The office smelled of mahogany and expensive scotch.

  Dean Vance stood by the window, looking down at the students gathering in the courtyard. Behind him sat a young man in a dark grey Senior uniform. He had messy hair, oil-stained fingers, and a nervous twitch in his left eye.

  This was Cadet Thorne, the top Artificer of the 3rd Year class.

  "I reviewed your application for the Royal Research Guild," Dean Vance said without turning around. "It’s... ambitious."

  Thorne swallowed hard. "I have the grades, Dean. My golems are state-of-the-art. The MK-IV Titan is indestructible."

  "The Royal Guild doesn't just want grades, Thorne," Vance turned, his eyes cold. "They want loyalty. They want problem solvers."

  Vance walked to his desk and tapped a file. The holographic face of Amari Malik rotated above the wood.

  "We have a pest in the freshman class," Vance said. "A system error. He is disrupting the hierarchy. The Board won't let me expel him without cause."

  Thorne looked at the hologram. "The F-Class kid? The one who killed the Alpha?"

  "A fluke," Vance waved his hand dismissively. "Or a cheat. Either way, I need him gone. Publicly. Humiliatingly."

  Vance leaned forward, his voice dropping—not into conspiracy, but into procedure.

  "A hierarchy is a weapon, Thorne. And this glitch is teaching the weak how to aim." His eyes sharpened. "I need you to break the gun."

  He slid a thin folder across the desk.

  It wasn’t marked DISCIPLINARY.

  It was marked RISK MITIGATION.

  [Administrative Order: Mandatory Proxy Evaluation]

  [Subject: Cadet Amari Malik]

  [Category: Anomaly / Combat Data Integrity Threat]

  [Authorization: Dean Vance]

  [Liability Waiver: APPROVED]

  Thorne stared at the paperwork.

  "You want to test a prototype," Thorne said carefully.

  "I want to validate a threat," Vance corrected. "The Board wants data. The Guild wants results. And I want the campus to remember its place."

  Vance slid one final sheet across the desk.

  It was a recommendation letter for the Royal Research Guild, already signed.

  "The Tournament brackets are being finalized," Vance said softly. "I can arrange a... special exhibition match. You wouldn’t fight him directly. That would be bullying."

  He smiled thinly.

  "But a Proxy Match? A controlled environment. A live target. A public lesson."

  Thorne looked at the signature. Then he grinned, the fear in his eyes turning into hunger.

  "The MK-IV needs a stress test," Thorne said. "I can tune the servos to Combat-Lethal. If something breaks…"

  He shrugged.

  "...it breaks."

  "Accidents happen in war," Vance said. "And war is what we train for."

  He stepped closer until Thorne could smell the scotch.

  "Make sure he doesn't walk out of that arena."

  The holographic screen in the Great Hall was massive, floating above the heads of a thousand students like a guillotine blade.

  Dean Vance stood at the podium. He didn't look like a conspirator today; he looked like a General.

  "The Inter-House Scrimmage," Vance announced, his voice amplified by wind magic, "is not a sport. It is a simulation of war. In the real world, the enemy does not care about your weight class or your feelings."

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Amari stood in the back with the F-Class cohort. He felt a prickle on the back of his neck.

  The Apex Predator title didn’t flare like fear.

  It flared like warning.

  Someone was hunting him.

  "Because of recent anomalies," Vance continued, his eyes flickering briefly toward Amari, "the Board has mandated that all students participate."

  He paused, letting the room feel the weight of the words.

  "To ensure maximum data collection, we are introducing a Senior Proxy Exhibition."

  A murmur went through the crowd.

  "The brackets are live," Vance said.

  The screen shifted. Thousands of names scrolled rapidly.

  [Elara Vance vs. Cadet Miller (D-Class)]

  Elara swallowed hard.

  Then, the screen stopped scrolling.

  A single match was highlighted in red at the very top.

