"Sit down," Brando said, pushing a chair with his foot. "Before someone thinks you're about to attack us."

  Marco hesitated, as if sitting at the same table as a Volpe was an unforgivable blasphemy. But finally, he dropped into the chair, maintaining a safe distance that would have been laughable if the whole situation weren't so absurd. Not that his Beta rank was anything to scoff at. Being a Beta meant being part of the Academy's elite, the kind of power most students could only dream of. But Giordano was the anomaly. A bastard with an Omega rank, a combination that short-circuited the entire caste system of Nea-Polis.

  "If my father could see me now," Giordano muttered, shaking his head. "A Volpe and a Ruocco at the same table..."

  Marco ran a hand over his face, as if trying to erase years of social conditioning. "The Eight Great Houses of Nea-Polis. The names that control everything, from the shit we eat to the air we breathe."

  "Wait, what are you talking about?" Giordano interrupted. "Are you seriously giving us a history lesson? My family controls half the energy in Nea-Polis, just like yours, so don't preach to me."

  "Your family controls a quarter, at most," Marco shot back. "And only because we allowed you to expand into the Phlegraean zone."

  "Ha! Keep telling yourself that. Maybe someday you'll actually believe it."

  "Gentlemen," Brando interrupted, "could we avoid the measuring contest? Thanks."

  Marco continued, not without casting one last challenging glance at Giordano. "Ruocco, Esposito, Ferrara, Gallo, Lombardi, Ricci, Romano, and Volpe." He pronounced each name as if reciting a prayer. "These are the names that rebuilt Naples from the ruins of the old world. The Ruoccos, and yes, even the Volpes," he added with a grimace, "control the energy. Every single watt that keeps this city alive passes through our hands, whether you like it or not."

  He paused, looking around to ensure no one was listening. "The Espositos have their hands on every scientific discovery, every innovation. Yes, like our beloved Lieutenant. Nothing leaves the labs without their permission. The Ferraras control the media, shaping public opinion like clay. The Gallos manage the food, those protected greenhouses where the wheat grows? That's them. The Lombardis have a monopoly on transportation, the Riccis on construction, and the Romanos... well, they're the luxury loan sharks who keep the entire financial system standing."

  "Fascinating," Brando said flatly. "And what does this have to do with us?"

  Marco leaned forward, putting his hand in front of his mouth. "It has to do with the Ruggeris."

  "Ah, Bianca's family?" Giordano asked, but this time his voice had lost its sarcastic tone.

  "Exactly," Marco said, and there was something feverish in his gaze. "The Ruggeris are nobody. They have no power, no influence. They're ants in a world of giants. Their bloodline is so insignificant it doesn't even appear in the historical records of Nea-Polis. Or at least they were until yesterday morning."

  "What are you referring to?" Brando asked, though part of him already knew the answer.

  "I don't know for certain," Marco admitted. "But one thing is clear: Bianca Ruggeri isn't just any student. There's something about her, a power or a secret, that makes her different from all of us."

  "So you're here because you're afraid that an 'ant' might have more power than you? I still don't see what this has to do with us," Giordano challenged.

  Marco didn't laugh. His gaze was dramatically serious. "In seventy years, only sixteen people have reached the Ultima Stage. And none, ever, came from an insignificant family."

  But then he ran a hand through his hair, suddenly interested in the pattern of the tiles on the cafeteria floor. "Ah, but what the hell am I talking about? The truth is... damn, this is so embarrassing."

  "Oh, this is going to be good," Giordano grinned, leaning forward. "The great Marco Ruocco embarrassed about something? I should record this historic moment."

  "Fuck you, Volpe." But there was no usual malice in his voice. Instead, he seemed vulnerable. "The truth is, there's this bet among the high-ranked students..."

  "What kind of bet?" Brando asked.

  "Whoever manages to get close to her," Marco murmured. "To date her... officially becomes the Academy Stallion."

  Giordano froze for an instant, then burst into such boisterous laughter that it nearly reached all his classmates. "You're saying the great nobility of the Academy behaves like a bunch of virgins with their first crush?"

  "You don't understand," Marco snapped. "She's not like the others. There's something different about her. The way she walks, as if everything else is insignificant. How she looks through you. As if you were made of air."

  "And that drives your ego crazy, doesn't it?" Giordano smirked.

