After the surprising and inexplicable announcement of the director, he proceeded to name the representatives of the second and third year. He also said a few more things, but, honestly, my attention had already gone on vacation. Soon, we were dismissed, and me? Well, I found myself lying on the couch in my dormitory, watching one of those vampire movies.
There I was, with an expression of someone who doesn't have a single worry in the world. "Look how these vampires sparkle in the sun," I commented out loud, an ironic smile on my lips. "Revolutionary. Not cliché at all."
Let's face the facts: I was trying to drown my anxiety in any distraction, a desperate attempt to forget that I was chosen to represent the first year. Yes, that's right, me.
"What the hell…" I muttered, more annoyed than a cat in a bath. Oh, but come on, I'm smarter than that. Being chosen as the first year representative? It wasn't because of my 'great' deeds, for sure.
Thinking about it, as a proud class G student, being chosen is like winning the lottery without buying the ticket. But then, things get interesting. I remembered a line that I wrote, almost in a burst of inspiration: "The director, cunning as a fox, suspects the presence of demons and spies disguised as students, but has no way of pointing the finger."
So, there I was, posing as a thinker, fingers on my chin, eyes closed: "If everything I scribbled became real, the reason for choosing me is clear as crystal."
My creative mind was already setting up the scene, comic book style: "The director, with a suspicious look, must think that I am one of those spies or demons. Without proof, he throws me into the spotlight, thinking he will corner me.
"And I have to tip my hat to the director," I thought, with a touch of reluctant admiration. "If the intention was to corner me, he played his cards masterfully."
The idea of refusing to participate crossed my mind more than once. But, between us, I would need one of those excuses, worthy of an Oscar, to escape this trap.
For most students, being chosen to represent their year was like winning the lottery. If I simply said "No, thank you", I would probably only confirm the director's suspicions. "Ah, this boy must be a spy indeed."
I let out one of those sighs that could inflate a party balloon. "Congratulations, Dean, you just won a VIP ticket to the 'Circus of Problems'." I murmured, almost able to hear the circus music playing in the background.
Of one thing I was sure: the next day could be a watershed, with potential for both positive twists and unpredictable disasters. "Yeah, the game is just beginning…" I thought, feeling a strange mix of expectation and caution.
---
Next Day in Arca…
"Good morning, citizens of Arca! I'm Angeline Fernandez, bringing you the hottest news of this morning." Angeline's lively voice spread through the streets of Arca, a metropolis with a stunning visual, mixing cyberpunk style with cutting-edge technology.
"The streets today pulsed with a special energy, as it is the day of the long-awaited Pentagon festival, where the young promises of our city will shine." On the sidewalks, pedestrians stopped, their eyes fixed on the huge digital billboards that adorned the skyscrapers. The vibrant images captured the attention of everyone, from workers on their way to the office to young people excited about the event.
Then, the image of Sam Solomons took over the screens. "Here is the highlight of the day: Sam Solomons, the first year prodigy who appears once every thousand years. Today, he will face veterans in a breathtaking exhibition." A murmur of excitement ran through the crowd, with some fans already holding posters and wearing shirts with Sam's image.
"But we can't forget the big surprise of this year: Dean Carleone, a class G student, chosen as one of the first year representatives." The expressions were mixed; some showed curiosity, while others shook their heads, doubtful.
"The opinion on the internet is relentless, with many believing that anyone else would be a better representative. But, after all, if the director chose him, maybe Dean Carleone has something special that is yet to be revealed." Angeline's words left a palpable expectation in the air, as Arca prepared for a day that promised to be full of surprises and emotions.
---
In the middle of a super relaxed podcast, that was rolling live for more than 1.2 million listeners, four guys exchanged ideas with a contagious excitement. "Dude, this year the game changed, right? There's a lot of stronger people. Like, these young stars - Sam, Diana, Ellie, Chloe and Blake - are prodigies of another level, you know? A group like that appears what, once per century?"
On the other side of the table, one of them nodded, super agreeing: "Yeah, the freshmen of this year are showing a vibe that we haven't seen in a long time. It's almost magical, you know? I'm betting high that they will be the top heroes of the future, especially Sam."
