It had been a few days since the Fry Shack Incident™ — Tanaka's name for it, which, to Roy's dismay, had somehow caught on.
The memory of that night lingered: Annie's bold intrusion, Kieran's deadpan horror, Tanaka's tragic poems, and Roy's ongoing battle with an uncooperative straw. Somehow, despite the chaos, they'd all started to feel... tethered.
That made what came next sting a little more.
"Will the following students report to the Headmaster's Office immediately: Roy Shyam. Daniel Hudson. Kevin Morgan. Bicky Backy. Crush Hush, Kieran Branagon. Boat Choc and Tanaka Ewu."
The announcement echoed through the halls during homeroom. Every head in the room turned.
Roy looked up from his notebook. Kieran was already closing his book. Tanaka blinked like he'd been yanked out of a dream.
Roy muttered, "I didn't do anything."
Kieran raised a brow. "Neither did I."
Tanaka sighed. "Then why did we get called then?
The Headmaster's Office sat like a fossilised monument at the edge of campus — all stone arches and stained glass older than most nations. A secretary greeted them with a curt nod and waved them in.
Inside, Headmaster Elrin sat behind a massive oak desk, flanked by a military officer in a dark mantle. The room smelt like incense and disappointment.
"You eight", Elrin said without looking up, "have been entered into the preliminary trials of the Tournament of Richt."
"You'll represent this academy on the regional stage," the officer added. "Your applications were received and processed. Clean records. Proper documentation."
Kieran's expression turned to stone. "Sir, we didn't submit anything."
Tanaka opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "I don't even know what the trials are."
The officer tapped his clipboard. "Submitted two weeks ago. All signatures match school records."
Roy stared ahead blankly and thought to himself. "That son of a—"
The headmaster cut him off. "It's too late to withdraw. Your entry is official. Backing out would forfeit the school's eligibility — and your scholarships since Roy and Kieran are on one."
Kieran stepped forward, tone even. "Sir, with respect—"
Elrin raised a hand. "You've been given an opportunity. Use it wisely."
They were dismissed.
Even though they were the big age of college and 19 years old, they still had to wear a uniform and listen to a grown-up; that's just sad.
Outside, the afternoon sun hit them like a slap. The three walked in silence until they reached the edge of the training field.
Brock Branagon was waiting, arms crossed, grinning like he'd just won a bet with the gods.
Roy stopped cold. "You."
Brock tilted his head. "Me."
Kieran narrowed his eyes. "What did you do?"
Brock gestured innocently. "I may have accidentally entered you all into the tournament."
Tanaka stumbled. "What?!"
"You said you wanted to be legends," Brock continued. "This is step one. And before you get dramatic, I made sure everything was legal — I had old footage, student logs, even fake parent signatures ready just in case."
Roy just stared. "That's not how law works, and I have never said that."
"I was going to tell you after the announcement," Brock said, shrugging. "Surprise ruined. "Oh well."
"You forged official tournament applications," Kieran said, his voice flat.
"Forged is such a heavy word," Brock replied. "I prefer 'creative advocacy'."
Roy rubbed his temples. "Why?"
Brock's grin faded just slightly. "Because I know what all of you are worth. And I'm sick of watching you pretend you don't."
The silence that followed was heavier than expected.
Roy met his gaze. "Right, if we die, it's on you."
Brock smirked. "You won't."
Then he turned and walked off, hands in his pockets like he hadn't just flipped all their futures upside down.
Tanaka muttered, "That man's going to get us all killed."
Kieran nodded. "But we'll look amazing doing it."
Roy said nothing.
Then Tanaka brings up, "Do you want to get drinks?"
Roy and Kieran shrugged and headed to the local bar with Tanaka.
The Tournament of Richt is a prestigious, globally recognised competition held every year, where participants from around the world gather to prove their strength. The winner is granted a single wish — anything they desire, without exception or restriction. This could be wealth, power, status, or even access to forbidden knowledge.
But beyond the prize itself, the tournament is widely seen as the ultimate symbol of one's power and capability. Simply participating — let alone advancing — is enough to elevate one's reputation. Many use it as a launchpad to join elite groups or military factions or even the Celestial Watch. Victories are often listed on résumés and can fast-track someone into positions of authority across political or magical institutions.
At its core, the Tournament of Richt isn't just about ambition — it's a battleground for legacy.