  "It drives everyone's ego crazy," Marco admitted. "We've already tried to get her attention. Trying to talk to her, she didn't even notice us, but we didn't give up. Alessandro Ricci sent her flowers, and she left them exactly where she found them. Lorenzo Ferrara tried to impress her with a demonstration of power, and she didn't even turn around. Giorgio Gallo wrote her a four-page letter, and she folded it up and used it as a bookmark."

  "Wait," Brando interrupted. "You're making all this fuss over a girl who clearly wants nothing to do with you?"

  "She's not just a girl!" Marco leaned forward, lowering his voice. "She's... perfect. And I'm not just talking about her appearance. It's like she radiates a different aura. She seems like a different creature from us. And that's the point: how can a Ruggeri, a nobody, have this effect? How can someone who comes from nothing make a Beta from the Ruocco family feel inadequate?"

  "So that's it," Brando said. "It's a matter of wounded pride."

  "The stakes are high," Marco continued, ignoring the comment. "Whoever gets close to her doesn't just win the bet. They win prestige, respect. They become a legend."

  "A legend?" Giordano let out a sharp laugh. "Do you realize how pathetic that is?"

  "So you thought you'd cheat," Brando concluded. "Using us as... what? Spies? Informants?"

  "I prefer to think of it as a strategic collaboration," Marco said. "You're different."

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "Different?" Giordano arched an eyebrow. "Is that your polite way of saying 'scum'?"

  "No, damn it," Marco shook his head impatiently. "Different in the sense that you see things from another perspective. Outsiders, if you prefer. Maybe to her, you're more approachable types."

  "And that's supposed to be a compliment?" Brando asked flatly.

  "It's a fact," Marco replied, finally raising his gaze. "Think about it: you're not chained like us. You don't have to maintain appearances, and you don't have a lineage to protect. That makes you free to see things we don't see. To understand things that escape us."

  "Like Bianca," Brando said, beginning to understand.

  "Exactly," Marco nodded vigorously. "She's different like you. Maybe that's why none of us can get close to her. Maybe it takes someone who knows what it means to be an outsider to understand another outsider."

  "And what's in it for us?" Brando asked.

  "Respect," Marco said tersely. "If a bastard and a Zeta succeeded where a Beta failed, the hierarchies would falter. People would have to rethink everything they believe they know about blood and power."

  "Bullshit," Brando spat.

  "No, wait," Giordano interjected, serious for the first time. "He might be right. If we manage to help him with Bianca, the others will have to rethink their prejudices. A Beta asking us for help? That's the kind of thing that short-circuits the system."

  Marco stood up, straightening his uniform jacket with that impeccable noble gesture of his. His gaze oscillated between Brando and Giordano, and in an instant, he had regained his composure.

  "Clearly, you're not obligated to do anything. But if you happen to notice anything about her that could..."

  "We'll let you know," Brando interrupted, more to end the charade than out of any real understanding.

  Marco nodded stiffly. "Good. That's... yes, good." He turned to leave, then stopped, turning back again.

  "And of course, this conversation—"

  "Never happened, sure," Giordano replied dryly.

  Brando and Giordano watched Marco walk away between the cafeteria tables. Despite trying to maintain his usual aristocratic posture, something had changed. His mask of nobility was cracking, and each step seemed to weigh on him like lead. For a Beta from the Ruocco family, being forced to ask for help from the lowest rungs of the social ladder was a wound that wouldn't heal easily.

  "What a pain in the ass," Giordano commented, returning to his pizza. "Damn, it's even gone cold." He took a bite and made a face. "But you know what? It's good even when it's cold. Don Gaetano is truly a saint."

  But Brando wasn't listening; he was lost in his thoughts.

  "Hey," Giordano nudged him. "Everything okay? You've got a weird look on your face."

  "We have to do it," Brando said suddenly.

  "What?" Giordano stopped mid-bite. "Just like that? First you're all skeptical, and now—"

  "Something doesn't add up," Brando interrupted. "You saw it this morning."

  "When the princess pissed off Esposito?"

  "No," Brando shook his head. "That's the point. She didn't piss him off. She scared him."

  Giordano put down his slice of pizza. "I don't understand where you're going with this."

  "Esposito wouldn't have hesitated to hit her. Does he seem like the type who would allow someone to openly challenge him? To stand up and walk away as if his rules meant nothing?"

