In a flash, I’m encircled by five guys, one of whom labeled me ‘fresh meat’ just yesterday. It’s evident this is a premeditated ambush. They’re gearing up to jump me.

“I don’t hear an answer,” the ‘fresh meat’ lover snapped. “Are you deaf?”

“Everyone saw it. You stared at Princess Barrow. You made her uncomfortable.”

“How dare you? You’re getting too brazen.”

I scan their smug faces with bored eyes.

“The bastard’s silent,” the broad-shouldered one mutters through gritted teeth.

“Looks like we've got an uppity commoner here,” the skinny fellow quips. “Do you think you’re above nobility?”

“I have to be,” I say with a sigh. “The bottom spots are already taken.”

The guys on my right clench their fists menacingly. The broad-shouldered one comes close, his nose almost touching my cheek.

“Feeling smart, huh?” he snarls. “How about you show what you can do in the ring?”

I fight the urge to headbutt his smug upturned nose. They’re just baiting me, waiting for me to throw the first punch. If I do it, they’ll have the excuse they need to pummel me, and I’ll be the one getting expelled. Nice try, morons.

“One usually proves their intelligence with words, not fists,” I lock eyes with him. “But sure, some idiots only can use their fists.”

“Shut up!”

He raises his hand to slap me in the face. I catch his fingers in mid-air and twist them backwards.

“Ouch!” he whines.

Just before I break his fingers, I shove his own hand back in his face. His palm slaps his lips.

“Looks like this is yours.”

He staggers back, eyes wide with confusion. I raise my fists, bracing myself for his friends to pile on. Just then, a cold voice from behind them instantly cuts through the tension.

“What’s this meeting about?”

The circle around me instantly dissolves, revealing Lana Barrow's stern face as she leads a trio of girls. Every member of her entourage is as stylish, elegant, and shapely as she is. The concentration of such overwhelming beauty in one place makes me swallow hard.

“Princess,” the boys around me greet her in unison, their eyes shining with puppy enthusiasm. Then they all turn to me, their eyes filled with questions. I nod slowly.

“Lana.”

The broad-shouldered guy hisses through clenched teeth, “Bloody proletarian.”

Ignoring him, Lana turns to me.

“Do we know each other?” Her magical golden eyes narrow slightly.

“Unfortunately, no. Unless we ran into each other at some championship,” I say, lowering my eyes to her shoes. “Be careful not to slip; there's an excess of bile spilled here.”

The faintest smile touches Princess Lana’s red lips. She says nothing, as if waiting. I guess it’s time to introduce myself.

“I’m Arthur Demont. Although here people call me ‘Commoner’.”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” the lanky guy interrupts. “We’ll teach him some manners soon.”

“How exactly?” Lana doesn’t even look at him. Her indifferent gaze sweeps across my face, just as mine recently swept across hers. What’s this all about? A countermove?

“A duel,” the lanky guy announces as he grins brazenly in my face, as if to say, You can’t back out now, everyone heard it, you’ll be embarrassed.

“Have you accepted the challenge?” she asks me.

“I have,” I reply with a shrug.

“You can refuse,” she observes. “Everyone knows about your temporary disability.”

Does everyone know? Gossip travels fast here. But having been labelled ‘disabled’, I can’t refuse. I’m sure she understands that. But why is she deliberately leading me into a fight?

“So I’m a local celebrity now?” I grin. “Then I can’t deprive you all of a performance.”

The girl sizes me up, then suddenly throws me a curveball.

“Against all five of them?”

“What?” My eyes widen. “Are you serious?”

Now she turns her attention to the lanky guy.

“Did you plan to spar with him one by one?”

“Er... yeah?” The guy looks stunned, as if looking for a clue to the correct response.

“Very well, enjoy your fight,” Lana says, abruptly turning away, and leaves. Her white hair sways like a thick curtain of raging snowstorm.

The lanky guy grins from ear to ear.

“After classes come to the Warway Club, you bastard. If you’re not a coward.”

