The knock on my door came two days later, in the middle of the afternoon. Not the casual rap of Magnar's knuckles or Cassia's impatient banging. This was deliberate. Controlled. The kind of knock that expected to be answered.

  Outside was waiting headmaster Arcturus, Cassia's father, the man who pushed his daughter to trick me into an engagement so he could solve his house's problems.

  "Cato," he said, his voice even. "We need to discuss some concerns regarding your activities."

  I stepped aside. "Come in."

  He entered, the guards staying just outside the doorway. His eyes swept across the interior—the freshly whitewashed walls, the tile stoves built into the walls radiating steady warmth, the organized living space with its separate anteroom for outdoor gear.

  He went still. His gaze moved slowly from the polished floor to the heating vents, to the trapdoor leading down stopping on the open door leading to the functioning kitchen area.

  "So the reports were accurate…" he said quietly.

  "What reports?"

  "Security reports indicating a first-year student has been bringing significant quantities of building materials into academy grounds. Cinder stone, sacks of clay, metal bars or ingots and quite a lot of lumber." His eyes fixed on me. "I expected to find minor repairs. This is a complete renovation."

  I said nothing, waiting.

  He turned to face me fully. "Where exactly did you acquire the funding for this?"

  "I made it."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Made it?"

  "I forged weapons then sold them. I used the money to buy the materials."

  "Weapons." His tone was flat. "Is that what the things outside are used for? You expect me to believe that you forged weapons to sell? Sell to who?"

  "Those are various furnaces and grindstones, not things. If you don't believe me, I can call witnesses. Master Fjorn can vouch for my skill, he can also tell you I got my own unique understanding of smithing. So can Professor Vex or Professor Hargrave, who helped with some of the array work. Magnar and Cassia have both seen me work."

  His expression shifted at the mention of his daughter's name. "Cassia has been spending a considerable amount of time here."

  "She comes for training. Same as Magnar."

  "Training." He said it like the words tasted wrong. "And how exactly are you training with my daughter?"

  I met his eyes. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

  He went still. "Excuse me?"

  "You wanted me close to her. You wanted her getting close to me, didn’t you? That was the whole point, wasn't it? Get the talented commoner interested in your daughter or create a connection I could not back away from. Well, here we are in the questionably existing process."

  His face hardened. "You're twisting—"

  "I'm not twisting anything. You gave her that ring to present to me, knowing full well I’d have no idea what it means. You wanted this. And now you're here questioning it because you don't have control over how it's happening."

  "What I wanted…" he licked his lips. "Was for you to understand your place. To be appropriately grateful for the opportunity my house was offering."

  "Your house wasn't offering anything. You were trying to lock me into a contract that would've made me your family's property. You have nothing to offer."

  "That's not—"

  "It is. You saw a useful tool and tried to claim it early. When that didn't work, you came here to what? Intimidate me into compliance?"

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  His voice dropped. "You're speaking about matters you don't understand."

  "Oh, but I understand. Your house is losing its last Domain powerhouse. He's dying, and you can't replace him. So you're scrambling for anything that might keep your house relevant, that might keep the other nobles from tearing your house apart. Including using your daughter as bait for a nine-year-old."

  The anger that flashed across his face was immediate and sharp. "You will not speak about my family's affairs."

  "Why not? You involved me in them. You tried to make them my problem. And when I refused, you show up here acting like I've committed some crime by fixing a ruin the academy gave me?" I gestured around the room.

  "It’s pathetic that you’re standing here. Instead of finding a real solution, you're harassing a first-year student because you can't handle the fact that your plan failed. And not only did your plan fail, but you are fully aware you’re a failure too! Instead of breaking through as a manifestation stage, you are pressuring a nine-year-old and expecting him to save your sorry ass!" I snarled in annoyance.

  One of the guards shifted uncomfortably at the doorway.

  The Headmaster's voice came out tight, controlled. "You've made unauthorized modifications to academy property. You will vacate this tower by the end of the week."

  "I won’t."

