Perched atop the roof, Oliver gazed at the dawn's early light, his expression unreadable as the sun breached the horizon. His attempts at escape had all been thwarted; whether caught clambering over the wall or halted at the main gate, freedom seemed a distant dream. If only he hadn't possessed the underground drainage blueprints of the city, he might have already vanished into the sewers below.
Below him, his teacher, responsible for rounding up the students, looked up with an amused smile.
"You're up early, young man," his teacher called out, his voice carrying a hint of jest.
"And you as well, teacher," Oliver replied, managing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
After their brief exchange, Oliver lingered behind as the teacher gathered the others, strategically positioning himself at the back of the group. Despite the apparent casualness of the morning, the air was thick with unspoken truths, escaping this place wasn't about a lack of desire but about the impossibility of finding a valid excuse.
In this school, every conceivable reason to leave was countered with a solution. Wounded? A cadre of healers was at your beck and call. Sleepless? Dream-weavers promised rest. Homesick? A call home was just a request away. Even external troubles were swiftly handled by the school's intervention.
Not that anyone lacked the urge to leave; it was just that the school made it nearly impossible to find a reason good enough to be granted leave.
As he contemplated his thwarted plans, a familiar voice broke his train of thought. "Good morning, big brother," came the cheerful greeting, starkly contrasting with Oliver's stoic demeanor.
Rosa Hanson, the principal's granddaughter, had once caught him during one of his earlier escape attempts. That afternoon had turned into an unexpected bonding session, where they shared laughs and lighthearted complaints about the dean. Oliver hadn't known then who she was, and by the next morning, when he discovered her true identity, it had given him a considerable headache.
Standing there, her silver hair shimmering in the morning light and dressed in oddly light attire, she smiled at him. "Good morning."
Oliver pointed at her unconventional outfit, puzzled, then suddenly remembered their last encounter, that uncomfortable moment when they were interrupted by her grandfather, leading to his prolonged 'recovery' in the infirmary.
With a resigned sigh, Oliver realized that if history were to repeat itself, he'd be wise to concede defeat at the first sign of trouble. After all, some battles were best left unfought.
"Okay, this is it, let's go in," announced the class leader, his voice echoing a mix of resolve and tension.
Around him, the group dispersed, each member moving towards their designated entrance with a mix of trepidation and determination etched on their faces.
At the testing station, the tester stood rigidly, his impassive face giving him the aura of a grim reaper, cold and unyielding as if he'd witnessed centuries of human folly and was now merely waiting for another soul to sever.
Of course, no heads would actually roll today, but the metaphor wasn't lost on those who approached him.
Just as Oliver was mentally rehearsing an excuse to avoid his turn, Rosa burst onto the scene, her arrival causing a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. The tester, spotting her, quickly ushered Oliver to the side. "Rosa is here, come, you test first," he said, a forced smile crinkling his features as he leaned in slightly towards her.
Oliver watched, his expression turning stony as he observed the sudden change in treatment.
"I've already told you, I haven't received a blessing yet, so why must I take the test every year?" Rosa protested, her voice laced with reluctance as she placed her hand on the crystal ball, which, predictably, showed no response.
"Oh, that's the rule," the tester replied, his smile faltering into an awkward chuckle.
As Rosa walked away, Oliver remained rooted in place, pondering. The world might not have another person who couldn't receive a blessing, but perhaps there were those who didn't want one. Could pretending to be one of them offer a way out?
He wasn't incapable of receiving a blessing; he simply didn't desire it. A perfect excuse.
"Teacher, I have a secret," Oliver ventured, catching the teacher's attention despite his evident impatience.
"What?" the teacher demanded, his voice tinged with irritation.
Oliver dove into his fabricated tale. "Here's the thing," he began, his voice steady, "I've never wanted to rely on external forces for glory. My family and neighbors, however, couldn't accept such an idea. I had no choice but to leave my hometown and come here alone."
"When I enrolled, fearing I'd face the same prejudices, I lied." With that, Oliver casually swept his hand across the crystal ball, hoping to lend credence to his story.
His expression remained carefully controlled, betraying no hint of deceit. "There aren't too many flaws in my facial expressions, so it should work," he affirmed internally, knowing well the price he might pay for his words.
-----
The competition venue itself was a colossal arena, enveloped by towering audience seats that loomed over the central battleground where contestants faced off. The air buzzed with anticipation, each participant acutely aware of the trials that lay ahead on that open ground.
The arena buzzed with anticipation as the announcer's voice boomed through the speakers, "First match! Oliver Queen versus William White! Both contestants, please enter!" The crowd's murmurs hushed as all eyes fixed on the stage, signaling the start of the competition without further ado.
Oliver stood poised, knowing his first opponent's ability, though strong in controlling creatures, it worked only on those weaker than herself. Her prowess, as it turned out, was rather modest; she had only ever managed to manipulate sparrows.
In this bizarre game, losing could attract more attention than winning, given the peculiarities of their powers.
A figure with jet-black hair, William, made her way onto the stage. Oliver and his opponent positioned themselves at opposite ends, with the referee standing solemnly between them.
"Repeat the rules," the referee commanded with authority. "If the wooden target is knocked down or the competitor loses the ability to resist, it's a defeat. Surrendering by removing your own target is also a loss. No attacks after a surrender are permitted! Now, declare your duel oath!"
Both contestants locked eyes, their expressions a mix of resolve and nerves as they recited the familiar words, "No matter life or death, only victory or defeat!"
The match commenced. Oliver, with practiced ease, swiftly raised his longbow, nocked an arrow, and drew the string. His opponent, William, barely had time to react before he released the arrow. It sliced through the air, striking her wooden sign with such force that it was ripped from its stand and pinned against the wall at the venue's edge.
"Oliver wins!" declared the referee, his voice cutting through the sudden silence that followed the swift conclusion of the match.
Without indulging in any theatrics, Oliver merely nodded respectfully to William and exited the stage, his demeanor as calm as if he had merely performed a routine practice shot.
The speed and decisiveness of the first match cast a shadow of tension over the subsequent games. The school's students generally displayed moderate abilities, making immediate victories rare.
Privately, Oliver plotted to feign inability in future matches, considering an escape by covertly removing his own sign during a duel. As he schemed, an unexpected chill ran down his spine, an ominous sneeze escaping him, as if foreshadowing the imminent complexities that would test him far beyond the simple mechanics of the competition.