Jacques Shair stood in the combat ring with practiced arrogance, his posture radiating confidence that came from never experiencing genuine consequence.
Finally, he thought, surveying the arena with satisfaction. Finally getting the chance to demonstrate my superiority. Finally proving I belong at Sparkshire.
He'd begged his parents for the Academy admission—not because he cared about the military service or defending the Republic, but because Celestine Aurin had been selected, and Jacques was obsessed with the beautiful noble daughter who'd never given him serious consideration.
She'll notice me here, Jacques told himself. She'll see me excel in this combat assessment. She'll recognize that I'm worthy of her attention.
His cores were… functional. Barely.
