In the Minos Prime Institute

  Nephara slumped on the bench in the middle of the yard, tuning out the chatter of students streaming past like she was wearing earplugs. The sun was beating down, making the grass smell and look really, really nice, but she didn't give a shit.

  Her focus was laser-locked on the notebook in her lap, pencil scratching furiously across the page. 'What kind of idiotic bullshit is this!' she thought, her inner voice yelling as she erased a line for the third time.

  They'd only had one class today, some intro crap on basic stat points and level ups for humans and demons. It was kinda interesting at first, sure, with stuff about how the system worked on both sides of the Gates. But most of it was shit everyone already knew from vids or just living in this messed-up world.

  Humans got one stat point per level up until they hit one hundred, then two until two hundred ninety-nine, three from three hundred to three hundred ninety-nine, and so on, ramping up from there. Demons? They were more chaotic, with points based on their evolutions, turning them into unpredictable freaks. Cool in theory, but the prof had droned on like it was groundbreaking news.

  And now this homework: calculate the total stats for ten random people and ten different demons, all at varying levels, just to “get a feel” for the enemies and allies they’d encounter.

  Nephara grumbled internally, flipping back a page to double-check her math on a hypothetical level two hundred fifty-three human. This whole thing was easy, but it reminded her way too much of a high school math class. She hated that shit with a passion.

  ‘Ugh, why couldn’t they just assign us to spar or something? At least that’d be fun.’

  A group of underclassmen laughed nearby, probably gossiping, but Nephara didn’t even glance up. She was in the zone, or trying to be, anyway, determined to knock this out before the test began.

  As she was deep in thought, a cold can smacked the back of her head with a dull thunk. Nephara's pencil skidded across the page, leaving a jagged line through her neat(ish) calculations.

  'What the hell.' she started to snarl internally, a bit pissed and ready to swing, but she looked straight up just in time for the offending can to be plopped right onto her forehead.

  From behind the bench, a girl she knew way too well vaulted over with the grace of a cat, landing on the seat next to her with a thump that made the wood creak. Damaris grinned down at her, popping the tab on her own cold can of orange juice with a satisfying hiss. "Looking as dumb as always, Nephara," she said, taking a sip.

  Nephara's scowl flipped into a reluctant smile as she realized who the hell this was—Damaris.

  "Yeah? Well, can a dumb person do this?" Without missing a beat, she swung her head forward like a total idiot, pencil still gripped in one hand, and caught it. Victory!

  Except the damn thing was already open, and orange juice sloshed in a sticky cascade, mostly splattering right over her open notebook and even slightly on her uniform.

  Nephara froze and just stared at her ruined homework in pure despair. “Oh, come the fuck on...” Pages of careful calcs—gone!

  Damaris burst out laughing, nearly choking on her own sip, doubling over with that infectious cackle. "Yeah, I would imagine a dumbass could replicate that."

  Nephara groaned, slamming the notebook shut, but she couldn't help the smirk tugging at her lips. "Fuck you, Damaris. That took me like twenty minutes. Now I gotta start over, and it's your fault." She elbowed her friend in the ribs, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make Damaris yelp dramatically.

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  Damaris wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling as she handed over her unspilled can. "Here, peace offering. What's the homework got you so twisted anyway? That stat calc crap? Thought you'd knock it out in your sleep."

  Nephara snatched the can, taking a long pull to wash down the sticky residue in her mouth. "Yeah, it's basic as hell, but I wanted to do it before the test. I gotta go check something out tonight, so I need as much free time as I can get.”

  Damaris leaned in with that shit-eating grin of hers, eyes sparkling like she was about to drop the juiciest gossip. "Ohhhh, is it perhaps a date?" she teased, waggling her eyebrows dramatically. "Spill, girl—who's the lucky one that's got you doing homework early?"

  Nephara barked out a laugh, nearly snorting orange juice up her nose. "As if," she shot back, rolling her eyes so hard it hurt. "The guys here are all shrimps. No thanks. I got some private business I ain’t sharing even with you" She tilted the can back and chugged the rest in one go, crushing it flat with a satisfying crinkle before tossing it into a nearby bin with pinpoint accuracy.

