Three days.
That's how long we had before a bunch of old geezers in golden robes came to decide whether Class C was a fluke, a threat, or just a glitch in their carefully curated little system.
Naturally, I decided to weaponize the chaos.
"Alright, brats," I said, standing at the front of the training hall, "since we're getting inspected like diseased livestock, I thought we'd lean into it."
Mira raised an eyebrow. "You want us to act diseased?"
"No," I said, pointing at the rune board behind me, "I want you to look just competent enough to scare them, but not enough to get promoted."
Julien looked baffled. "Wait, wouldn't a promotion be good?"
"Julien," I said, walking over and patting him on the shoulder like a disappointed uncle, "if we get promoted, we start playing with the big boys. The ones who have political backing, family crests, and backup plans involving assassins. You want to survive? Stay underestimated."
