative everyone was being. "You shoved a glass in his face midway."

In his defense, he was getting tired of holding the stupid tray, and everyone else was going too slow. Buying the second tray after was definitely a mistake, but he really, really wanted to sell this.

If he thought about it, losing the bets actually helped his case…

Cal decided that must have been his true intentions; subconscious Cal was nothing to trifle with.

"But seriously," Ryan continued. "Last time we went out... well, I figured your family had a tight leash on money. Are you sure you can be throwing it around?"

Maybe they did; Cal had never asked. He still didn't get how bad their financial situation was because they seemed to spend money easily enough. Was it all debt? Or did they just have radically different perspectives on what counted as appropriate expenses?

Seeing Ryan expecting an answer, Cal shrugged. The action caused his cup to spill a little on the man questioning him. It wasn't the first time he'd done it today, and Ryan had given up trying to dry himself.

"I dunno. I asked for money, and I got money. I think she wanted to shut me up?"

Being a little shit was a tried and true tactic of his. That's how he ended up getting to tag along to missions in the first place. His status as the child of a Constellation or not, sending a kid to battle cultists was a tall order. One day he'd had enough and just sat on the transport of an outgoing team, daring anyone to move him off.

Obviously, he made sure those few who could haul him off by force or coercion were off base at the time.

After the 'red' line was crossed, resistance to his participation crumbled. They quickly found out, through no fault of his own, that playing with others wasn't his strong suit. He took to the role of hammer well, having the teams he worked with dedicated to clean up or tertiary objectives.

He would never have imagined that act would lead him to be in a foreign country's stadium. Unless it was a scheduled execution, not that he knew what the Empire's policy on that whole thing was.

At this point, he might have interacted with more Empire citizens than Federation ones. Which was funny to think about in a weird way.

Cal tried to take another drink, finding the thought to churn his stomach. He had way too much at this point; neutralizing toxins was one thing, but he couldn't just make the liquid itself disappear. Maybe…he could boil it inside of him?

No, that sounded like a good way to get himself killed.

"Ancestors, you finally reached your limit, didn't you?" Ryan asked with a wry smile on his face. "Founder's Day usually has few competitions; you'll participate, right? I'll put my entire allowance on you."

From the context, Cal understood that was some sort of holiday.

But as far as he knew, Ryan should have no idea he could kick the ass of everyone in this stadium. Hells, Benny could probably do the same. The competitors weren't that good. All they had on them was age, which, while fairly important for determining how much magic you could infuse your body with, wasn't enough to close the gap between them. It was a fundamental difference in quality.

Cal eyed the boy warily.

"Whatcha talkin about? You know I only just started learning how to use a weapon, don't you?"

He intentionally threw in slang, hoping to play up the 'from the boonies' angle.

Ryan gave him an odd look, and Gregor of all people started snickering.

"I believe he's referring to the games where the students compete to see which of them has the greatest tolerance." Benjamin swished his cup around gently. "It's not something I've experienced myself. It would not be appropriate for someone in my position."

Drinking games. Duh. Stupid kids. He shouldn't have jumped to conclusions.

"Sure thing then," Cal gave an empty promise. "But won't someone find a way to cheat? Gotta be a way to do it."

Magic was pretty versatile, and there was plenty he'd not seen.

"Nah, they make you wear suppression cuffs."

Stupid and rich kids. A dangerous combination, to be sure.

"Awesome," he cheered dumbly. It felt like the appropriate thing to say.

Cal looked at his mug again; he was really sick of the taste and couldn't fit anymore if he wanted to. He decided to take care of his excess fluids the old-fashioned way.

"Imma hit the can." Cal stepped off the platform. "Don't wait up."

He nearly stumbled off due to the height difference from the walkway. These things weren't that clever then.

"Do you need assistance?" Benjamin asked in a manner that conveyed he was offering out of obligation rather than want. Understandable, given they'd have to drag along the prince, who seemed to be having a decent time.

"I'm good." Cal waived off the concern. "Keep an eye on the game. I still got money on it."