  She snapped her notebook shut and shoved it into her white handbag, slinging the strap over her shoulder as she pushed to her feet. The sticky mess on her uniform was starting to dry into a crusty film, pulling at the fabric like cheap glue.

  "Anyways," she said, stretching her arms overhead with a groan, "did you find that rich girl? The test's gonna start soon, and if I remember right, she's stuck with us."

  Damaris kept smiling as she hopped off the bench, falling into step beside her. "She should be close. I saw her in the bathroom like ten minutes ago."

  Nephara nodded, picking up the pace toward the main building. "Cool. I need to head there anyway—don't have time to change this uniform, but at least cleaning it up a bit would be good. Sticky orange Nephara isn't the vibe for a team test." The thought of showing up to spar looking like she'd rolled in a fruit stand made her cringe internally. 'Prof's gonna think I'm a slob. Whatever, results speak louder than vanity.'

  As they began walking together, weaving through clusters of chattering students, Damaris's expression shifted a tad, that playful glint fading into something more thoughtful. "Hey, isn't this whole thing a bit too strange?" she asked, lowering her voice like they were plotting a heist.

  Nephara shot her a sideways glance, eyebrow quirked. "How so? Spill."

  Damaris shrugged, kicking a pebble off the path with the toe of her boot. "I mean, they divided us into four teams of three for no damn reason. Shouldn't the odds be better if we learned how to fight as a full group? Hell, even if we got to choose our own partners—that'd make way more sense for building real synergy."

  Nephara hummed, mulling it over as they hit the shade of the institute's massive archway. "Kinda obvious, though—they need more Saints scattered across the globe, right? Spread us thin and train us to adapt, so we're able to adapt to going on missions even with weirdos.”

  Damaris snorted, but before she could fire back, Nephara grinned wide and lunged in for a surprise hug, wrapping her arms around her friend and smooshing her slightly wet, sticky uniform right against Damaris's pristine one. "But whatever—I don't care too much," she said, squeezing tight with a laugh. "The two of us got paired together. That's a win in my book. Rich girl's just bonus points."

  Damaris squawked in mock horror, wriggling but not really trying to escape. "Ew, get off—you're gonna ruin my uniform! But yeah... same. Let's crush this test and make the others eat dirt." She pulled back, wiping imaginary stickiness off her dress with exaggerated disgust, but her smile was genuine.

  Damaris then stopped, turning to look straight at Nephara with that serious face she pulled out maybe once a blue moon—the one that said 'listen up, this ain't a joke.' The shift caught Nephara off guard.

  "Hey, can I ask one more thing?" Damaris asked.

  Nephara blinked, tilting her head. "Yeah, waddup? Shoot."

  Damaris crossed her arms, glancing around like the gossiping underclassmen might eavesdrop. "Don't be too mean to the new girl, okay? Like, give her a chance."

  Nephara opened her mouth to fire back a 'why the hell not,' but Damaris beat her to it, holding up a hand. "Look, the class is utterly filled with asshats—Damian and his ego brigade, Dragan's whole 'I'm a walking temper tantrum' vibe—but she's not one of them. You know I'm great at reading people, so just trust me on this. Yesterday, she really looked sad and filled with sorrow. I swear, I feel something from her—something real, not that fake rich-kid bullshit."

  Nephara snorted, crossing her arms right back as they resumed walking. "I can't promise anything. The girl whose spot got stolen by her? Clara? She seemed really, really cool. And from all the rumors I've heard, this rich girl's extremely pretentious on top of it. Why defend her?"

  Damaris sighed, shaking her head like Nephara was a lost cause. "Not to judge a book by its cover, Nephara. Rumors are just that—bullshit whispers from jealous idiots. Give her a page or two before you slam it shut."

  Nephara huffed a laugh. "Fair point. But when a book is two pages long, you can get an idea what's inside it even from a glance."