  "Well, she is an Ultima," Giordano said, shrugging, but the way he drummed his fingers on the table betrayed a certain uneasiness.

  "No, that's not it, Giordano." Brando leaned forward, lowering his voice. He grabbed his friend's wrist to stop that nervous drumming. "She wasn't even at yesterday's tour. It's like she doesn't need the Academy. Like she already knows it. That's fine for you, Giordano. But her? A Ruggeri?"

  "Hmm?" Giordano freed himself from his friend's grip and began to listen carefully.

  "And it's not just that," Brando continued. "Think about how she behaves. It's more certainty than arrogance that we see. As if she knew she was untouchable."

  "Untouchable in what sense?" Giordano replied thoughtfully.

  "In the sense that while everyone in here is worried about respecting hierarchies and kissing the right ass, she does whatever she wants. She made Esposito turn pale with a single glance at her KryoWatch."

  "So what?" Giordano made a vague gesture with his hand. "Maybe she has some connections in high places."

  "No, I think something bigger is covering her back," Brando lowered his voice even further. "Who could make the Eight Houses themselves pale? Who has so much power that they can make even the most arrogant at the Academy tremble?"

  Giordano's eyes slowly widened as understanding hit him like a punch to the stomach. "Wait, do you mean—"

  "The Protector."

  "Shit." The word came out instinctively like a choked sound. "The Protector? You're completely out of your mind."

  "Why not?" Brando insisted. "Who else could give her this immunity? Think about it!"

  "Brando..." Giordano ran a hand over his face, searching for the right words. "We're talking about the Protector. Not just any principal or politician. He's the most powerful Cold Soldier in Academy history. The only one who keeps even the Eight Houses in line. He's 112 years old and one of the few who saw the world before the Cooling Down. It's no coincidence that he transformed the Academy from a bunker to... this. Few know his real powers."

  "Exactly," Brando nodded vigorously. "The only one who can afford to ignore the Houses' rules. The only one who can make even an asshole like Esposito tremble. Did you see how he went silent when he saw what Bianca showed him on the KryoWatch?"

  Giordano opened his mouth to protest but stopped. Brando could almost see the gears turning in his head as he reconsidered the morning's events.

  "But why would the Protector..." he broke off, as if afraid to complete the thought.

  "I don't know," Brando admitted, running a hand through his hair. "But think about it: Bianca comes from a family with no history, no power, and no connections. Yet here she is, with an Ultima rank, acting like the Academy is her home. As if she already knew everything. As if she were untouchable."

  Giordano fell back in his chair, pale as a sheet. "Shit. If you're right... this is big. Like, really big."

  "I know," Brando cut in. "So: what if she actually does have a connection?"

  "Okay," Giordano leaned forward again with a new light in his eyes. "Let's say you're not completely insane. How do we verify something like this?"

  A half-smile appeared on Brando's face. "The Academy library."

  "It's off-limits to students like us," Giordano raised an eyebrow. "Especially for a Zeta."

  "Is it also off-limits to bastard Omegas?"

  Giordano's grin widened. "You know what's really funny?" Giordano said, recovering some of his usual humor. "While everyone else is courting her with flowers and poems, you're planning to sneak into the library to spy on her and gather information about her. Definitely an original approach to courtship. Almost stalker-like."

  "I'm not trying to court her," Brando protested, but the blush slowly rising up his neck betrayed him.

  "No, no, of course not," Giordano was visibly enjoying the moment. "You're just organizing an infiltration into the forbidden section to discover her secrets. Much more romantic, I must admit."

  "I told you it's not like that," Brando tried to maintain a firm tone, but by now his ears were the same color as Giordano's hair.

  "Then why are you so red?" Giordano's grin was now impossible to ignore.

  "Because you're an idiot."

  "An idiot who's right!"

  Brando was about to respond with something appropriately cutting when both their KryoWatches emitted a sharp beep in unison.

  "What's happening?" Giordano asked, still smiling.

  "First practical lesson. In half an hour in the classroom. Esposito's letting us know."

  "Ah, shit." Giordano stared regretfully at the last piece of pizza on his plate. "The library will have to wait."

  "I know," Brando stood up, adjusting his uniform. "But after..."

  "After, we'll go poking around where we shouldn't," Giordano completed with a smile that promised trouble. "Like the good old days."

  "You never poked around with me in the good old days."

  "No," Giordano admitted, rising as well, "but it sounded good to say it."