  [SPECIAL EXHIBITION MATCH]

  [Amari Malik (F-Class)]

  [VS]

  [Cadet Thorne (3rd Year Artificer)]

  [Unit: MK-IV Titan — Titanium Alloy Prototype]

  The System chimed, bright and clinical—like a judge reading a sentence.

  [System Calculation: Match Odds 99:1]

  [Survival Probability: LOW]

  [Warning: Event Classified “High Injury Likelihood”]

  [Liability Coverage: ACTIVE]

  The hall went dead silent.

  Then, the Hero Class exploded into laughter.

  "Thorne?" Caelum laughed, wiping a tear from his eye. "He's fighting Thorne's death machine? That thing eats C-Class mages for breakfast."

  "It's an execution," another student whispered. "Thorne puts saws in those things."

  Elara, standing a few feet away from Amari, turned pale. She stepped toward him, gripping his sleeve tightly.

  "Amari," she hissed. "That's a senior project. It’s made of Enchanted Titanium. It has auto-tracking lasers. Thorne controls it remotely—he won't even be in the ring!"

  Amari didn't look at her.

  He was staring across the hall.

  Leaning against a pillar was Cadet Thorne. The senior was holding a remote control unit, smirking at Amari.

  He drew a finger across his throat.

  Amari looked at the holographic schematic of the MK-IV Titan displayed on the screen.

  He didn't look at the armor plating or the saw blades.

  He looked at the joints.

  Hydraulics, Amari analyzed, his veteran eyes dissecting the machine. Exposed cabling near the neck for ventilation. Rotational limit of 180 degrees. Thorne built it for power, not flexibility.

  "It's slow," Amari murmured.

  "It's metal!" Elara whispered harshly. "You have flesh and bone. If you hit that thing, your hand will shatter. You have to withdraw."

  "The Dean wants me to withdraw," Amari said calmly. "Or he wants me to die. If I quit, I'm expelled. If I lose, I'm expelled."

  "So what will you do?"

  "I'll disassemble it," Amari said.

  He gently removed Elara's hand from his arm.

  "Focus on your match, Elara. Miller uses Water Magic. Don't let him dampen your heat."

  He adjusted his bag. "I have to go."

  "Where?"

  "To the basement," Amari said, turning away. "I need to ask The Custodian how to break a bolt."

  As Amari walked, the System flickered again—small, angry, and persistent.

  [System Notice: Movement Deviation Detected]

  [Flag: "Void Vessel" — Monitoring Elevated]

  [Directive: Return to Assigned Training Block]

  Amari ignored it.

  He didn't look scared.

  He looked annoyed.

  The Custodian was polishing a large brass valve when Amari walked in.

  "Titanium," Amari said without preamble.

  Idris didn't look up. "Thorne's toy? The MK-IV?"

  "You know it?"

  "I know the noise it makes," Idris said. "Thorne tests it on the floor above. It walks heavy. Unbalanced. Too much armor on the chest, not enough counter-weight in the hips."

  Idris stood up and wiped his hands on a rag.

  "The Dean has set a trap," Idris said. "He pits you against a machine because a machine has no fear. Your Apex Predator aura won't work on it. It has no throat to crush."

  "It has bolts," Amari said. "It has joints."

  "And it has a bite force of two tons," Idris countered. "If you try to punch that plating, you will break your wrist. You cannot out-harden titanium at Stage 1."

  Idris walked over to a heavy steel I-beam.

  "You are thinking like a brawler again," Idris scolded. "You are thinking, How hard do I have to hit it?"

  Idris grabbed a loose bolt on the steel flange.

  "Metal is rigid," Idris taught. "Rigidity is a weakness. Metal cannot bend. It cannot adapt. If you apply force to the joint perpendicular to the hinge—"

  SCREECH.

  Idris applied torque.

  The bolt didn’t break.

  It sheared off cleanly.

  "Shear stress," Idris said. "Leverage. The Golem is built to push forward. It is weak against rotation."

  He turned to Amari, eyes hard.

  "We are not going to box this machine."

  Idris threw Amari a pair of heavy leather gloves.

  "We are going to wrestle it."