Hopefully, this wouldn't take too long. He was pretty sure he was going to come out ahead on this one.

Cal navigated to the nearest restroom, thankful for the ample signage to guide him. Mercifully, he didn't have to wait, as the first he found was empty. The ongoing round must have had popular players.

He moved to relieve himself, careful not to touch anything. Maybe he should have asked the little prince for access to his box, not to watch but to use the facilities at least. It would have been far better this.

As he stood in place finishing up, Cal double-checked to make sure this was in fact the mens room. Given the urinal he was using, he thought that was a good bet.

Impatient weren't we?

He made sure he was decent before turning, meeting eyes with Miss Justiciar.

Fun time was over, and now he had a job to do.

—

His plan was simplistic, which was appropriate because he'd conceived of it on the train over.

That wasn't fully accurate; he'd decided on this course of action at the same time he committed himself to learning how to whistle. He just hadn't expected to have to enact a variation of it so soon.

"Is that to your liking?" The Justiciar asked him.

They were seated in a small room. It looked to have been some office before being commandeered by the woman.

Cal was seated on an armchair; across from him was the Justiciar. Between them was a round coffee table; there was a bottle placed on it. He didn't know what it was, but he'd been given a glass of it and had already taken a sip.

"Iss good," Cal said hesitantly, forcing himself to drink a little more. "Gots a kick."

She might be trying to kill him, as he was pretty sure this would melt his throat if he let it. Even with the burning sensation, it tasted surprisingly good. Much better than the watered-down swill from before.

That didn't mean he wanted to drink it.

"You may keep the bottle. I had purchased it for your teacher; however, I never got the opportunity to offer it."

Suddenly the intensity of the drink made sense. This was right up Ferguson's alley. He wasn't quite dumb enough to try finishing it himself, but he was certainly not giving it to that failure of a teacher.

"You're lookin healthy," Cal commented. Last time she'd been close to death's door. He wasn't sure why she was trying the good cop approach now, but he was happy to play along. "What you doin here?"

He had pretended to be surprised after being cornered in the bathroom, but ever since noticing her on the train, he'd been preparing for this moment. All thoughts of pumping Gregor and Ryan for more info were discarded, and instead, he sought to put himself in such a vulnerable state that she couldn't help but attempt to question him.

The hard part was getting what he wanted across in a convincing manner.

"Conducting my duties," she spoke in a plain manner. "From your acceptance of my invitation, I presume you will be more amenable now to engaging in a discourse."

Her eyes roamed him; Cal presumed she was judging him. Which he found apt given her profession.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

By now, Cal thought it safe to assume she was well aware of his little foray in the city with Lily, along with whatever his reputation was in the Academy. He was a bit scared to pry into the specifics of the latter but suffice it to say, she probably had a dim impression of him as a person

Which meant him getting drunk and then spilling his guts was a believable sequence of events.

"Big A said it was K last time," Cal invented a nickname on the spot. He figured it would amplify the unguarded vibe he was going for. "What's on your mind, Jan? Can I call you Jan?"

The shortening of her name, Janice, was not taken in stride, and he noticed her jaw tense.

Maybe she should be the one drinking.

"You may not. I was not born to my title; I earned it."

Cal would have hoped the position of judges/excutioners in this society were not a hereditary position, but it wouldn't surprise him.

"Miss Justiciar, gots it." Cal offered, conscious that there was a difference between pretending to be impaired and pissing off your interrogator.

For some reason, that didn't seem to satisfy her.

"Last week, you missed your final exam. Where were you?"

Coming out swinging? Fair enough. After realizing she could do nothing to change his mind, Olivia had drilled him on what he may be asked, making sure his story was straight.

That was before he committed to impersonating a wanted criminal, but he'd work it out.

Cal's brow furrowed, and he gained a faraway look. He rubbed his chin for extra effect.

"Ah right." He smacked his forehead. "I was gonna fail, so I skipped out."

Silence followed his admission, and Cal's eyes began to droop. Snapping fingers got him to refocus.

