Chapter 31: What the Schedule Demands (Part 1 of 2)

  Laurent woke to a body that felt used but intact.

  The soreness was there—deep, settled, no longer sharp enough to complain about. It didn’t slow him. It simply existed, like weight he had already accepted would be present every morning from now on.

  He dressed, stretched badly, corrected himself, then moved on.

  The notice boards were already crowded when he reached the courtyard. Not loud. Just dense. Students stood closer than usual, reading instead of talking, eyes tracking lines that did not move.

  The schedule was longer than he expected.

  Training blocks in the morning. Lectures layered between. Conditioning again in the afternoon. Mandatory self-study windows marked in firm script, not suggestions. Rest was implied only by what wasn’t filled.

  Cael let out a quiet breath beside him. Not a groan. Just air leaving his chest.

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  “That’s… not light,” he said.

  “No,” Seris replied, arms folded. “It’s not.”

  Aila leaned closer to the board, reading it twice, then once more from the top. “They really expect this every day?”

  “They expect us to keep up,” Eren said. He sounded calm, but his jaw was set. “That’s different.”

  Laurent read it again. Not because he needed to, but because he wanted to see if it would change. It didn’t.

  Further down the board, notes were posted beneath the schedule. Short. Impersonal. Clarifications about expectations, attendance, performance. Tuition was listed as settled. Lodging as assigned. Meals as provided. Nothing about ease.

  Someone behind them spoke, low and confident. “Still better than Law Bearer track.”

  A pause followed. Not disagreement—interest.

  “Safer,” Orin added. “You mess up here, you hurt yourself. Maybe the guy in front of you.” He shrugged. “Law Bearers don’t get that luxury.”

  Seris glanced over. “Because of accidents?”

  “Seniors,” Orin said. “Second or third year. Strong enough to charge properly, tired enough to slip. Everyone’s heard at least one story.”

  No one argued that.

  Further back, the instructors stood where they could hear it. Mr. Irel watched the board like it was unremarkable. Mr. Aren spoke quietly with Ms. Eira. They didn’t correct it.

  Laurent understood what that meant. Not that it was false—but that it was incomplete. Safety here was measured by containment. By how far mistakes spread. Not by how much they hurt.

  The schedule remained where it was.

  By the time the group dispersed, the courtyard felt heavier than before. No announcement. No speech. Just structure, imposed and unmoving.

  Laurent walked away without comment.

  This wasn’t a test.

  It was the pace.