It’s finally here—the first day at the Royal Academy. I’ve dreamt about this moment for years, and now, as I stand at the grand gates, I can barely keep my excitement in check. My hard work, those endless nights of studying after part-time shifts, and my mother’s quiet prayers have all led me to this moment. The Royal Academy—a place where the finest minds of the kingdom gather, where nobles walk the halls with grace and dignity, and where I, Calvin, a commoner, have earned a spot.

I take a deep breath and step through the gates. The air feels different here—crisp, almost heavy with importance. My heart pounds as I look around, taking in the grandeur of the academy. The buildings tower above, their intricate designs speaking of centuries of history and prestige. I feel so small in comparison, but I remind myself—I earned my place here. I deserve to be here.

A booming voice interrupts my thoughts. An announcement calls us to the main hall. I follow the stream of students, my excitement bubbling over again. I can’t wait to meet my classmates, to learn alongside them, and maybe, just maybe, make some friends. I find a seat near the back—empty, like my social circle—but that’s okay. I’ll work my way up.

The chatter around me is fascinating. Names I’ve only read about in history books are being tossed around casually. "Will Miss Saphier give the opening speech?" one student whispers. Another responds, "No way, she’s too busy. She barely shows up here." Miss Saphier... Even her name carries an air of mystery. I wonder what it’s like to meet someone of such importance.

The speech begins. It’s not Miss Saphier, but a teacher whose voice carries authority. He talks about nobility, about the academy’s prestige, about how we—the future leaders of the kingdom—will shape its destiny. My chest swells with pride. Me, a commoner, sitting here among the elite, hearing these words. It feels surreal.

After the speech, we’re free to explore. I wander the halls, taking in the sights. The academy is vast, more than I imagined. As I walk toward my classroom, someone steps in front of me. He’s tall, with an air of arrogance that practically oozes from his very being. "Hi," he says, his voice smooth but sharp, "which noble family are you from?"

I hesitate. "I’m not from a noble family," I reply, my voice steady despite the unease creeping in.

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He blinks, then smirks. Before I can process what’s happening, his hand swings. The slap is loud, sharp, and stings like fire. My cheek burns as I stagger, shock freezing me in place. My mind races—what just happened? Why did he hit me?

"Move out of my way, commoner," he sneers. His words are like venom, each one piercing deeper than the slap itself. Around us, the other students stop and stare. Their eyes aren’t kind. They’re cold, judgmental, as if I’ve committed some unspeakable crime by merely existing here. I feel like an insect under a magnifying glass, ready to be squashed.

Before I can react, a voice cuts through the tension. "What’s going on here?" It’s firm, commanding, and everyone turns to see her—Mika Goldhart. Her armor glints in the light, and her presence alone is enough to scatter the crowd.

Eliath Redwick—so that’s the name of my attacker—turns to her, his arrogance fading slightly. "Nothing," he says, waving it off. "Just moving him out of my way."

"Then stop making a scene," she snaps. "Go to your classes or explore. Don’t loiter."

He mutters something under his breath and looks at me with disdain. "Be careful next time," he says before walking off.

I’m still frozen, my cheek throbbing, when Mika approaches me. Panic sets in—what if she’s going to hit me too? I blurt out, "I’m sorry! It wasn’t my fault! He just slapped me out of nowhere!" My words tumble over each other as I brace for the worst.

To my surprise, she doesn’t raise a hand. Instead, she says, "It’s okay. I know." Her tone is calm, almost... understanding? "You’re a scholarship student, right?"

"Yes," I reply, still unsure of what’s happening.

"Then you should be careful," she warns, her voice firm. "The nobles aren’t as noble as you think. Don’t be naive." She turns to leave, her words sinking in like a cold truth.

Before I can stop myself, I call out, "You’re a good person, Miss Mika. A noble one."

She pauses, glances back, and shrugs. "Maybe I am." Then she’s gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. As I walk to the dorms, the pain in my cheek is a constant reminder of my place here. I touch it lightly, wincing. "Aww," I mutter to myself. "Well, I’ll have to hang on. If enduring this is the price of the scholarship, so be it. It’s just three years. I’ll get through this somehow."

Three years. That’s all it is. Three years of enduring the looks, the whispers, the slaps. I’ve come too far to give up now. For my mother, for my father’s memory, for my future—I’ll survive.