The following afternoon, the estate seemed bathed in a warm, golden light as Leonara and I made our way back to the academy. My mind was consumed with thoughts of the competition, Kieran's unexpected inclusion, and the 17 other contenders. Each step brought me closer to the challenge ahead, but it also brought me closer to a deeper, more unsettling question—the one that lingered in the back of my mind, about my family's legacy.
We arrived at the academy's private meeting room, where Professor Orlando had agreed to mentor me. The room was a picture of luxury, lined with rich mahogany panels and furnished with a mixture of modern Italian designs and classic pieces. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a stunning view of the manicured gardens below, their symmetrical hedges and fountains a reflection of the discipline and order that defined Pleasant Hills Academy.
Professor Orlando stood at the window, his silhouette outlined by the soft afternoon sunlight. He wore a perfectly tailored navy suit, his silk tie gleaming as he surveyed the landscape below. His posture, hands clasped behind his back, spoke of deep contemplation—a man who lived and breathed strategy.
When we entered, he turned to face me, his sharp eyes meeting mine with the authority of someone who had seen countless students pass through the academy's halls. "Seraphine," he began, his voice low and controlled, "this competition isn't just about who's the smartest or the most charismatic. It's about reading the room, predicting your opponents' moves before they even make them."
I nodded, taking a seat in the luxurious velvet chair opposite him. The chair's softness contrasted with the firm resolve building inside me. Leonara sat beside me, her notebook already open, her pen poised to capture every detail.
Professor Orlando moved to his desk, pulling out several thick folders. The leather-bound covers were embossed with the academy's crest, gleaming in gold. He set them down before me. "I've gathered reports on past competitions—what worked, what didn't, and how certain contenders were able to gain an edge. I want you to study these, but more importantly, I want you to think about how you'll stand out."
He slid one of the folders across the desk. "Your family's legacy gives you a certain advantage, but it also places a target on your back. You need to be aware of that."
I flipped open the first folder, glancing at the breakdowns of strategies used by previous winners. The competition was a mental chess game, one that required careful planning, precision, and the ability to anticipate your opponents' every move. It was clear that this wasn't just a test of intellect—it was a test of character, a test of who could remain composed when everything was on the line.
Professor Orlando's gaze softened slightly, his voice steady and encouraging. "I'll help guide you, Seraphine. You have the intelligence and the leadership qualities to win this, but the other contenders will be watching your every move. Trust your instincts, but also remember—this isn't just about you. This is about your family, your legacy."
Later that day, after Professor Orlando had left and Leonara had gone to finish some last-minute preparations, I found myself lingering in the academy's vast library. The scent of old books filled the air, their leather-bound spines lined up like sentinels along the tall, oak shelves. This place had always been a refuge for me, a quiet sanctuary where I could retreat from the weight of expectations.
I wandered through the aisles, my fingers lightly brushing over the spines of ancient tomes, each one filled with the history of the academy and the families who had passed through its halls. My thoughts drifted back to what Professor Orlando had said—about my family's legacy, and the target it placed on my back. But what did it really mean? What was the full weight of the Monte Riego name?
As I rounded a corner, I nearly bumped into Professor Felix Esteban, one of the elder professors who had been at the academy for as long as anyone could remember. His wiry frame was wrapped in a long tweed coat, and his sharp eyes sparkled with an intelligence that belied his age.
"Ah, Miss Monte Riego," he said, his voice gravelly but warm. "I was wondering when we might cross paths. I've been keeping an eye on your progress, you know."
I smiled politely, though something about his gaze made me feel as though he knew more about me than I did about myself. "It's a pleasure, Professor Esteban. I've been preparing for the competition, and it's… overwhelming at times."
He nodded slowly, leaning on his cane as he gestured for me to walk with him through the library. "Yes, the competition is no small matter. But for you, it's more than just a challenge of skill. You come from a long line of Monte Riegos who have faced this competition before. And every single one of them won."
His words hit me like a jolt. I had always known my family was successful, but the fact that every Monte Riego before me had won the competition—it was something I hadn't fully grasped until now.
"You see," Professor Esteban continued, his voice lowering conspiratorially, "your family's legacy isn't just built on wealth and power. The Monte Riegos have always risen above because they understand something that the other families don't."
I stopped walking, my curiosity piqued. "What do you mean, Professor? What did they understand?"
He looked at me for a long moment, as though weighing how much to say. "Your family has always had a unique connection to the academy, and to this competition. The Monte Riegos don't just win because they're smart or capable. They win because they know how to leverage what others cannot see."
I furrowed my brow, unsure of what he meant. "Leverage what, exactly?"
He gave me a small, knowing smile. "The weight of history, my dear. The power of legacy. The Monte Riegos are more than just a name—they are a force. The competition has always been more than just an intellectual exercise. It's a test of who can carry that legacy forward."
Before I could press him further, he patted my shoulder gently. "You'll see, in time. Just trust that your family's legacy will guide you. You are exactly where you are meant to be."
He turned and walked slowly away, the soft shuffle of his cane tapping against the floor echoing in the vastness of the library. I stood there for a moment, his words lingering in my mind. The weight of my family's legacy—it was heavier than I'd realized. But it wasn't just about the competition.
As I turned to leave, something caught my eye. Nestled among the towering bookshelves, just out of sight, was a slim, ancient-looking book, its leather cover cracked with age. Drawn to it, I reached out and pulled it free, the spine creaking softly as I opened it.
My heart raced as I flipped through the first few pages. The handwriting was delicate and familiar—my grandmother's. But it was what was hidden between the pages that sent a chill down my spine.
A letter.
I unfolded it slowly, my breath catching as I read the first few lines. It was addressed to my grandmother—but the signature at the bottom was unmistakable.
It was Royswald.