Classes began the next morning. Kael's schedule appeared on his student tablet at six AM: Combat Theory, Strategic Analysis, Corporate Warfare, Physical Conditioning, and Clan History. Five classes designed to shape heirs into rulers.
The Shadow dormitory stirred to life around him. Students in ranks fifty through one hundred shared this building—nice enough to avoid humiliation, plain enough to remind them they hadn't reached the top. Kael dressed in the academy's standard uniform: black pants, gray shirt, and the Shadow tier badge on his collar.
Marcus knocked on his door at six-thirty. "Ready for the academic torture?"
"As I'll ever be."
They walked together toward the main academic building. Other students moved in visible groups based on rank clusters. The top fifty walked with confidence. The bottom hundred walked with heads down. The middle—where Kael positioned himself—walked with determination.
Combat Theory met in a lecture hall that could seat two hundred. Professor Elena Cross stood at the front, her silver hair severe in the morning light. Students filed in, automatically separating by rank. Apex students took front seats. Shadows filled the middle. The lowest ranks crowded the back.
Kael chose a seat in the middle-left section, neither hiding nor prominent.
"Combat is not about strength," Professor Cross began without preamble. "It's about understanding. Understanding your opponent's weaknesses. Understanding your own limitations. Understanding the terrain, the weapons, the stakes."
She activated a holographic display showing two fighters. "Watch."
The fighters engaged in brutal combat. One was stronger, faster, clearly superior. But the weaker fighter won by exploiting a single mistake—an overextended punch that left the stronger fighter vulnerable for half a second.
"Power means nothing without control," Professor Cross said. "Speed means nothing without timing. You're here to learn control and timing. Everything else is just muscle."
The lecture continued for ninety minutes. Kael absorbed information while watching the other students. Most took notes frantically. Some looked bored—legacy students who'd been training since childhood. A few, like Aria Blackthorn sitting three rows ahead, listened with focused intensity.
Strategic Analysis came next, taught by Professor Vance—a thin man with calculating eyes. "Strategy is applied intelligence. You will learn to see three moves ahead, five moves ahead, and ten moves ahead. You will learn that every action creates ripples."
He presented a scenario: a corporate takeover attempt with multiple parties involved. "You have one week to submit a complete strategic analysis. Include all stakeholders, predict all outcomes, and recommend an optimal approach. Work alone. Cheating results in an immediate rank drop of fifty positions."
Kael's mind was already working through the scenario. It reminded him of actual operations he'd studied—complex, multi-layered, no perfect solution. This would be easy.
Lunch came at noon. The dining hall was less crowded than during trials—many students ate in their dormitories or private spaces. Kael grabbed food and found Marcus at their usual table with Sarah and Min.
"Combat Theory was brutal," Min was saying. "Professor Cross expects us to memorize seventy-three fighting styles by next week."
"Could be worse," Marcus said. "Could be Clan History. That class is just propaganda about how the five families saved civilization."
Kael's attention sharpened. "Who teaches Clan History?"
"Professor Thorn. The headmaster himself." Marcus grimaced. "He only teaches that one class, and it's mandatory for all students. Some kind of tradition."
*Perfect. Access to Thorn, a legitimate reason to be in his presence.*
"When does it meet?" Kael asked casually.
"Fridays. Two-hour session in the Grand Hall. You'll love it—two hours of listening to how the Morrisons, Blackthorns, Steeles, Vales, and Chens are basically gods walking among mortals."
Sarah snorted. "My favorite part is how they gloss over the Resource Wars. 'The five families restored order'—translation: they murdered anyone who opposed them and seized control of global supply chains."
Kael filed that away. The Resource Wars had happened thirty years ago, right when his father would have been coming of age. He'd need to research what role his father played, what he might have known.
The afternoon brought Physical Conditioning—three hours of brutal exercise designed to push students to their limits. The instructor, a former military officer named Sergeant Hayes, ran them through obstacle courses, strength training, and endurance drills.
Kael performed solidly in the middle of the pack. Not struggling like some scholarship students, not excelling like the Apex tier. Just competent, unremarkable, forgettable.
But he noticed Raven Steele watching him during the rope climb. She finished first, as expected, then stood at the top watching others. When Kael reached the summit—fifth to finish—she nodded slightly, like confirming a suspicion.
*She's still measuring me. Trying to figure out what I'm hiding.*
Classes ended at five PM. Most students headed to their dormitories or the training facilities. Kael needed to scout the restricted north wing, but doing it immediately would be suspicious.
Instead, he went to the library—a massive building filled with both physical books and digital archives. The perfect place to research while establishing a pattern of normal behavior.
The library was quiet, populated by serious students and a few faculty members. Kael found a terminal in a corner section and began researching the Resource Wars, looking for any mention of his father.
The official academy records were sanitized. The wars were presented as necessary actions to prevent global collapse. The five families had stepped in when governments failed, establishing order through strength and wisdom.
But between the lines, Kael could read the truth. The families had orchestrated the collapse, manufactured the crisis, then positioned themselves as saviors. Classic strategy—create the problem, provide the solution, consolidate power.
His father's name appeared in several reports. Michael Morrison, Victor's younger brother, had apparently opposed the family's methods. There were references to "disagreements about operational ethics" and "concerns about civilian impact."
*He tried to stop them. That's why they killed him.*
Kael's hands tightened on the terminal edge. His father had been the conscience that the Morrison family couldn't tolerate. So they eliminated him and took his son's inheritance.
"Heavy reading for your first week."
Kael turned to find Aria Blackthorn standing behind him, looking at his screen. Up close, she was striking—sharp features, intelligent eyes, carrying herself with absolute confidence.
"Just trying to understand the history," Kael said carefully.
"The official history." Aria pulled up a chair without asking. "The real history is more complicated."
"How would you know?"
"Because my parents died during the aftermath of those wars. The official story says a lab accident. Reality..." She trailed off, studying Kael with those calculating eyes. "Reality is probably more complicated."
Kael said nothing, letting silence fill the space between them.
"You're different," Aria continued. "Most scholarship students spend the first week trying to make friends with legacy kids, hoping connections will help them climb. You avoid attention. You placed yourself deliberately at Rank 89—I watched your fights. You could have beaten Raven Steele if you'd wanted to."
"That's a bold assumption."
"Is it?" Aria leaned forward. "You moved like someone with military training during the strategy trial. You fought like someone holding back during combat trials. And now you're researching Resource Wars on your first free evening instead of socializing. So I'll ask directly—what are you really doing here?"
Kael met her gaze steadily. "Learning. Same as everyone else."
"Liar." But she said it without heat, almost with respect. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But understand something—I notice people who don't fit patterns. And you don't fit any pattern I recognize."
She stood to leave, then paused. "One more thing. Be careful around Raven Steele. She's asking questions about you too. And she's better at getting answers than I am."
Aria walked away, leaving Kael alone with racing thoughts.
Two days at the academy and he already had two of the most dangerous students watching him. This was spiraling faster than planned.
He deleted his search history and left the library, emerging into early evening. The academy grounds were beautiful in twilight—carefully maintained gardens, elegant architecture, the appearance of civilized learning.
All of it was built on blood and lies.
Kael's encrypted phone buzzed once. A message from his master: *Thorn teaches Fridays. That's your access point. Be patient.*
Patience. Always patience.
But every day he waited was another day his parents' killers walked free.
Kael returned to his dormitory, already planning Friday's class, already thinking three moves ahead.
The ghost was learning to navigate the living world.
And the living world was starting to notice the ghost.