"Ah, and seriously, the fight today will be insane! We will be here, watching, broadcasting and commenting everything. The most awaited fight of the festival, no doubt, is Sam against Luke. The number 1 of their years. Sam rocking in the first year and Luke, the ace of the third. It will catch fire!"
---
Walking through the decorated corridor of the Pentagon Academy dormitory, Chloe and Diana exchanged conversations full of intentions. "So, are you planning to recruit the cream of the crop of the students for your father's guild?" Diana asked the question with a keen look.
Chloe smiled, a cunning gleam in her eyes. "Oh, yes. In fact, you are at the top of my list. Sam too," she replied, with a touch of strategy in her voice.
Diana shook her head, a little apprehensive. "I appreciate the offer, but I have to decline. My goal is to get stronger and go back to England, serve my country." Her voice sounded determined, loaded with a sense of duty.
Chloe looked at Diana with a mix of admiration and understanding. "So patriotic…" she thought, watching her friend. "It's okay, I kind of expected that," Chloe said, keeping her voice light.
Diana, now with an expression of curiosity, looked around the corridor and asked: "Okay, but where are we going now? Who are we going to get?"
Chloe sketched a mysterious smile and answered, with a cunning gleam in her eyes: "We're going to get Blake."
---
On the Pentagon Academy Campus…
The day at the Pentagon Academy was special, the open doors invited a vibrant atmosphere. The campus, usually quiet, was now buzzing with activity, with visitors from all corners. A lively group of drummers chanted a catchy rhythm, adding a festive energy to the environment.
The campus alleys were adorned with colorful flags, and each corner seemed to have its own little celebration. Students and visitors mingled, sharing the excitement of the event that was approaching.
Meanwhile, Dean, with his usual casual posture, was in front of one of the several food stalls that lined the patio. "What do we have here?" He asked, curious, observing an exotic dish being served.
The man behind the stall, with a stained apron and a welcoming smile, replied proudly: "Ah, young man, this here is dragon meat skewer. They are famous for their invigorating properties, great for mana and strength recovery."
Dean raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Dragon meat, huh?" He murmured, his gaze sliding over the unusual delicacies that could only be found in a place like the Pentagon Academy.
Dean watched with interest the exotic skewer being grilled. "I'll try one of those," he declared, with a touch of curiosity in his voice.
"Ah, hohoho! A customer with good taste!" exclaimed the man, with a warm laugh. Skillfully, he picked up a golden skewer with juicy pieces of dragon meat and handed it to Dean.
As Dean bit the skewer, he asked: "How much do I owe?" He savored the meat, surprised. "Wow, this is really good…"
"This one is on the house, my young man," replied the man, with a generous smile. "Enjoy the festival!"
"Ah, thanks!" Dean murmured, with his mouth still full, a smile of satisfaction forming on his face.
The man waved friendly and soon turned to serve another customer, leaving Dean with his special skewer.
Savoring every bite, he walked away, thinking: "This is pretty good, despite the exotic texture."
Dean took a bite of the skewer, tasting the famous dragon meat for the first time. His eyes widened in surprise. "Wow, dragon meat! Who would have thought my first exotic meal in this world would be so... interesting?" he thought, chewing with the expression of someone who just discovered a new favorite dish. "And here I was thinking food was just burgers and fries..."
His culinary reflection was abruptly interrupted when his gaze landed on a man in a suit, standing out in the crowd. With a posture as natural as a penguin in the desert, the man seemed like a caricature of a secret agent, the kind Dean had only seen in low-budget spy movies.
The man stared at him with a cold and calculating look, but, in a trick worthy of a children's party magician, disappeared among the people.
With a forced calmness, Dean turned around, finding the same man right behind him, standing with a seriousness that bordered on the comic. "Seriously? This 'now you see me, now you don't' number is what's in fashion among spies these days?" Dean thought, struggling not to laugh.
"Did the high court send you, the Ghost Brothers, to watch me?" Dean asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm, almost drowned out by the lively buzz of the crowd.
The man replied with the same coldness of an old movie robot: "You are taking too long, Mr. Carleone."