"That's not a valid reason for being absent during an exam. Guessing alone would have earned you some marks."

Guessing? He'd actually studied. Not having a makeup exam was the real crime here. There should have been allowances for extraordinary circumstances, like having a fake childhood friend kidnapped.

"But then I'd have to take it," Cal said, not elaborating. As if that was a good enough justification in his mind.

She reached into her pocket, retrieving a small notepad, and beginning to scribble something. Cal restrained the urge to peak at it.

"Where were you the rest of the night?"

Rescuing someone who shouldn't need rescuing and apparently pulling the spine out of everyone's favorite assassin.

"Hidin from Big A. She can be mean, and city is big." Both were objectively true. "Lily found me, but." Cal leaned in a conspiratorial manner, beckoning her with his finger. She mirrored him and he continued. "I lied and said we were celebratin cause I passed every tin." He returned to his original position and tone. "I dunno how, but they found out, and I got in trouble. I even got grounded…" He startled, his eyes going wide for a second. Cal held his hands out and pleaded. "If anyone asks, I'm studyin right now. You got my back, right?"

Disgust. That was the predominant feeling he got from her gaze. Sweet. He wasn't sure if it was genuine because of the buzz, but he felt like he was getting a handle on this type of stuff.

"You're academic record is not my prerogative." Cal gave her a blank stare. "I'm not interested in your grades or what you inform your family of."

He smiled and nodded, crossing his arms in a content way. She fired off the next question quickly.

"How do you believe Petro Lucerna met his end?"

A laugh was stifled within; that was a really basic trick she was trying.

"End?" He tilted his head in confusion. His passing hadn't been announced to campus; they were still keeping it quiet. "Was he expelled or somethin?"

The bait was cast, and he waited for her to snatch it.

"Curious that you would assume him expelled." Cal desperately wanted to fist pump right there; he settled for a mental high five. "What led you to that conclusion?"

He scrunched up his face, making an impression like he'd swallowed a lemon.

"Uhhhh." Cal stretched the word out, looking towards the door as if he were considering escaping. "Nothin."

The Justiciar's pen made scraping noises, and she leveled an intense stare toward him.

"Certain activities have come to light recently, on House Lucerna's part. Do you perhaps know of some of these?"

Cal had wondered what they'd dug up on Petro's end. Given he, a complete novice, managed to find dirt after a week, he gave it good odds that they'd had similar results.

For all the bets he lost out there, it seemed the reverse was occurring here. Which was good considering this is what actually mattered.

He alternated his look between her and the door before finishing the glass and serving himself another.

"Nothin I say goes to Big A, right?" He asked seriously, pretending that was his chief concern. She nodded and he spun his web. "I had, like, a dinner with him a couple of weeks ago. Well, it was lunch but there was a lot of food, so it felt more like dinner. You knows what I mean?"

She held a hand up to stop his rambling.

"I'm aware of the event, and that Petro was visibly upset after it."

They really had been digging then.

"Cool, cool. Yeah, he was talkin about joinin our houses and everything. But see, Big A told me he was a liar." He paused as if that were a large revelation. "Anyway, I told him he was a liar. Because Big A said so. What's weird is that after, when I was talking with Big A, she was angry when I told her I said that. She even told me to stop speaking to people I didn't know."

He shook his head and went back on track. There might have been a brief look of sympathy in her eyes; it disappeared quickly.

"But see, what I didn't tell her was that he started braggin at the end. Talkin about how he didn't lie, but his big sister used to all the time. Then he said she doesn't do that anymore; that one day she went poof." He made a poofing motion with his hands, spilling the glass' contents partially on him but not pausing in his story. "But the really, really weird part. Was then he started talking about a friend he has? Like a super duper scary friend. The kind of guy that makes people go poof. Now, I'm no dumb dumb. I knows a threat when I hears one."

He finished with a self-satisfied nod. Deciding to don the shroud and go roleplaying was only half of the equation; the other half was deciding who to reveal himself to. The Justiciars were high-risk, high-reward candidates, and he was feeling lucky. He ignored his recent string of lost bets.