  "That wasn't a request."

  "And my answer wasn't a maybe."

  "I am the headmaster of this academy. I have the authority—"

  "To kick out a student for making repairs? For training with his friends? You'll look like a tyrant, and everyone will know it's personal."

  His jaw clenched. "There is, however, an alternative."

  I smirk and speak before he can open his mouth again. "That tournament is in four months. You want me to participate and compete." This is what he actually come for. The tower threat was just leverage to force my hand.

  "How do you even know about the tournament?" he asked, eyes narrowing. "It hasn't been announced to first-years yet."

  I shrugged. "I have my ways. But are you sure it would take place? Last I heard of it, it wasn’t yet confirmed."

  His expression darkened. "Who told you?"

  "Does it matter? I know about it. And yes, I'll participate."

  He blinked. "You'll... What?"

  "I'll participate in the tournament. I was planning to, anyway."

  "You were planning—" He stopped, visibly thrown off balance. "Why would you—"

  "Because I want to. Because I can win and because I don’t want that bullshit war to happen. I don’t want my father drafted."

  "Win?" The word came out sharp. "You think you can win the first-year tournament?"

  "Yes."

  "That's absurd. You're a commoner with no formal combat training, no family techniques, no—"

  "And yet you came looking for me. Or do you think aether gathering can beat core formation with just techniques?"

  We locked eyes. His face had gone from angry to confused to calculating in the span of seconds.

  "You’re not the only genius out there. If you're serious about this," he said slowly, "the academy will assign you an instructor. Tournament participants receive focused training in the months leading up to the event. Don’t get arrogant."

  "Fine."

  "Fine?" He seemed almost suspicious now. "You're agreeing?"

  "Did you not hear me say that I’ll participate earlier? What made you think I wouldn't? I get training, I get to keep my tower, and don’t leave the fate of my family in the hands of others. This is what I want too. You just handed it to me. Don’t expect aligned interest to change my impression of you. I sympathize with your difficulties, but you’re still one of the scummiest people I’ve ever seen."

  His expression twisted, caught between anger and the realization that he'd lost control of the conversation. He'd come here to pressure me, to force my hand, and instead I'd turned it around.

  "You will be expected to perform well," he said, voice tight. "The academy's reputation—"

  "Will be fine. Don’t forget you came here for me, not I for you!"

  "If you fail—"

  "There isn’t room for me to fail. You don’t need to throw more shitty threats."

  "If you fail," he continued, grinding out the words, "you will vacate this tower. No appeals. No arguments. And you will cease all contact with my daughter."

  "Pff... Keep her away from me and I won’t seek her out. She sticks to me due to you, not the other way around."

  He stared at me, jaw working. Finally, he turned sharply toward the door. The guards stepped aside as he passed through. At the threshold, he paused.

  "You're making a big mistake, Cato."

  "Maybe. Your daughter said the same thing back when I refused the ring, yet here I am, living well without the leash masked as a ‘golden stick’ you extended."

  He left without another word. The guards followed, closing the door behind them.

  I stood there in the sudden silence, my heart pounding. My hands were shaking slightly. I clenched them into fists.

  ‘What the hell is wrong with me? I got exactly what I want—permission to stay, tournament participation, better aether training... Yet I can’t help but regret not punching his nose in!’

  The headmaster had come here to pressure me into the tournament. That was his goal from the start. The building materials, the questions about money, the concern about Cassia—all of it was just setup to make me feel cornered enough to agree.

  And I agreed immediately. I gave him what he wanted before he even finished asking. I didn’t even resist. Bu there was no room to resist, there were more important matters at hand. Except... he hadn't expected me to know about the tournament already. He'd lost his composure when I pointed out his house's real problem. And he'd walked away angrier than when he arrived.

  I looked around the tower—my whitewashed walls, my heating system, my workspace. Everything I'd built. ‘If only a war wouldn’t be looming…’

  The tournament was in four months. I'd need to make sure I could actually deliver on what I had just promised.

  I had work to do.