Word traveled fast in Varnhold Academy.
By noon, every corridor buzzed with whispered conversations about the morning's duel. Servants exchanged glances as they served lunch. Professors huddled in their offices, their usual composure cracked. Even the portraits on the walls seemed to lean forward, eager to eavesdrop.
Adam sat alone in the academy's vast dining hall, methodically cutting through his meal while chaos swirled around him. The long tables that usually segregated students by house ranking had become useless—everyone kept stealing glances at the bastard who had humiliated their golden boy.
*Let them stare,* he thought, taking another bite. *Fear is more useful than respect.*
Three tables away, Cedric sat with his usual circle of admirers, though the group had noticeably thinned. A bandage covered the side of his head where Adam had struck him. His jaw was swollen, and his pride looked even worse.
"It was a fluke," one of his remaining friends was saying—a red-haired boy from House Martel. "Cedric wasn't expecting such... crude tactics."
"Crude?" Adam didn't look up from his plate, but his voice carried clearly across the dining hall. "I call it efficient."
The hall fell silent again. It was becoming a habit.
Cedric's hand tightened around his fork, but he didn't respond. Smart. Adam had been hoping he'd try something stupid.
The sound of measured footsteps echoed across the marble floor. Adam looked up to see a figure approaching—tall, impeccably dressed, with the silver and blue armband of the Student Council wrapped around his left arm.
Marcus Blackthorne. Third-year. Son of a Duke. And more importantly, the Student Council's Vice President.
"Adam Vortigern," Marcus said, his voice carrying the authority of someone used to being obeyed. "You're to come with me."
Adam took another bite of his meal, chewing slowly. "I'm eating."
"The Student Council requests your immediate presence."
"Requests?" Adam set down his fork and looked up with mild interest. "That's a polite way to phrase a summons."
Marcus's jaw tightened slightly. Around them, the dining hall had gone completely silent—students straining to hear every word of this unprecedented exchange.
"The Council doesn't issue requests to students who disrupt academy order," Marcus said, his voice growing colder. "Stand up. Now."
Adam studied him for a moment. In the original novel, Marcus was a minor character—a competent administrator who eventually became one of Cedric's allies. Reliable, honorable, and utterly convinced of the academy's hierarchy.
*How boring.*
"And if I refuse?"
The question hung in the air like a challenge. Marcus's hand moved instinctively toward the sword at his hip—a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by anyone in the hall.
"Then you'll be escorted," Marcus said quietly.
Adam smiled—the same cold expression he'd worn in the arena.
"How interesting. The Student Council thinks it has authority over me." He stood slowly, deliberately. "Very well. I'm curious to see what passes for leadership in this place."
He walked past Marcus without another word, leaving the Vice President to follow behind like a servant.
*Perfect.*
---
The Student Council chambers occupied the highest floor of the academy's central tower. Tall windows offered a commanding view of the grounds below, while portraits of past Council Presidents gazed down from gilded frames. Everything about the room screamed power and tradition.
Five figures sat behind a crescent-shaped table of polished mahogany. Adam recognized them all from his memories of the novel—the academy's elite, the sons and daughters of Great Houses who would one day rule the kingdom.
At the center sat Elena Ravencrest, the Student Council President. Eighteen years old, with raven-black hair and eyes like polished steel. Daughter of the Duke of the North, and in the original story, one of Cedric's eventual allies in the war against the Demon King.
"Adam Vortigern," she said, her voice carrying the crisp authority of someone born to command. "Do you know why you're here?"
Adam looked around the room with casual interest, taking in the expensive furnishings and the way the other Council members watched him like predators studying prey.
"I imagine it has something to do with my duel this morning," he said finally.
"Your *assault*," corrected the boy to Elena's left—James Aldric, heir to House Aldric and the Council's Treasurer. "What you did wasn't a proper duel. It was a street brawl."
"I won," Adam said simply.
"By cheating," snapped the girl on Elena's right—Lady Catherine Windham, daughter of a Count and the Council's Secretary. "Duels are fought with swords, not fists."
"The rules say 'to submission,'" Adam replied, his tone conversational. "They don't specify method."
Elena raised a hand, silencing the others. "Regardless of technicalities, your actions this morning have disrupted the academy's order. Students are talking. Professors are concerned. The delicate balance we maintain here has been... disturbed."
"How tragic."
Elena's eyes narrowed. "You don't seem to understand the gravity of your situation, Vortigern."
"Enlighten me."
She stood, her presence filling the room like a storm cloud. "You are the bastard son of a Duke who barely acknowledges your existence. You have no allies, no political connections, no power base. You exist here only because the academy's charter requires it." She stepped around the table, moving closer. "One word from this Council, and you could be expelled. Cast out. Forgotten."
Adam listened patiently, his expression never changing.
"Is that a threat, President Ravencrest?"
"It's a reality."
The room fell silent. The other Council members watched the exchange with fascination—they'd never seen anyone speak to Elena like this.
Adam looked at each of them in turn, taking his time. Finally, he smiled.
"You're right," he said. "I have no allies. No connections. No power base." He paused. "Yet here you are, summoning me to the highest tower of the academy to have this conversation."
Elena's composure flickered slightly.
"Which makes me wonder," Adam continued, "if I'm so insignificant... why am I here at all?"
"Because—"
"Because you're afraid." Adam's voice cut through her response like a blade. "You're afraid that what happened this morning was just the beginning. You're afraid that the little bastard you've ignored for months might actually be dangerous."
He stepped closer, close enough that she had to look up to meet his eyes.
"And you should be."
[System Notification]
✦ Intimidation Successful ✦
✦ Political Tension Increased ✦
✦ New Skill Acquired: [Pressure] ✦
The silence stretched for long seconds. Around the table, the other Council members shifted uncomfortably.
Elena was the first to recover. "Threatening the Student Council is grounds for immediate expulsion."
"I didn't threaten anyone," Adam said mildly. "I simply pointed out that you're all afraid of someone you claim has no power." He turned toward the door. "If there's nothing else, I have classes to attend."
"We're not finished," Marcus said, finally finding his voice.
"I am."
Adam walked toward the door, but Elena's voice stopped him.
"There will be consequences for your actions, Vortigern."
He looked back over his shoulder. "I'm counting on it."
The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving the Student Council in stunned silence.
In the hallway beyond, Adam allowed himself a genuine smile. The original Adam would have cowered before the Council's authority, accepting whatever punishment they decreed.
But he wasn't the original Adam.
*Let them scheme,* he thought as he walked toward his next class. *Let them plot. Let them try to use their precious political connections.*
The more they focused on him, the less attention they'd pay to everything else he planned to steal.
And there was so much to steal.
**[System Notification]**
**✦ Political Interest Gained: Student Council ✦**
**✦ Title Progress: Fate Breaker - 15% ✦**
**✦ New Objective Available: Infiltrate Academy Power Structure ✦**
Adam's smile widened as he disappeared into the crowd of students.
The game was just beginning.
---
That evening, in the privacy of her chambers, Elena Ravencrest sat at her desk writing a letter. The parchment bore the seal of House Ravencrest—a raven with outstretched wings, clutching a crown in its talons.
*Father,* she wrote, *we may have a problem.*
Outside her window, storm clouds gathered on the horizon.