The next day, inside the recovery hospital's long ward, five beds lined the back wall. Occupying four of them were the battered members of Team Halvek B. Everyone except Landen.

He sat motionless in the center of the room, staring at the floor, lost in his own head. The only sounds in the quiet ward were the rhythmically steady beeps of heart monitors and the soft hiss of respirators.

The door clicked open. Professor Kael Halvek stepped inside wearing his crisp, heavily decorated school uniform, grinning like he always did. Following him was Maris, who clutched a digital tablet to her chest.

He stood over Landen. "Mr. Knight. You look well. Not a scratch on you."

Landen didn't look up, nor did he respond.

“You are the captain of this team, are you not?”

“Yes, sir.”

"Whose decision was it to approach the rare beast zone?"

“Mine, sir.”

Maris tapped away at her pad.

“The recovery squad found two Rare bristleback carcasses. Care to explain how a team of freshmen killed two Rare bristlebacks?"

“Teamwork, sir.”

“I assume, since you're the sole survivor, you got the last hit?”

“Yes, sir.”

“A support, without a weapon, killed a Rare beast with his fist?”

“You underestimate me—” Landen finally looked up. “—sir.”

They locked eyes. Halvek’s smile broadened. “Very well.”

He reached into his coat, pulled out two shimmering, glass-like crystals, and tossed them to Landen — the rare bristleback cores. They sparkled in the light as Landen caught them.

“These belong to you. Congratulations — your team pulled the highest-ranking beast of the outing. However, since you endangered your team by leading low-level members to a territory well above their rank — points will be deducted from your overall score at the end of this semester. On top of that, you will report to Professor Drex for disciplinary action.”

“I accept full responsibility.”

Satisfied, Halvek and Maris turned and left without another word, leaving Landen alone with his thoughts.

Not long after the bristleback incident, other students passing through the area had spotted the aftermath and alerted the academy. Staff were already sweeping the zone for exactly this kind of thing, so the response was fast. Even so, the toll was heavy. Team Varro had been completely broken—their captain, Orio, was in the worst shape, unconscious with a severe concussion and multiple fractures.

Mira had been the first to be discharged. She had stopped by earlier to visit Ember and had filled Landen in on everything that happened—including the ambush by the hooded figures.

The news had rattled Landen. He had been confident that Ember, backed by four others, could handle a rare bristleback. But an ambush by unknown assailants hadn't been in his calculations.

Or is that just an excuse? he thought bitterly. Did I just make the wrong call? Would we have won without taking these losses if Mira and Ember were at full health? Or did I just overestimate us?

He had all these people, all this power around him, and no real sense of how strong any of it was — how strong the bristleback was — until it was too late. In the end, he had gotten the kill, but at what cost? Team Varro was practically wiped out, and his own team was broken in hospital beds.

He replayed it. Should I have gone after Ember myself and left the others with Orio? Would it have changed anything?

The system spoke. “Did you forget why you’re here? Your goal is to level up — to grow stronger. Do not shackle progress to insignificant variables. Sacrifices are necessary for the sake of the future.”

“Variables?” Landen said, his knuckles turning white as anger surged. “Pawns. You mean pawns on your board.”

“Landen — you cannot save everyone.”

“Watch me.”

A heavy silence stretched across them — “You’re starting to sound like him.”

Landen didn’t reply.

“Just — don’t do anything rash,” the system added softly, almost hesitant. “The fate of this world hinges on your strength—not the survival of your teammates.”

Flashes of his past life flooded his mind. All the games he had played back on Earth—using teammates as meat shields, baiting them into dying so he could sweep in, steal the kills, and siphon all the exp for himself. Sacrificing the entire team to win the match.

Had that toxic gamer mindset carried over here? Had he unconsciously set things up so that he would be the one to get the highest-value kills?

Slap!

Landen struck his own cheek with an open palm.

Back on Earth, it didn't matter if you sacrificed a teammate to win.

Slap!

It was just a game.

Slap!

But here, when you die—

He raised his hand to hit himself again, but a hand caught his wrist in midair.

“It's not your fault.” Jareth stood over him, wincing slightly. “It's not your fault that we’re weak.”

He let go of Landen's wrist and stumbled back toward his bed. He was shirtless, heavy bandages wrapped tight around his ribs.

“He’s right,” Elle said from her bed. She lay flat on her back, staring blankly at the ceiling. “We wouldn't be lying here if we were stronger.”

Veya pushed herself upright, her hands and arms bandaged. "Don't flatter yourself over our loss, Cap. You don't control our every move. Besides, if it weren't for you, we’d all be dead right now."

Landen and the others turned toward the bed in the corner, waiting for Ember to weigh in. But she remained still, eyes closed, breathing softly. Of everyone, Ember had taken the brunt of the violence—broken ribs, a broken arm, cuts, bruises, a concussion. She was lucky to be alive.

