"Enough chit chat, let's get back to work!" Zeke exclaimed.

"Eye eye captain," Violet raised her fist into the air with a burning passion."

"We will study like hell!" Zeke shouted in a battle cry.

And so they did. The dining table turned into a campaign map—notes fanned like troop lines, pens stacked like munitions, the city's neon hemming the glass with a restless pulse. Zeke drilled, quizzed, and circled back; Fredric groaned, sparred, and finally surrendered to the rhythm, page after page falling like dominos into place—quiet victories scored in graphite and breath.

When it was time to leave, Zeke and Fredric packed their things. Before leaving Zeke once again carried Violet up to her room. The hall lights washed them in soft gold; her wheels barely whispered on the carpet as he lifted, turned, and set her gently by the bed.

"I really like it when you treat me like a princess," She laughed.

"I'm glad I can do that much for you," Zeke smiled, before wishing her a good night and waking towards the elevator. The door chime glowed faintly, a halo waiting to close.

"Zeke, I've asked Calvin to drive the two of you home," Amanda explained. "Will you two be alright with him?" She asked.

"Of course," Zeke said. "He seemed like a nice guy."

"He is," Amanda smiled, putting down the cup she was holding in her hand. "And so are you," She hugged Zeke, standing up on her tiptoes, staring hatefully at Fredric as she rested her head on Zeke's shoulder.

"Why are single men my age not as nice as you?" She said pulling back.

"Because, by the time they reach your age, most of the nice ones are already taken and all that's left are the assholes and the ones who've grown out of it," Fredric remarked.

"I didn't expect you to answer that," Amanda smiled awkwardly.

"You're welcome," Fredric smirked.

The two stepped into the elevator and dialed the first floor. Polished steel framed their reflections; the city beyond the glass lay in stacked constellations, each window a small, watching eye.

"Oh and Fredric," Amanda said just as the doors started to close. "Never come to my house again."

The doors of the elevator shut as the two started descending. The cab hummed; floor numbers ticked down like beats on a drum, steady as a warning.

"What was that about?" Zeke wondered.

"It was nothing," Fredric replied.

"Didn't seem like nothing," Zeke remarked.

"I'll tell you some other time," Fredric let out a heavy sigh.

During the next couple of days, Zeke relentlessly pounded bits of knowledge and trivia into Fredric's desperate head, teaching him all the things necessary to ace the exams. Morning bled into night across their borrowed war table; flashcards snapped, examples stacked, and the air smelled of ink and cooling tea. Fredric kept trying to slack off or sleep without Zeke noticing—eyes drifting to the windows, fingers drumming for escape. Each time, Zeke would easily catch him, tapping the page or calling a question like a referee's whistle, forcing him to put in effort for the first time in years. And under that pressure—measured, methodical, unyielding—the noise in Fredric's head thinned until facts began to lock in place, one after another, like teeth in a slowly turning key.

And so, the fated exams came. The two got up early, the dorm still dim and cool, and Zeke stared confidently at his student with a newfound sense of pride, like a coach measuring the starting gun's echo.

"That's awfully creepy, you know," Fredric retorted.

"What is?" Zeke asked.

"The look you are giving me," Fredric squinted his eyes.

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"I'm just proud of all the hard work you've put in this last week," Zeke retorted. "Like this, I'm sure you'll at least make it in the top 70 percent."

"Oh, well that's good," Fredric sighed. "By the way. What spot are you aiming for?" He asked.

"Number 1," Zeke's expression suddenly became cold and stoic.

"Are you serious?! Didn't you miss most of the year?" Fredric shouted.

"Dead, serious," Zeke explained. "I've been first ever since I entered the academy. And I don't plan on giving my place to anyone else." He explained.

"Wait!" Fredric made an over exaggerated expression of terror. "Don't tell me you're actually smart."

"Ha, ha, very funny," Zeke replied.

"Funny indeed," Fredric nudged Zeke with his elbow.

"I swear to god," Zeke sighed. "You're so stupid."

"Not anymore, I'm not," Fredric laughed.

They headed out, boots clipping through morning corridors washed in pale light, and reached the academy early. The waiting room before the exam hall thrummed with whispered mnemonics and the dry rustle of pages; wall clocks ticked in calm defiance of the nerves ricocheting off the glass. They sat, backs straight, breaths slow, murmuring to themselves like maniacs —two soldiers polishing their blades on the threshold.