"How astute of you," she said dryly. It was the response he was hoping for, yet he still felt insulted. "Did he give any details of who this person was? Gender or affiliation? Affinty perhaps?" Cal shook his head in denial. He couldn't make it too easy. "Think over the conversation carefully; was there anything else said that struck you-" She paused, considering her words. "Did he make any other references to family dealings? Speak, even if you think it innocuous."

"He didn't talk much about family. Was more happy talking about himself than anything else." Cal tapped his foot and squeezed his eyes shut. He stayed like this before snapping his fingers. "Come to think of it, there was somethin else weird. He talked about rewardin me if I did what he said. But, when I asked what that reward was he got super weird. Saying a bunch of strange things, I stopped listening to most of it because it made me feel sleepy. Uh, I mean sleazy. Words very same like."

He made a grasping motion toward her and found the pen pressed against his throat. Well, that's what he was after anyway.

Showing a complete lack of caution, he snatched the writing instrument. She sprung out of her chair and backed into a corner of the room, retrieving a dagger from somewhere.

Oh, had he been too fast there?

She knew what class he was in, so that amount of speed shouldn't be an issue, probably too jumpy after nearly dying last week.

Disregarding the blade pointed at him, he wrote on the table itself. He frowned at his handwriting, scratching it out and trying again. It was a good thing Alice had never asked to see his notes, or she'd probably lock him in a room and force him to practice.

Well, he could read it easily enough. He dropped the pen on the table and took the bottle. He held it to the artificial light, admiring the glasswork.

"What is this?" She asked, sheathing the dagger and approaching the table before turning it to better see what he'd written. "An address?"

Petro's little rant before Cal decided to kill him had always bothered him. Specifically about what he planned to do with Olivia and implied had already been done with the man's own sister.

Knowing the man had a connection to a brothel, legal or not, hit him as all types of wrong. Maybe everything was on the up and up, but Cal wasn't very satisfied with just assuming that. He'd held himself back on account of being wholly unqualified to deal with it and having too much on his plate anyway.

In the end, it wasn't why he was here.

It wasn't his job.

But it was hers. Or it should be the job of anyone who supposedly worked in justice's name.

"He invited me there to have a good time or something." He placed the bottle back down. "I'm aint the sharpest thing around, but I can memorize things good. That stuck with me."

"So it seems," she muttered while copying it to her notebook. Her dark eyes traced back to him, with that same appraising quality. "Have you told anyone else this?"

No. He hadn't even told Olivia this was his plan, thinking she'd disapprove of him getting more involved.

"Big A has lots to worry about. Figured enough was enough. Say if he did something bad. You'll lock him up, won't you, Miss Justiciar?"

He delivered it in a naive tone, blinking widely at her.

Her expression softened just the barest amount.

"That is the oath I swore."

The stadium trembled, and Cal tensed for a moment, relaxing when he realized it was just the reaction of the crowd. With the length of time that had passed, he had probably missed the whole round.

Ripping paper sound, and he looked at the outstretched scrap.

"Return to your friends for now. I will be in contact for follow-up questions. And should my colleague question you, please refrain from repeating what you informed me of. Like your sister, he has many worries."

Hmmm, he still couldn't puzzle how large the rift between those two was. That she was willing to conceal things from her partner boded well.

Cal smiled an innocent smile, giving her a thumbs up before going for the door.

It shut behind him, and he slowly returned to his 'friends'. His mind was far from anything happening in the stadium.

His expression soured.

For all he complained about the Board playing games, here he was doing some of the same.

Cal was testing her.

He knew he was treading dangerous waters here. There were better ways to play this, safer ways. But a part of him, a small but vocal one, wanted her to surprise him in a good way.

If she did...maybe, just maybe he'd give her a little more.

It was precisely the opposite of what he was meant to be doing.

"Am I even playing a part?" Cal wondered to himself out loud with some mirth.

A naive idiot to his core.