"Get out of there!" Johansson ordered. Judging by his voice, he was already on the move.

Esposito was dead — well and truly dead. Technically, Novak's plan had worked. But neither I, nor I imagine Vaclav himself, had expected a sniper. The idea was that the demons would send in a quiet assassin.

What happened here was anything but quiet.

Outside, the jets of boards roared to life, at least five of them, all at once. Someone was being attacked. Steel clashed against steel with a shrill ring.

The demon wasn't alone?

I didn't have time to work that out.

What were the symptoms of oxygen deprivation again? Shortness of breath, confusion —that's after a minute or two?

My adrenaline spike had already kicked my body into combat mode, rapidly burning through what little oxygen remained. The shortness of breath came early.

"Please remain calm!" Marco announced. "The cafe had been sealed off from the rest of the building by the containment system, so we wouldn't be leaving through the usual exits any time soon. Your only way out for now," he added with a dry chuckle, "is the new one." He gestured toward the shattered window Lin Jiao had burst through. "Apologies for the inconvenience. One drink and one dessert on the house."

Fat lot of good a free coffee does when you're suffocating.

Though, to be fair, Marco had thought of that too, he just hadn't had time to say it yet.

"We'll be handing out breathing masks to anyone in need. First-Stage cadets, please approach the bar."

From beneath the counter, he pulled out a compact case full of portable breathing masks. Each one came with two tiny cylinders and a compressor that filtered oxygen from the atmosphere, stored it in the cylinders, and released it under the mask.

Two girls were the first to rush over.

"I'm afraid," I told Johansson, still connected through the interface, "I won't be able to follow that order."

I moved to the counter to collect a mask for myself.

"Then don't draw attention!" Johansson replied. "Find a seat, make sure you're not visible from outside!"

"I think that ship's already sailed," I said.

Marco raised an eyebrow, but I shook my head and pointed at my ear, continuing the conversation with Johansson.

Outside, the air shimmered with patrol boards. Trying to take me out with that many Order operatives in the sky was suicide. And the amulet Novak had given me had proven itself admirably. I didn't want anything between it and a potential attack, just in case it needed to activate properly again.

Oxygen from the mask hit my head almost immediately. Not too hard, but enough to make me realise just how thin the atmosphere had become. Nausea crept in. Probably from the sudden dose, or the pressure shift. Esposito's body still lay on the floor, hole in the head, brains spattered across the tiles, but his death didn't touch me.

I'd seen worse.

Seen?

Déjà vu slammed into me with flashes of bodies: split, scorched, torn, people gasping their last breaths.

That nearly made me vomit.

Yeah. I really had seen worse.

Marco, maintaining a calm professionalism, continued handing out masks to the Second-Stage cadets. There were far more of them.

Next came the Third-Stage group, but not all of them bothered to take a mask. Most chose to enjoy the free coffee and pastries, still lounging around. Of those who did accept a mask, hardly any wore it properly, they simply passed the oxygen feed between sips and bites, one breath at a time.

What held their attention wasn't the lack of oxygen — it was the scene outside and Esposito's corpse.

My cheesecake and latte remained nearly untouched. Luckily, the brain splatter had gone the other way.

Suddenly, the nausea gave way to a hollow, acidic hunger, like someone had poured acid into my stomach, and food was the only way to neutralise it.

I lifted my mask and took a sip of the latte.

Somewhere in Esposito's pockets there had to be a trinket, or some token, or charm, that unlocked the stash hidden in the formations. I really wanted to get my hands on it. But not in front of witnesses, and definitely not on camera. So I kept my hands to myself.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

I didn't have to wait long.

A few minutes later, Johansson burst through the shattered window on a jet board. Red-and-black armour, two-handed hammer in hand...

He ordered the patrons to vacate the premises. The corridor outside the cafe had been converted into a temporary airlock to equalise pressure. Along with the others, Johansson ushered me out as well.

I returned the mask and dragged myself back to the dorms, wondering how soon the demons would try to finish what they'd started — namely, the tragic murder of poor little me.

Their last attempt had been far louder and far more effective than the previous one.

Just in case, I decided to avoid windows for a while.

The killing at Marco's caused a serious stir. Rumours claimed the scandal had gone beyond the school, and that a special commission had been dispatched by the joint Ministry of Education and Defence.

I don't know what they came to inspect, but somehow Novak made sure I wasn't questioned. Not by any ministry suits. And they only stayed at the School for three days before disappearing just as fast.

My neighbours, classmates, and even casual acquaintances, however — they all wanted details. Every last one.