A strange kid with a bowl cut and glasses approached the two, staring confidently at Zeke with great pride. The boy bore the crest of the bud uniform, its insignia gleaming like a challenge pinned to his chest.

"Hello, Zeke," The kid said with a barely noticeable lisp.

"Hi, Ben," Zeke replied, shifting his gaze away from the boy.

"I see you've changed," Ben retorted.

"I'm glad you noticed," Zeke smiled, making eye contact.

"You know," the kid laughed. "While you were away, I took first place during the midterms and I don't plan on giving my stop to you."

"Yes, well, I see where your confidence is coming from." Zeke sighed. "However, I'll have to disappoint you, once I came back I got the permission to take the test at a later date. And the results. Well…" Zeke smiled. "Perfect scores from every single subject." He stared into Ben's eyes. "So when I get my final report card, my midterm placement rank will be number 1, like always."

"Buu-uuut," Ben panicked, stuttering. "You were absent for most of the year. They shouldn't have allowed you to do that."

"Yes, well, I had special circumstances," Zeke explained.

"Tha-a-at-t- tha-t's not fair!" Ben shouted, stuttering even more.

"Hey, Zeke. Who is this clown?" Fredric asked.

"Clown?!" Ben shouted, visibly appalled by Fredric's rudeness.

"Let me introduce you," Zeke sighed. "Fredric, that little twerp standing next to you is Babel Academy's very own second best student of all time. I have so far beaten every single score record ever set. Well this kid, would also beat the same record, albeit his is lower than mine," Zeke explained.

"Ben," Zeke gestured. "This is Fredric. A knight in training and a contractor in the bloom course. The two of us trained together as honorary knights."

"I-iit-it it's nice to m-m-m-meet you," Ben extended his hand.

"Yeah, I'm not touching that," Fredric said. "I don't know when it's last been washed."

"Ff-f-fine," Ben stuttered in response.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure, lenses flashing with the hall's sterile light.

"Zeke!" He called out.

"What is it?" Zeke sighed, visibly embarrassed.

"This will be a duel to remember. I hope you're ready," Ben confidently remarked, before waking away.

"Don't get your hopes up," Zeke sighed. "You're gonna lose," he emotionlessly shouted into the distance.

Fredric started laughing, the sound bouncing off glass and tile.

"What was that guy about," Fredric wondered.

"He's a little weird. But you gotta understand. Studying is all he has, all he can do." Zeke explained. "To guys like him, that's the only thing that matters."

"Hits home doesn't it?" Fredric asked with a compassionate look.

"Yeah," Zeke looked at the ground. "What I went through. I'm sure Ben is still going through it. And whereas I still put in effort into developing my physique. He considers it but a waste of time. It's strange you know, even though I changed I somehow still feel a certain sense of kinship with the kid."

"There's nothing strange about that," Fredric smiled. "I think it's a good thing. It keeps you grounded."

The exams started and continued for a week. Every day, the students had an exam; proctors drifted like ghosts, and the scrape of pens became the weather of the room. For Fredric, who still had some catching up to do, it meant having two exams a day. However, thanks to rigorously studying with Zeke, he somehow found the questions clean, the traps visible—his mind clicking through steps like cards shuffling to a perfect cut.

And so a week passed. Students gathered at the ranking board in a tight crescent, all waiting for the results to be announced; the hall smelled of toner and nerves, and the glassy face of the display held a hundred reflected hopes in brief suspension.

"How do you think you did?" Zeke asked.

"Surprisingly pretty good," Fredric remarked.

"What about you?" he asked.

"I got every answer," Zeke retorted. "You know, at first, I thought about throwing the exam just to help Ben feel a little better. But then I thought how would that make me feel if I was him. I'd feel horrible if I found out that he did that to me out of pity." He explained.

"I think you made the correct choice." Fredric smiled warmly and caringly.

Suddenly, the board lit up. At the very top, written with golden letters, Zeke's name remained untouched. Right below it, written in silver letters, was Ben's. And below that, written in bronze letters, was Fredric's.

"What?" Fredric stared blankly at the screen, unable to comprehend what happened.

"Congratulations!" Zeke smiled, wrapping his hand around Fredric's shoulder.

"How did I?" Fredric mumbled, unable to comprehend the situation.

"You didn't think I was tutoring you to be mediocre, did you?" Zeke said, looking a Fredric, as his joyful laugh slowly echoed through the hall.

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