I stood at a vantage point, watching the sea of first-years funnel toward Lady Margaret, a professor of elemental magic whose presence commanded the room. My jaw tightened as I watched the ceremony unfold. It wasn't just the tradition I loathed; it was the mandatory burden of it all. Third-year was hard enough without being tethered to a mentee. I sighed, running a hand through my hair, already feeling the weight of the year ahead.
Then, the name cut through the noise.
"Michael James Skywalker. You will be mentoring Vivian Seraphina Ainsworth."
I groaned internally, the sound caught in my throat.
"Now, all first-years, please find your mentors. Have a productive day!" Lady Margaret's voice dismissed the crowd, and the Great Hall instantly dissolved into a chaos of chatter.
I waded through the mass of students, searching for my assignment. I wish I was mentoring a boy, I thought. They're easier to handle. In my experience, girls could be a distraction. Some were slow learners in magic and combat, and others just hated the idea of defending themselves. They always had some excuse—not wanting to break a nail, bruise their faces, see blood, or mess up their hair.
"Hi," a voice interrupted my thoughts. "Are you Skywalker?"
The tone was clipped, dripping with a lack of interest. I turned to find her—tall, with dark, defiant eyes that practically radiated trouble.
"Rule number one," I said, my voice dropping into a cold, curt command. "You will address me as Senior Michael. Am I clear, first-year?"
She didn't flinch. Instead, she folded her arms, her gaze locking onto mine. "And why the fuck would I call you that, Skywalker?" she asked, batting her eyes with a mocking, sugary sweetness.
"Because I am your mentor and your superior," I countered, stepping into her space. "Which means I have the authority to discipline you when you're out of line. I can make your life here effortless, or I can make it a living hell. The choice is yours. Got it?"
"Whatever," she snapped, already pivoting to walk away.
"I'm not finished," I barked. "Until I dismiss you, you don't have my permission to leave."
She whipped back around, her face flushing with genuine anger. "What the fuck is your problem? I've been standing here since dawn on an empty stomach, and I am not interested in your little 'bossy act."
She spun on her heel to leave again, but before she could take a step, I reached out and caught her by the wrist.
I gripped her wrist, preventing her from leaving, but before I could anticipate her next move, she struck. Her fist collided with my face with an unexpected, raw strength that sent me stumbling backward. Stars danced in my vision, and the metallic, copper taste of blood immediately flooded my tongue.
"Rule number one for you, Mr. Skywalker," she hissed, her voice vibrating with rage. "Nobody touches me unless I permit it."
And just like that, she was gone, disappearing into the crowd.
A heavy silence fell over the immediate area as a few students stared, whispering behind their hands.
"I see you've got yourself into some deep shit, man," Kenan said, appearing out of nowhere and draping a heavy arm around my neck. I answered him with a lethal glare.
"Chill out, bro!" he chuckled, unfazed. "Let me handle her for you. But seriously, you've gotta work on that attitude. Not everyone is going to bow down just because you're the most powerful student on campus. You're flame, sure—but she's a volcano, and—"
"Shut up!" I barked, shoving his arm off. "I can handle my own mentee. Why don't you go worry about yours?"
I didn't wait for a reply. I walked out on him, my ego bruised far worse than my jaw.
"Piece of crap!" I muttered under my breath, the sting of the punch still radiating through my skull.
I stood on the training field, the morning air crisp and new, waiting for Vivian to make an appearance. All around me, other third-years seemed to be getting along with their mentees. I sighed. Where the hell was she?
The moment I turned, she was there, standing directly in front of me as if she'd materialized from the mist.
A fixed scowl occupied her face, but it was her appearance that stopped me cold. Her wrist was marked by a fresh, angry burn, and dried blood tracked down from her nose. A few dark strands of hair had escaped her ponytail, framing a face that looked like it had already been through a war.
"Did you get into a fight?" I asked, my voice like ice.
"My affairs are none of your business," she bit out, her eyes flashing.
I took a slow, deep breath, counting to three. I could feel my own temper thrumming under my skin, but I forced it down. "Look, Vivian. I know some people here can be incredibly annoying. But you're a first-year. Don't start making enemies you can't handle."
She didn't argue; she just rolled her eyes, the gesture dripping with dismissive arrogance.
I swallowed a groan and sighed. This girl was going to be a monumental pain in the ass. I pulled out my notepad and pen, flipping to a clean page. "Okay. I need a few details about you. I want the truth. No games."
She gave a curt nod, her expression unreadable.
"Which realm do you hail from?" I asked.
Her frown deepened, a shadow crossing her features before she answered slowly. "The... Witch Realm."
"How old are you?" I asked, scribbling the note down.
"Seventeen," she said her voice clipped.
I raised an eyebrow, unable to help myself. "Seventeen? Just seventeen?"
"Yes!" she snapped, her irritation visibly mounting.
I suppressed a smirk, leaning back slightly. "Just a baby."
"I am not a baby," she fumed, her eyes sparking with a dangerous light.
I only laughed, the sound echoing across the training field.
Driven by a flash of pure rage, Vivian swung a fist aimed directly at my jaw, but this time I was ready. Her knuckles collided with the shimmering, invisible shield I had materialized a split second before impact.
She groaned in pain as the recoil vibrated through her arm, her knees buckling until she hit the ground.
"I figured you'd try that again," I said calmly, looking down at her. "Rule number two, first-year: Never punch your mentor."