The sun dipped low behind the academy towers, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Zaire walked beside Kain, his steps slow, jaw still throbbing with a dull ache.
Every breath reminded him of the bruises blooming beneath his shirt, but he didn't complain.
Kain had stayed silent too, for the most part, hands shoved into his pockets, only occasionally glancing at him like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
"I should get hazard pay for this," Kain muttered finally, breaking the silence. "Do you know how many death glares I collected walking you out of there? Pretty sure someone snapped a pic. I'm gonna be on someone's hit list."
Zaire snorted, the smallest huff of air escaping his nose. "You talk too much."
"Says the guy who vanishes mid-treatment and thinks he can get away with it. Ellory's gonna skin you alive."
"That's why I left."
Kain rolled his eyes. "You're a menace."
The two of them cut through the edge of the courtyard toward the cafeteria. Zaire didn't want to go. His stomach didn't feel up to it, but Kain gave him a look when he tried to argue, the kind that said: You'll eat or I'll make you.
The cafeteria was half-empty. Just the stragglers and club members with late shifts. They grabbed two trays and found a seat in the far corner.
"So," came a voice beside them, light and lilting, "you're the Blank who made Brayden sweat."
Zaire didn't look up, but Kain stiffened.
A girl stood next to their table, arms crossed, hair cropped short and dyed a lazy kind of red. She wore the Journalism Club pin on her lapel and had a smirk that made Zaire instantly wary.
"You got the wrong guy," Kain said flatly.
"Oh? My sources are never wrong. Besides, he's got that look in his eye. Y'know, the one people get when they bite back for once."
Zaire didn't respond. Just kept chewing, slow and steady.
"Tch. Cold type," she said, then turned to leave, tossing a wave over her shoulder. "Tell me when you're ready to talk, Blank. Might make a killer story."
Kain waited until she was out of earshot. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
"That was Emery. Total vulture."
Zaire shrugged. "I don't plan on being newsworthy."
They ate the rest of their food in relative peace until the overhead screens flickered. A projection appeared in the middle of the cafeteria, a woman's voice crisp and clean:
"This is a reminder that evaluations for the upcoming Inter-Academy Tournament begin next week. First-years with exceptional potential will be assessed as alternates. Ranks are not everything. Even Blanks may apply."
Zaire's fork paused halfway to his mouth. Even blanks?
He stared at the screen until it flickered off, the glow fading into the dull buzz of fluorescent lights. His food sat untouched now, the ache in his jaw returning with a pulse that synced with his thoughts.
Zaire leaned back in his chair, scoffing softly. "Even Blanks. Cute wording. Like they're tossing bones to the bottom-feeders."
"Even" implied charity. "Even" meant "not really expected, but we'll humor you."
He wasn't surprised.
Kain gave him a sidelong glance. "You're not thinking of joining, are you?"
Zaire chewed once, slowly, then set his fork down. "Why would I?"
"Because you just embarrassed an A-rank with no ability, apparently," Kain said, tone dry. "That might say something."
"Right," Zaire muttered. "It says I'm about to be on everyone's shit list."
"You already are."
Zaire cracked the faintest smile.
Kain glanced sideways, a lazy sort of grin pulling at his mouth. "Hey. What if we entered the tournament together?"
Zaire gave him a flat look over the rim of his cup. "You serious?"
"Dead serious," Kain replied, kicking his feet up onto the empty chair next to him. "You've got good instincts. Close combat, reaction time—you've been scrapping since before the rest of us knew how to throw a punch."
Zaire set the cup down. "I don't have an ability."
Kain waved that off. "Doesn't matter. The rules said even Blanks can apply. Besides, we could register as a pair. Tag-team rounds are a thing, you know. You cover close range, I blast from a distance. Boom. Balance."
Zaire's brows furrowed. "There's too many variables. I only got lucky with Brayden, besides we don't sync as a duo."
"Who knows? Maybe we do sync. Maybe we don't." Kain shrugged, ever casual. "But I trust you more than anyone else on campus. We've been through enough."
He meant it. Zaire could hear it in his voice. There was no pity there, no mockery. Just matter-of-fact trust, the same kind he'd shown since the first day they stepped into this academy.
Zaire didn't answer right away.
Kain didn't know the truth.
"I'll pass," he said eventually, reaching for his drink. "You go get famous. I'll keep walking behind the crowd."
"Suit yourself," Kain muttered, kicking him lightly under the table.