Shit! I feel like I’ve been dropped into a teen drama series. Why aren’t the local rich kids lazy and friendly? It’s a damn academy of athletes and hand-to-hand fighters, and five of them have called me into the ring.

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During the following classes, I am deep in thought. I can’t understand why Lana would pick on a newcomer like me. Does she also have a disdain for commoners, or is it something personal? Maybe it’s because I outshone her at the national competition? I really don’t know.

How did I come to know Lana? Well, it all traces back to a harrowing adventure in the Terrifying World. Her brother, a hellhunter named Needle, and I teamed up to lead a horde of Sludgers onto a cliff. These monstrosities were sluggish, witless beings with drooping ears, resembling nothing so much as decomposing zombies.

We corralled these demons to the edge of the cliff and began hurling this growling, mooing, gnawing mass into the raging waters below. Each impact tore their fragile, rotting flesh, sending geysers of blood skyward. It was as if we were mercilessly hacking at skinless bovine carcasses.

Dust and debris filled the air while the Sludgers' howls intermingled with the river's roar. Perfectly timed with our mission, a flood had come, its waters swollen by melting snows. The fierce current swept the flailing demons away, giving them no chance of survival.

Back then, I had yet to acquire my Thunder Claws — my duel with General Shvar was still in the future — so I relied on the good old-fashioned muscle to do the job. I grabbed armfuls of Sludgers and hurled them even farther into the merciless river.

I vividly recall the moment: as my blade swung through the air, severing yet another head that spewed green saliva, one of the creatures managed to swipe its claws at Needle. The talons skimmed his jacket, targeting the breast pocket that held a faded photograph of his little sister. Before wading into battle with this cacophony of snarling beasts, Needle had paused to draw strength from the image, from his sister's innocent face. I had caught a fleeting glimpse of her rosy cheeks and the snow-white hair she shared with her brother, and it had filled me with a touch of envy. I didn’t have any photos of my own family; they had been left behind in our ruined home.

Though Needle escaped unscathed, his pocket — and the cherished photograph within — had been torn away by the creature. As it tumbled off the cliff's edge, Needle instinctively gave its falling form a kick. Without hesitating, I took a dive into the river below, hoping to salvage the precious keepsake.

In a split-second maneuver, I caught the creature’s clawed paw mid-air, yanking it hard enough to dislocate its shoulder. Hot blood splattered across my face as I plunged into a churning whirlpool teeming with howling Sludgers. White-capped waves, gaping mouths screaming in horror, and frenetic limbs surrounded me. With one arm, I both fought and swam, holding the severed paw aloft with the other, desperate to break free from this watery ambush. After a series of ten furious kicks, I finally escaped.

I stretched out on the shore, waiting for Needle and thinking he’d be grateful I had managed to save his sister's photograph. How wrong I was! He criticized me for abandoning him to deal with the rest of the herd on his own. As a rebuttal, I presented the crumpled but intact photo, its edges torn and splattered with blood. Unmoved, Needle rummaged through one of the bags we had left hidden in the bushes, pulling out a thick photo album. There were snapshots of his family — his parents, his sister cuddling a stuffed bear, and even the family pets. As it turned out, his family had survived and were regularly sending him cheerful photos from a camp for survivors. The ingrate even had the gall to call me a traitor.

Still irate even now, I spat at him and kept the photograph. I completed the arduous journey to Erazin with Lana’s picture — the face of Needle’s cherubic sister — nestled in my pocket. I treasured that crumpled, glossy image of the little blonde girl right to the bitter end. But what was the point? The lava would have incinerated it regardless.

The last bell rings. I get up from my desk and almost trip over Grunos’ legs stretched across the aisle. Mmm... I admire her oval calves, wrapped tightly in nylon.

“Would you like a leg massage?” I offer.

“What?” The red-haired Victoria blinks, quickly tucking her legs back under the desk. “No, thank you!”

“What a pity!” I smile. “Have a good evening.”

“You too.” She perks up suddenly, as if remembering something. “You have a fight tonight, haven’t you?”

