"Miguel Borson," Rigor called from the podium.
The man whose family had died a year ago stepped forward. Watching his hunched, gaunt figure—his skin tinged gray—I couldn't help thinking he'd probably spent that entire year drinking himself into oblivion, only recently pulling himself back together.
Miguel approached the cart. The assistant pulled out a small black bag with a tag. Borson took it without a word and returned to his place.
"Alma Hwon."
The girl who had arrived last stepped forward. The hatred that had burned in her eyes earlier was gone. She moved calmly, took her bag, and even thanked the assistant with a faint smile.
"Connie Start."
The scruffy little girl—the youngest among us—stepped forward. She looked terrified as she took her bag and hurried back into line.
Start?
Same surname as the teacher.
I frowned slightly.
"Robert Torrent."
A man stepped forward—no older than twenty-five, I guessed. He had week-old stubble and long light-brown hair tied into a messy knot. His posture was confident, his expression hard, lips pressed into a thin line.
He gave a short nod of thanks and returned to his place.
Military?
Just a guess—but something about him fit.
"Alan Holivan."
I stepped forward.
Confident. Steady.
I could feel eyes burning into my back, but I refused to show weakness. The bag was heavier than I expected. I slung it over my other shoulder, lifted my chin, and walked back.
On the way, I scanned the others.
I couldn't see the faces of those behind—but the first student had definitely recognized my name.
What worried me most was Robert Torrent.
His expression had darkened.
And Alma Hwon—
I was almost certain she knew who Alan Holivan was too.
By the time everyone received their bags, tension coiled tight in my chest.
I wanted to run.
But I couldn't.
First—who knew what the academy would do?
Second—it would be the clearest sign of weakness.
And I couldn't afford that. Not on the first day.
The ceremony ended.
The senior students left first. Then we followed, guided by our new instructor.
He led us to the dormitory.
On the first floor, in a large common room, he let us sit while he stood in the center.
"In your bags, you'll find everything you need," he said. "Two sets of uniforms, boots, sportswear, undergarments, hygiene items."
He pinned a list to the wall.
"Room assignments. Four per room, third floor."
"You have one hour to unpack and settle in. It's now eleven thirty-three. At twelve forty, you are to be in Lecture Hall 707, fifth floor of the main building."
He turned and left.
A few of us moved toward the list.
My room:
The Singh twins—Al and Sol.
And, to my complete dismay—
Robert Torrent.
Great.
I grabbed both bags and headed upstairs, hoping for a few minutes alone.
No such luck.
I hadn't even closed the door when a tanned hand caught it.
Robert stepped in, wearing a crooked smile.
"Well, well," he said. "Look who I'm stuck with."
He dropped his bag onto the nearest bed.
"What's a noble little Holivan doing slumming it with trash like us?"
"From today on, I'm a student of the gifted division. Same as you," I replied, meeting his gaze.
His grin widened.
I turned away, pretending to focus on unpacking.
Anything to hide the tension.
A few minutes later, he started unpacking too.
The door opened again.
The twins stepped in—and immediately froze, sensing the atmosphere.
"Guess we should introduce ourselves," Robert said casually. "We're going to be living together, after all. Might as well get along."
He glanced at me.
"At least the three of us."
The twins exchanged uneasy looks, then quietly moved to the remaining beds.
I shoved my personal bag under the bed and tossed the academy-issued one into the wardrobe.
Two closets, divided into sections.
I claimed the half closest to my bed.
Along the opposite wall stood four desks, nearly touching. Each had shelves and drawers—one workspace per person.
Perfect.
To avoid provoking Robert any further, I slipped out of the room.
I checked the time.
Still a few minutes to spare.
I wandered through the dorm.
Each floor had two showers, two restrooms, a storage room with spare bedding, cleaning supplies, and other necessities.
Each floor was divided into male and female sections—except the first.
Down there, besides the common room, there was a small kitchen and rooms reserved for the "best" students.
Best?
Probably tied to those white badges.
At twelve twenty, I left the dorm and headed toward the main building.
I wasn't the only one.
A steady stream of gifted students moved in the same direction.
Some glanced at me—curious, wary, hostile.
I pretended not to notice.
But I knew.
They'd seen my face on TV.
They knew who I was.
Or rather—
Who Alan Holivan was.
Slowly, my mind was starting to accept this body as mine.
Even in my thoughts, I was beginning to call myself Alan.
I didn't know if that was a good thing.
It felt… dangerous.
I still held onto the hope of returning to my own body.
"Hey, Holivan."
I froze.
Then turned.
"Yes?" I asked, facing an older student. His arms were crossed, eyes sharp. Ten white badges on his chest.
"What the hell are you doing in our wing?"
"Didn't you hear the ceremony?" I replied coolly. "I'm a first-year in the gifted division."
"Watch your mouth, aristocrat," he sneered. "You've got no influence here. Your family won't protect you. So keep your head down—and watch your back."
"Sorry," I said dryly. "Didn't realize intimidation was part of the welcome package. I'm still getting used to things."
"Don't get smart, twig," he snapped. "Give it until tomorrow—this place will be hell for you."
He brushed past me, slamming his shoulder into mine.
I exhaled slowly.
And kept walking.