Luna:
Clara gives me that look—like she's dying to spill a secret but still debating if she should tell me about the Apocalypse Knights. Spoiler: her curiosity wins fast.
"Okay, first off, I honestly don't know that much," she says, already covering herself in case she can't answer everything. "But what I do know? They're ridiculously hot. Like, dangerous-level hot."
"Oh really?" I tease, smirking. "You been checking if they've got a fever or what?"
I can't help myself—I have to throw in a lame joke whenever my friend's drooling over another set of biceps.
"Luna, you don't get it! These guys are every girl's dream in the northern hemisphere—maybe even the whole planet. They're basically royalty here, like the hottest Hollywood heartthrob at his peak. I know it sounds dramatic, but seriously, I've never seen so much perfection in one place."
"Okay, Kai did look pretty good, but you know it takes more than a pretty face. Honestly, you of all people know these super-hot guys usually disappoint behind closed doors," I remind her, thinking of her tragic stories.
"Girl, I'd pay to find out…" Clara laughs, not even embarrassed.
"So, besides being gorgeous and you wanting to hook up with the mysterious Asian hottie, what do I actually need to know about them?"
She gets serious fast:
"The main thing is, they're basically above the law. I don't know a lot of details because everything about them is super confidential. I know they answer straight to Magnus, but even he can't fully control those wild beasts. There's a reason they're called the Apocalypse Knights—when they show up to fix something, you can bet nothing's left standing."
"So, they're like legal mercenaries," I say, rolling my eyes.
"Rumor is, they're even worse. But still, there's a line of people wanting to be their next 'meal,' if you know what I mean," she says, clearly putting herself in that line.
We laugh, vent a little, and then I go shower—because tomorrow, classes start. God help me, not even in another universe do I get to sleep in.
I wake up to knocking at my door. Of course it's Clara, already suited up in a combat jumpsuit with "Sentinel Academy" stitched on her sleeve and a weird bird symbol that looks like an eagle. She barges in with at least four giant shopping bags.
"Clara, what is all this?" I ask, totally shocked.
"This one's your uniform and some essentials for the academy—like your access card and a sort of iPad for notes. This bag—" she dumps it on my bed, "—has some clothes, since, you know, you literally have nothing here. This is your 'phone'"—she air quotes—"I'll show you how to use it, it's easy. And this one—oh, you're gonna love this," she says, handing me the only bag that looks like it could actually fit a human.
When I open it, I see makeup and a ton of skincare stuff. I love a natural look, but I'm all about self-care and that "I woke up like this" vibe.
I get ready fast, use everything I want, and put on my uniform…
"What the hell, Clara? How am I supposed to go out like this?"
"Everyone wears it," she says, totally unbothered.
"It's way too tight! You can see everything!"
"Luna, stop being dramatic. The sleeves and legs are long, it's just tight so you can move—and so no one can grab you by loose fabric in a fight. It's all thought out."
"Clara, look at this!" I point to my butt and my boobs.
"Girl, not my fault you're hot," she teases, not even trying to hide her smirk.
"They look even bigger! I'm gonna get so much attention."
"You're super skinny—look at that flat stomach and tiny waist. You probably weigh like, ten kilos less than me. You look insanely sexy in that jumpsuit. But actually, now that I think about it, I should warn you…"
"You've got ten kilos more because you're all muscle! You're the hot one here, not me. Now spill it, I knew something was up."
"It's not that, you crazy. You look perfect, but you'll see we're a little different here—especially you."
"Oh god, what now?"
"Most women here are taller—even taller than me. They're usually more muscular, with tiny waists, round boobs, and butts like yours? Yeah, you're definitely gonna stand out. Even more than back home."
"Great, so you wanted me to hide in my room? Mission accomplished," I say, flopping onto the bed.
"Get your butt up, we're already late!" she calls, heading out the door.
Perfect: Catwoman suit, combat classes, and a friend who lives to roast me. It's all downhill from here. At least the boots are awesome—like military boots with a little metal crest on the side. I'm totally taking them with me when I leave.
We go by car—finally, something normal. It actually looks like one of those fancy electric cars. When we arrive, I'm shocked: everyone here is huge. For the first time ever, I feel short. The women are at least 5'11", and I haven't seen a single guy under 6'3". And everyone's pretty much the same height!
"Luna? Snap out of it! Stop daydreaming. I'll take you to admin, your first class is combat. I can't be there today, but I'll see you in the second class."
"Whatever…" I roll my eyes. She totally thinks I need a babysitter.
At admin, I get my schedule… and seriously, this has to be a joke: practical combat from 8 to 9, theory from 10 to 11, enemy analysis from 11 to noon. And that's just today! At least there's no afternoon class.
I get to the arena, and the teacher's at the door—my God, he's one of the hottest men I've ever seen. Is being gorgeous a requirement here?
"Hey, I'm Luna, the newbie," I say, handing over my ID. He checks it and gives me a smile that—wow, dangerous.
"Welcome, Luna. We don't get many outsiders, so ask for help whenever you need it. For you, I'll always be available," he says, with a wink and a smile that could melt steel.
What was that? Is the teacher flirting or just being nice? Weird. Before I can even answer, The Hottest Guy I've Ever Seen walks in: dark brown hair, insane green eyes, surfer skin, and a voice—no words. He stops right in front of me and, super rude, says to the teacher:
"As far as I know, you're paid to teach, not to hit on new students, 'professor.'" He says "professor" like it's an insult. What a jerk.
Mental note: gorgeous, but a total idiot. He looks right into my eyes and, in a flat tone, says:
"Don't go near that guy."
I just stare at him, stunned. How does he expect me to avoid the teacher? It's a combat class, obviously he's going to interact with me. What a weirdo.
Before I can say anything, the teacher starts:
"Luna, this is your combat class. Here you'll learn important moves and how to handle some weapons. It's an advanced group, I don't know why you were placed here, but I'll do my best. Everyone, this is Luna."
People look at me with curiosity but no hostility. Good start. When I zone out again, the teacher calls:
"Luna, please!"
"Sorry, professor, I was spacing out."
He comes over, puts his hand on my shoulder, and says:
"Lucian. You can call me Lucian, no need to be formal. Alright, let's get started… Since Clara's not here, the group's an odd number, so I'll train with you…"
"No way in hell!" yells the Greek god jerk. This guy has a PhD in rudeness.
"Dante, go train and stop causing trouble," Lucian says.
Dante storms over—fast, really fast—and yanks Lucian's hand off my shoulder, not gently at all. I actually see Lucian's hand go white from the grip. That's when another guy, straight out of a Norse mythology book, steps in, grabs Dante's hand, and says:
"Chill, bro, you're gonna draw attention like that. I'll train with Luna today, cool?"
Huh? He knows my name? What is this place? Cetus, tech world? More like the universe's loony bin.
"Ready to get started?" the Norse god says, holding out his hand for me to follow.