Astral Zenith punished embarrassment faster than crime.
The ladder cut upward because ambition was only noble when it had permission.
By midday, the official report had already found a beautiful way to lie.
The Silver Qualifier Stage Two had been recorded as a partial success, partial procedural irregularity, and partial rank deferral due to unorthodox command choices. No mention of the seventh cup. No mention of a servant construct trying to carve Ren Lockwood into a lesson. No mention of my glove smoking after I touched light and made it stop existing.
Reports were coffins for inconvenient truths.
The academy buried them neatly.
I sat in the rear row of Combat Theory Hall Three while Instructor Veylan wrote the word EFFICIENCY across the board hard enough to threaten the chalk.
Ren stood at the side wall with the other support staff, gray ribbon still visible. Three servants had moved away from him. Two had moved closer.
That was how symbols formed.
Not through applause.
