The microphone squealed with piercing feedback as Mr. Drails tapped it. The sound seared into my ears like fire, but I couldn’t deny its effectiveness—within seconds, the entire theater fell silent.

  I glanced sideways at Nikki. She sat perfectly still, eyes glued to the stage, like she was trying to memorize every flicker of light on the curtains. But inevitably, she caught me staring. Her lips curled into an awkward smile, the kind you give when you’re not sure if you’re supposed to laugh or cringe.

  “Hello, hello, junior agents of the YMPA!” Mr. Drails boomed.

  The room erupted in cheers loud enough to rattle the chandeliers. My ears throbbed. I was pretty sure I’d need cochlear implants by the time this was over.

  “This assembly,” he continued, his smile widening, “is one I am so excited to tell you about. And let me tell you—I don’t get excited very often.”

  He chuckled at his own words. The audience laughed along, eager, waiting for him to drop whatever bombshell had pulled us all here.

  “Now, there are two big things I want to introduce today,” he said. “Let’s start with the first.”

  The air thickened with anticipation. A wave of curiosity swept through the room, our thoughts scrambling to guess what was coming. Next to me, Tisiah gnawed on his nails like he was trying to chew his way through the mystery itself.

  Mr. Drails spread his arms wide. “I want to introduce someone to you. A leader honored with multiple medals as a captain for EMO. A woman who served two terms as a Shadow Operative. And, in fact, one of the board members of the YMPA Academy. Please welcome your new principal—Principal Renner!”

  Gasps. Then stunned silence. Then—explosion. The entire hall burst into applause, cheers, hollers, and a wave of wild screams that rose mostly from the girls. The kind of noise you’d expect at a concert, not an academic assembly.

  And then she stepped onto the stage.

  The cheers reached a fever pitch. Jaws dropped. Even mine.

  She looked Mexican, with radiant peach-toned skin and sleek black hair that shimmered under the stage lights. Silver hoops dangled from her ears, gleaming with every movement. Her face was meticulously sculpted—sharp jawline, bold lips—reminiscent of some Mexican actress I’d seen once in a film I couldn’t name. She wore a fitted brown jacket paired with a matching skirt, a crisp white blouse tucked neatly beneath, and heels that sparkled like crystal. Each step she took echoed like a balloon popping, punctuating the silence between screams.

  Wow.

  I was not ready for this. I’d heard whispers that Principal Arkin was leaving, but I’d dismissed them. I had never even seen the man, so rumors of his departure barely registered. At Wolfpack School, rumors were constant—and almost always false. Unless a shaky video appeared on Instagram or the gossip page spilled “receipts,” nobody believed a thing. Seeing this rumor manifest into reality stunned me.

  Principal Renner approached the microphone. The crowd fell quiet, waiting. Her voice rang out, sharp and commanding. It carried an accent, rich and authentic, but her tone was all business. Not high, not low—just enough bass to send a ripple of fear down your spine.

  “Hello,” she said, eyes sweeping the hall. “I am glad to become your new principal. I’m very excited to get to know you all. You are junior agents, and you managed to make it here. That is not an easy thing.”

  The students leaned in, hanging on her every word.

  “But let me be clear,” she continued, her voice dropping a notch. “I am not a principal you can play with.”

  The audience responded with a unified, exaggerated ooh.

  I smirked. Called it. Medals, Shadow Operative, board member—of course she was going to run this place like a chief of police.

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  “I know how schools work,” she went on. “I know the games, the shortcuts, the excuses. I will make sure you succeed in your classes, and I will make sure you stay in line. You need discipline to thrive. And you will have it.”

  The room was frozen in rapt attention.

  “But,” she said, her tone softening ever so slightly, “I will also recognize the ones who do well. That is why Mr. Drails and I have created a new system. A way to reward achievement and effort. He will explain now.”

  She stepped aside, folding her hands primly, like the world’s most intimidating teacher’s pet.

  “Thank you, Principal Renner,” Mr. Drails said warmly. “Now, let’s move on to the second piece of news.”

  The crowd shifted, eager again.

