"Next!" The cafeteria worker waved her large ladle, motioning for me to move along the line. I stared at the tray in front of me, my stomach twisting with disappointment.
A bean soup and a single rice ball. That's it. My jaw tightened in disbelief. What the actual fuck?
I turned toward Grace, who was eyeing her tray with equal disgust. She shook her head, her face a mix of frustration and disbelief.
"Do they seriously expect us to eat this?" Grace slammed her spoon into the unappetizing dish, making the rice ball tremble slightly.
Just then, Vivian entered, her sharp eyes scanning the room. "There you are. You two shouldn't be here," she said, signaling for us to follow her. I hesitated for a moment, watching as a couple of boys stepped up with their trays, looking equally resigned to the miserable meal.
As we left the hall, Vivian explained, "This hall is for the low grade."
No wonder. The moment I walked in, I'd been hit with the unpleasant smell of something stale—like a mix of old vegetables and boiled beans left out too long. The cafeteria itself was tiny, with only one serving station manned by a single, overworked woman. The walls were bare, cracked, and yellowing, and the tables were a mess of scratches and peeling paint. The dim lighting did nothing to hide the dreariness of the place, nor the looks of despair on the faces of the recruits, who were being served meager portions of bland food. The bean soup looked more like watery mush, and the rice ball? It might as well have been made of glue for how appetizing it looked.
The whole place felt depressing, like a punishment in itself.
Vivian led us to another building—a far cry from where we'd just been. The second cafeteria was large and modern, buzzing with life. Bright lights illuminated the spacious hall, and there was a line of sleek self-serve machines where recruits placed their orders digitally. You could hear the soft hum of conversation, the clinking of dishes, and the smell of freshly cooked food filled the air—savory, rich, and full of flavor.
Unlike the previous hall, this one had waiters—about four of them—delivering food to tables. There was a wide variety of dishes available, from grilled meats and steamed vegetables to rice bowls and fresh salads. The cafeteria was packed with recruits, most of them serving themselves when their order number was called out. The seating was comfortable, and the room had a warmth to it—a sense of relief after the bleakness of the first hall. This place, with its clean floors, polished tables, and friendly staff, looked like it belonged to an entirely different world.
We found a seat on the first floor, next to a group of about six people sitting in a circular arrangement. Mixed genders, all chatting casually. Vivian and the two girls went off to place our orders, leaving Grace and me behind.
A towering figure with neatly trimmed hair approached, smiling down at me. "So, you're the little girl who didn't want to leave Vivian's side?"
I hesitated, blinking at him as I tried to place the familiar face.
"Forgot about me already?" His smile widened as he leaned back casually. "Philip Falcon. Vivian's older brother."
"Philip... the introvert?" My eyes widened as recognition hit. My mouth dropped open in surprise. I'd only seen him twice before he left to study abroad. Growing up, he had always kept to himself, barely talking to anyone, earning him that title.
"Yep, that's right," he laughed, nodding to the two boys beside him. "These are Joel and Finn. They're both in the advanced stages."
"Advanced stages?" Grace repeated, clearly confused.
Philip chuckled, reaching for a bottle of water. "Oh right, you two haven't had an orientation yet. I guess I'll fill you in." He took a sip before explaining, "Here in Royale, before you graduate, you have to go through four stages. First is the novice stage, which is where you two are now. Once you complete it, you take a test and, if you pass, you're granted stars that show you've advanced to the intermediate stage. Then there's the advanced stage, and finally, the expert stage. Once you earn your expert stars, you can graduate. If you want to work right away, the institute helps place you."
"You mean we get to choose where to work?" I asked, intrigued.
He smirked, shaking his head. "Not you. We branch members live to serve the main branch, so we get assigned to different sections owned by the Family."
I groaned internally, slumping back in my seat as I spotted Vivian returning, followed by two girls carrying trays of delicious-looking food. I glanced at the vibrant dishes, but all I could think about was the tangled web of obligations I was getting pulled into. I really don't want to get involved in all this.
"W"What's the topic?" Vivian asks as she settles down beside me, handing me a dish of French fries topped with chili sauce. Her smile is casual, but there's a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Hope you still like spicy food?"
"You still know me," I smile, grabbing the dish eagerly. The familiar tangy, fiery smell of the chili sauce sends a nostalgic warmth through me.
"I was just telling them about the advancement process," Philip says as he sips from his coffee, his tone casual but informative.
Vivian chuckles softly, shaking her head. "Good luck with that. You've already been marked with the responsibility of advancing them to the intermediate level."