“Fights, to be exactly,” I say, admiring her firm bottom as she gets up from her chair. “Do you happen to know who I’m fighting?”

“What do you mean?” She is astonished.

“I’m interested in their class and their MWS skills. Their names aren’t that important. Unfortunately, they never introduced themselves. Such rude boys.”

“They’re all first year students, apprentices,” Victoria plays thoughtfully with a strand of her red hair. “Though, wait, one of them is actually a Warrior.”

“The lanky one?” I guess.

“Yes, Serge Bornoff.”

“Thanks…” I pause mid-step. “Will you come and watch?”

She lifts her chin almost to the ceiling, “Why should I? I have a busy schedule.”

“Sure, of course,” I agree, not wanting to argue. The last thing I need is for her to remember the morning’s massage and decide to give me walloping. A sixth duel is the last thing I need today.

A red-headed girl bursts into the room, her eyes wide and slanted. She’s breathing heavily, her small chest heaving under her blouse.

“Victoria, are you coming?” She pants like a hedgehog. “Margo’s saved us seats on the ropes. Hurry, or we’ll miss everything. They’re probably already beating up the new guy... Oh!” She notices me and immediately blushes.

Grunson is flushed too, but she sits up straight like a pine tree, her chin held high, her eyes shining. So proud. I love it!

“They haven’t started beating me yet,” I say to the redhead with a grin, then look at Grunson. “Did you place bets too?”

“Bets?” They both blink. Are they playing dumb? I’m sure all the nobles in the class have contributed to the betting pool, or at least heard about it.

“I overheard some students betting on when I’d be thrown out of the Academy,” I explain. “Victoria, do you want to wager that your bet will lose?”

“Are you so sure I’m involved?” She raises an eyebrow.

“I am,” I say provocatively. “Or do you want to wager that you didn’t place a bet?”

Victoria snorts and turns away. She takes her time packing her notebook and pens into her bag.

“If I lose, my last act will be to publicly humiliate myself,” I say.

She immediately turns around, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“How are you going to humiliate yourself?”

“Any way you like,” I shrug. “I could even pick up a pen from the floor for you.”

“That’s not humiliation,” she interjects quickly. “It’s a service. Not every commoner is worthy of it.”

“Fine,” I roll my eyes. “Then choose for yourself.”

“Well...” She suddenly licks her lips nervously. “You’ll kiss the soles of my shoes in public.”

“Victoria?” Her friend exclaims, completely taken aback.

Victoria blushes even deeper.

“He deserves it, Tiana! You don’t study with him. You don’t know what he’s like!”

“All right,” I say without hesitation. I don’t intend to lose anyway. “If I don’t get thrown out, you’ll give me a massage.”

“I won’t do it in public,” Victoria says firmly.

“Don’t worry, my lady, I’m not that cruel,” I lower my eyes modestly. “In my room. And it’ll be a full body massage."

“Don’t agree,” the redhead waves her off. “Going to a commoner’s room... Rumors will spread. You’ll never live it down. And tomorrow, your bet...”

Suddenly she falls silent, but the most interesting thing has already been blurted out. Is the deadline tomorrow? Wow, it turns out I only have to hold out for two more days, and those delicate, thin hands will be stroking my skin. The anticipation is already pounding in my chest. A hormonal explosion for the night is guaranteed.

“Today, he is fighting with four Disciples and one Warrior,” Gruson waves away. “Surely he won’t be left standing on his own two feet. An ambulance will take him away.”

I strike while the iron is hot.

“Is that a deal?”

“It is,” she says and nods.

Her slender fingers entwine with mine, promising more to come. Already, my imagination is running wild. I visualize the whole exhilarating experience — the soft caress of her hands, the sensuous brush of her loose red hair against my skin, the view of her long legs, elegantly unclothed. I’ll convince her to shed those nylon stockings, and maybe even more. But I have to rein my thoughts in: I can’t afford to lose control now. After all, stepping into the ring with wet pants would be anything but respectable.