  “As she explained, we are introducing a new system,” he continued. “But I’m not going to leave you in confusion. We’ll make this as simple as possible.” He paused, his grin widening. “And if you are still confused by the end, there’s a pamphlet under your seats.”

  As if on cue, small drawers slid out beneath every chair, each containing a sleek gold-and-black pamphlet. I snatched mine immediately. It was thick, dense with writing. Just flipping through it told me it would take at least a full walk home to get through.

  “This,” Mr. Drails explained, “is a system where, when you go on missions, complete work for the YMPA, or pass your classes, you will gain MP.”

  MP?

  “M-who?” I muttered under my breath.

  “MP,” he repeated, “is like XP—experience points you gain to level up. MP stands for Mage Points. The more you earn, the higher your level climbs. And with each new level, your powers evolve.”

  The crowd buzzed with disbelief.

  “To give you an example,” Mr. Drails continued, pacing across the stage, microphone in hand, “say you’re level one. Maybe your ice powers can only create blocks. But when you level up, you’ll be able to shape spikes—launch them at enemies without spending years trying to master the move yourself. Your wands will recognize your level and unlock new capabilities.”

  A collective gasp rippled through the room. Faces dropped in awe. My own included.

  “So let me make this very clear,” Mr. Drails said, his voice booming. “If you climb high in this system, you will be one of the most powerful agents in this school. That alone should motivate you.”

  Gasps turned to chatter. Heads spun. Whispers filled the air.

  My eyes gleamed. This was it. This was the chance I needed. If I outperformed Malachi—him, sitting right there next to September like they were already a couple—then September would finally see me. She’d have to.

  This was my opportunity. My day. My destiny.

  A hand shot up in the crowd. “So… when does this start?”

  “Tomorrow,” Mr. Drails replied without hesitation. “You are all required to turn in your wands by the end of today. They will be upgraded to include the MP system. All the details you need are in your pamphlet. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir!” the crowd shouted.

  The bell rang, shrill and final. The assembly broke. Students leapt from their seats, rushing toward their classes in a frenzy.

  Mine was Mr. Robbs’s class. And I already had my plan.

  Step one: get to September first.

  No assigned seating in Robbs’s room. If I got there before Malachi, I could sit next to her. If Malachi tried to push me out, well… I had my Perk. Sending him to the hospital wasn’t ideal, sure, but it would make a statement.

  …Maybe not the statement I wanted to make to September. But still.

  As I moved with the crowd, Nikki and Tisiah closed in at my sides.

  Tisiah rubbed his hands together, muttering, “When was this ever happening? Who even knew?”

  “No one knew,” Nikki said flatly. “That was the point. They wanted the surprise to hype us up.”

  “He never explained what really earns XP,” Tisiah grumbled, already flipping through the pamphlet like his eyes had built-in 2x speed. How people read that fast, I’d never know. It takes me four minutes to read four words. The only thing I caught was some vague diagram of football.

  “Oh,” Tisiah muttered, his voice tinged with disappointment. He jabbed a thick finger at a purple box in the pamphlet.

  I skimmed it quickly. The rules were simple: earn MP through missions and class performance. But classes clearly carried more weight.

  Opportunity, nonetheless.

  That’s when I heard them—Malachi’s crew. Their footsteps thundered behind us. My heart pounded. If he reached September first, my plan would crumble before it began.

  “Bro, bro, bro,” one of his friends said—the one with bleached-white hair, who spoke like every sentence was born from the word bro. “I’m gonna pass everyone in this system. Just watch.”

  “Pass your classes?” Malachi snorted. “What's four times eight?"

  "What makes you think I remember that?"

  Laughter erupted from his crew, their voices rising in cruel unison towards him, which from his very tomato-ed expression, seemed to be getting to him.

  “And what makes you think you’ll do better?” the white-haired one shot back.

  Malachi only grinned, lips curling with quiet confidence. He didn’t even need to say anything. His friends filled the silence with uproarious laughter, shaking him around like he was a king carried on a throne.

  “That’s not even a question!”

  “Did bro really ask that?!”

  “Ain’t no way he actually said that!”

  I’d never seen such loyal pets in my life.

  But soon enough, I thought, that would be me—September at my side, her hand in mine, and Malachi nothing more than a fading memory.