Dean, still savoring his dragon meat skewer, looked up and saw three more figures in suits emerging from the crowd. "It looks like the Men in Black Club decided to have a convention right here," he thought, an ironic smile forming on his lips.
"They are assassins and I know them very well…" he concluded, but his heart was more of amusement than fear. "Great, I came to a festival and ended up in a spy movie. I just need to find out the script of this secret mission."
Facing the men in suits with an air of someone who faces an intriguing puzzle, Dean asked with a false innocence: "So, what is the mission today, guys? Save the world or just ruin my meal?"
The leader of the group took a step forward, maintaining a seriousness that bordered on the ridiculous. "We are here to ensure that you fulfill your mission. They are direct orders," he replied, with a voice that tried to be intimidating.
Dean let out a theatrical sigh, still chewing. "Ah, always these mysterious orders. Could you at least give me a hint? I'm eating dragon meat here, a little consideration would be nice." His gaze passed from one man to another, as if he were evaluating whether they were part of some elaborate prank.
The assassins, dressed in their dark suits, were dumbfounded by Dean's words. They exchanged confused looks, all thinking simultaneously: "Is this kid an idiot?"
As one of the men approached stealthily from behind, ready to grab Dean by the shoulder, he suddenly found himself grabbing nothing. Dean had disappeared, disappearing into the crowd.
The men in suits watched Dean disappear into the crowd with a neutral expression, with no sign of surprise. They looked at each other, recognizing the trick that Dean had used - a maneuver that they themselves mastered perfectly.
One of them, with a slight ironic smile, murmured: "This kid uses the same tricks as us. Interesting."
Almost like a cat and mouse game, Dean suddenly reappeared behind one of the men. With a calm voice, but loaded with sarcasm, he said: "You know, you should be more careful. It's so easy to lose your head in this crowd." He smiled, almost as if he was having fun with his own joke.
The men turned to face him, keeping a professional composure. One of them, the apparent leader, replied with a cold smile: "It seems that Mr. Carleone has some interesting skills. But remember, we are not here to play."
Dean returned the smile, keeping the tone of mockery. "Oh, what a pity. And I was just starting to have fun."
The leader, with a calculated smile, raised his hand and, in an almost theatrical gesture, the other men quickly disappeared into the crowd, like smoke in the wind.
"You have until sunset to take care of Alice del Ferraro," said the man, bowing in an almost mocking reverence. "Enjoy the festival, Mr. Carleone." And with the same subtlety with which he had arrived, he dissolved among the people, leaving Dean alone with his new dilemma.
Dean kept his confident expression, although his thoughts were spinning a thousand. As soon as the men disappeared, he began to walk casually with the crowd, but his mind was far from there.
"So I was right… Lucky me to be someone who thinks fast," Dean pondered. "Kill Alice del Ferraro, huh? Things just went up a level."
---
Alice del Ferraro was not just any student. She was an important character for the plot and for Sam, a bond that strengthened after Sam saved her from an assassination attempt at the Pentagon Academy itself. A target like her would not be just another name on a list; this had profound and complicated implications.
As Dean moved skillfully through the crowd, his mind was wrapped in a whirlwind of thoughts about the sudden change in events: "As I remember as an author, the attempt on Alice del Ferraro's life was scheduled for later, by the middle of the year. Now, not only was it brought forward, but it seems that I was cast to be the protagonist of this plot."
Dean sighed, feeling the weight of the situation. "To be honest, I'm in a cold. It was bad enough to find out that I'm a pawn of the high court, but this? This complicates everything."
He pondered over the Ghost Brothers, elite assassins who, although they were not high-ranking figures in the high court, were feared and respected for their lethal efficiency. "Were they sent here to eliminate me for taking too long? Or maybe to drag me back to the high court and force my hand against Alice?"
Dean questioned himself, the uncertainty bothering him. "Regardless of what happens, if I am responsible for Alice del Ferraro's death - not that I plan to do that, after all, I am not an insensitive monster - this can change Sam's entire trajectory. If he never meets Alice, a crucial arc of the story can be completely erased."
With a distant look, Dean continued to blend in with the crowd, now aware of the delicate and dangerous chess game he was in.