Landen gritted his teeth. “There's something everyone needs to know.”

The room went still. He quietly recounted what Mira had told him about the hooded attackers—and how they weren’t after the beast at all. They were targeting Ember.

The mood in the room grew heavy.

Elle slowly turned her head, her eyes wide. “An ambush inside an academy trial. That means someone bypassed the boundary wards. Or someone inside the academy let them in.”

“No,” Landen said. “They were essence users with power levels similar to ours. Which means they’re freshmen. Just like us.”

The room fell silent, the atmosphere suffocating. They weren't just competing against rival classes anymore. The enemy was right here among them—and someone wanted Ember dead.

Before anyone could say another word, the ward door clicked open. Maledic stepped inside, a massive greatsword strapped to his back. The room instantly fell quiet, as if he had just walked in on a private confession. All eyes tracked him, but Maledic didn't scan the room. He walked straight up to Landen.

“Rumor on the street is that Mifaso took down two Rare Bristlebacks.” He glanced around at the bandaged figures in the beds. His eyes lingered on Ember’s motionless form before drifting back to Landen. “Looks like sacrifices were made.”

Landen didn’t respond. Hearing the name Mifaso come out of Maledic’s mouth instantly pulled him back to their very first meeting—when Maledic had challenged him to a fight, rambling about Mifaso being the strongest in the class and how he was going to claim that title for himself.

Then came Ryker, the first boy who had challenged Landen, also calling him Mifaso and demanding his spot.

Then Jareth, who had warned him that the whole thing was tied to something called the Underground Leaderboard.

And finally Orio—the exact same story. The name. The leaderboard. The target on his back.

It all clicked into place.

“Maledic.” Landen stood, now face to face with him. “Take me to the Underground. It's time I learned a little more about this world." He paused, casting a cold look back at the rest of his team.

Veya sat up straighter. "If you're going after the hooded attackers, I'm coming."

"Me too," Elle said, still flat on her back.

Jareth raised a hand. “Count me in.”

“No,” Landen said, already stepping toward the exit. “Everyone stays.” He paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder. “Protect Ember. That’s an order.” ”

— — —

Sometime later, beneath the academy, students gathered to hang out.

The space didn't look like much from the entrance — just a stairwell curling down into stone — but it opened into a sprawling underground hall lit by strings of floating lanterns, their light dimmed to a low amber glow that made the place feel more like a tavern. Tables and mismatched chairs filled every corner.

Cards and coins slapped against tabletops — stories, food, and drinks shared amongst friends.

Something fried drifted from a corner stall run by an upperclassman. Someone shouted at him about how they'd been waiting forever, followed by a lazy "yeah, yeah, it's coming."

In another corner, a ring of students had gathered around two guys locked in a wrestling match, their cheers and heckling filling the room.

On the far wall was the Leaderboard, where River and his gang hung out. River rubbed his temple, annoyed at how things had turned out. He stared up at the leaderboard, watching Mifaso's score pull further and further out of reach. Two Rare Bristleback kills had sent Landen's name rocketing up the rankings.

“That idiot Orio. All he did was feed Mifaso. Why did I even bother with that guy?"

“Well, he was ranked 10th,” Cedric said.

“Was!” Ryker said, smiling.

They all looked up. Sure enough, Orio had dropped out of the top ten. The glowing display now read:

1. Mifaso Latido

2. River Ashlock

3. Maledic Thorne

4. Magnus Cindercrest

5. Lysara Venn

6. Torvin Hale

7. Thalia Aethra

8. Ember Strife

9. Elara Vesperine

10. Ryker Tann

Cedric glanced between the board and Ryker, raising an eyebrow. “Honestly, I still don’t understand how you’re even up there.”

Ryker slammed his drink and bounced to his feet. “Is that a challenge? Because we can settle this right now!”

Cedric didn't even flinch. He just took another quiet sip. “I’d offer, but I prefer not to waste stamina on free points.”

“Why you—”

“Drop it,” River said flatly, taking a slow sip from his cup. He stood up, his eyes locked on the top spot. “There’s no point in waiting around anymore. Mifaso’s holding all the momentum. I don’t have any intel on him, and he doesn’t have any on me—which means right now is the only time the playing field is actually even.”

River’s gaze hardened. “It’s time to challenge him for the title.”

Before anyone could reply, heads turned, people pressed closer, and a sudden murmur rippled through the crowd.

As people began parting, a figure walked toward the board. Two familiar faces stepped into view.

River’s lip curled into a smirk. “Speak of the devil.”

He pushed through the onlookers, stepping directly into the newcomer's path. “Welcome to the Underground, Mifaso.”