"What do you mean? Did something happen with Mr. Luther?" Joel asks, as he carefully cracks open a lobster shell for Vivian. Their fluid movements and shared food hinted at a deeper bond, a natural intimacy between them.
Vivian sighs. "They gave some weird introduction about boy types," she explains, and suddenly, all eyes are on us, their faces amused and disbelieving.
"What? Isn't that how things are done here?" I interject, trying to explain, but my words are drowned out by their sudden burst of laughter.
"That guy was just pranking you, and you followed along!" Vivian wipes away a tear from laughing too hard. "That was your 'boy type' speech," she giggles, pulling out her phone and showing a recording of the whole debacle. The others leaned in, laughing even harder.
"When did you even record this?" I groan, snatching her phone to stop the embarrassment from spreading any further.
"You make such a cute couple with Gary!" Philip teases with a playful smirk.
"Mmmh! Look how the poor boy gazes at you, all romantic-like!" Paige, who's seated beside Philip, joins in, and their laughter echoes through the cafeteria.
"I swear, I'm going to get back at that guy!" I grumble, stuffing a handful of fries into my mouth to distract myself from the embarrassment as they continue laughing.
But amidst the joking, Philip's expression turns serious. "Listen, you really should be careful when dealing with the instructors. They hold a lot of power over you here," he warns, his voice taking on a sterner tone.
"I wasn't even... He's just... Ugh!" I huff, clearly flustered as I try to shove the embarrassment away.
"Mr. Luther is actually a pretty easygoing guy…" Philip starts to say, but Joel cuts him off with a knowing smirk.
"You only say that because you're his favorite," Joel quips, then turns to me, his tone more serious now. "In Royale, the highest level isn't the expert rank but the professional level. And Luther Marking is one of the toughest. He's an expert with over thirty years of experience. The guy's a no-nonsense, tough-as-nails instructor, and he's expelled more recruits than you'd believe. Some he cuts off through official paperwork; others, he makes sure they're blacklisted in the bodyguard profession altogether. He has physically broken others to keep them away"
My stomach tightens at the weight of his words. Philip had mentioned Mr. Luther in passing, but Joel's explanation put things into a far grimmer perspective. This wasn't just some stern taskmaster – this man could ruin careers with a flick of his pen.
"Then there's another full professional here," Joel continues, leaning forward as if the mention of the name needed a quieter tone. "Martin Plading. He's the hand-to-hand combat expert, with five military badges to his name. You'll meet him in your hand-to-hand classes soon enough. He's brutal, and his advancement quizzes are infamous for being the toughest in the academy. And trust me, he doesn't care who you are or where you come from. In fact, he despises anyone with family connections or influence. He'll make things even harder for you if he thinks you've had an easy ride."
I swallow hard, trying to imagine what kind of man could gain such a fearsome reputation. "And then?" I ask, unable to help myself.
Joel's expression darkens as he continues. "Then there's Madam Lucy Grant. She's… something else entirely. Think of a machine disguised as a woman. Her specialty is self-defense, but don't let that fool you. She's got no mercy. If she finds you lacking in any way, she won't hesitate to push you to the breaking point. Some even say she's worse than the rest—if she decides you're weak, you're done. And she's in charge of the rookie girls, so you'll be seeing her often. She's tall, sharp-eyed, and looks like she could break you in half without batting an eyelid."
I wince at the image forming in my mind. Lucy Grant sounds like a nightmare dressed in combat boots.
"And lastly, there's Billy Blue," Joel says, his voice dropping even lower, as if the mere mention of the name carried a weight no one wanted to disturb. "He's the one who tests your mental strength. You know what I mean by that?"
"Torture," Grace whispers tensely, and Joel nods solemnly.
"That's right. His exams are legendary for how brutal they are, and he uses us recruits like lab rats, testing out all sorts of psychological games. Four recruits are already being treated for mental breakdowns. He's... just messed up. The worst of the lot. Forget about the rest – if you see Billy Blue coming, run. Just run."
I glance at Grace, her face pale, reflecting exactly how I feel. The gravity of what we'd signed up for was starting to settle in, and the thought of dealing with these instructors—each one more terrifying than the last—made the spicy fries in front of me taste a little less appetizing.
"Well, Mr. Luther is logical at least," Philip tries to add, though it's hardly a comfort now.
"You guys should quit it, you are scaring the girls," Vivian says
—----------
"This time advancement Test will be a group hand to hand combat!" Miss Grant says sternly