I got so fed up with the constant questioning that I started telling people to piss off the moment they brought it up. Did none of them realise I wasn't allowed to talk about it?

Hell, I didn't even know everything myself. Whatever follow-up intrigue there was, it went on without me. I just walked around suspiciously checking corners, waiting for the next stab in the back.

What everyone did know was that the sniper who'd killed Esposito had gotten away. That little detail cranked the drama up a notch and cast an even darker shadow over the whole affair. Apparently, the board that had been seen outside the cafe was just a decoy — an empty suit of armour, remotely controlled, rigged with explosives. When the Order finally caught up with it, it self-destructed, injuring four of their operatives.

The cartel was mocking the Hall of Order making some vague, showy statement.

The Hall of Technology promised a full investigation.

Given their likely involvement in the trade itself, the outcome was exactly what you'd expect. Loud words, no action. Novak didn't rush to reveal anything, and the Order decided not to charge in headfirst either. They had their hands full already.

You could argue the cartel was the only faction that actually did something.

The very next day after Esposito's death, the workload for both the Halls of Order and Medicine started climbing.

It began with increased aggression. Some cadets became more irritable, twitchy and inevitably, more fights broke out.

In those cases where injuries landed cadets in the infirmary, a worrying number of them were diagnosed as addicted.

And as soon as they realised they'd be expelled, they immediately gave up their dealers.

Only three names came out, and the cartel didn't bother cleaning them up. But squeezing any useful info from them was impossible. They swore they knew nothing. Not a word about stash points in the walls, tied to gathering formations. The product just magically appeared in their rooms along with instructions.

And weirdly enough, they might've been telling the truth. Their existence had come as a complete surprise even to Novak and his team.

Novak told me all this when I returned his training ring.

Not only had I made progress with it — I'd fully mastered it. I could retrieve an ampoule from any angle, in any position. If Novak had trusted me with an offensive artefact, a sword, for example, I could've kept it inside the ring and launched an attack before anyone even realised I was armed...

But Novak had no such intentions, and he took the ring back.

Instead, he handed me a new defensive amulet, a wide bracelet, far more advanced than the pendant plate I wore around my neck. This one combined poison detection with a rapid diagnostic and antidote injection system.

They gave it to me so I wouldn't be afraid to sit holed up in my room.

Though honestly, I saw nothing wrong with that. It was precisely all that sitting and spare time that had allowed me to master Space Qi. On top of that, I'd racked up a ton of shifts in advance — every single assistant-colleague of mine owed me couple.

So next time I end up in the infirmary for a while, I won't have to work it off.

Back to the dealers, or rather, the sacrificial lambs set up to be dealers, further investigation revealed that all three were friends. Two cadets had access to the resources needed to create the puppet that killed Esposito, and the third had access to equipment used to brew drugs.

Not could have been used — was used. The investigation confirmed that the narcotics found on the dealers had been produced with that very equipment.

Bulsara conducted an analysis from his side as well. What they seized from these three had nothing in common with what the demons had been selling.

A day after the arrests, more cadets started acting out. Aggression flared, and by the second day, the rest of the trio's customers were hitting withdrawal.

The remaining dealers? Carried on business as usual.

Bulsara was baffled. The entire lower tier of Novak's people, myself included, started spinning theories. My personal take was that the demons had used the trio as scapegoats and handed them over as tribute.

Apparently, it worked, at least on the commission.

What the 'great one' himself thought, no one really knew. But he did insist on hearing from each and every one of us.

I would've liked to peek into his head, but that wasn't an option. So I focused on what I could control: preparing for the tournament.

If the cartel had already offered up those goats, they had no reason to kill me too — not now, at least. That would only stir up more suspicion and another round of investigation, just as things were finally beginning to quiet down.

The monthly tournament had one extra round, bumping the number of participants from 64 to 128.

They almost never reached 128. Instead of the usual ten points for the entry fee, this one cost fifty. It was a hefty sum most weren't willing to part with.

On the other hand, first place came with between 1,500 and 3,000 points, depending on the total prize pool. Plus access to the elite section of the school's store. That alone could tip the balance during rankings. But since winners were usually already high-performing cadets, the prize points typically went towards breakthrough materials or exclusive equipment upgrades not available to the average student.

Roughly speaking, even third place could buy me a breakthrough material. Emphasis on 'a', since it'd only get me something from the common range, nothing impressive, and I'd still need to make up the difference on my own.

Still, I wasn't so much chasing a breakthrough material right now. What I really wanted was the crystal Novak had promised me.

That crystal would keep me from falling too far behind the golden kids. At least not too far. I'd sort out the breakthrough material one way or another. I already had two of the three components ready.

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