Logan Laurenz Astra-Feilds' POV
If I had known the chaos a piece of paper could cause, I would've stayed in bed.
The hallway buzzed with tension—students crowding bulletin boards, stretching on tiptoes, shoving slightly to see their names. Some cheered. Some cried. I simply glanced once.
Class S. No surprise.
But for everyone else? It was a whole event.
"Class A-3?! That's the music section, right?"
"I got A-2—YES! I heard that's right under the elite class."
"Wait… There's a D class?"
Some stared in disbelief at their placements. Others clutched their chests like they'd been betrayed. I slipped through the noise, heading to the end of the hall where the black and silver door waited.
Class S. Sleek. Isolated. There were only seven of us.
The room was pristine. Seven seats, spaced apart like council thrones. Each one had a name glowing faintly above it. I found mine:
Logan Laurenz Astra-Feilds. Rank 2.
I sat down, ignoring the chair's unnerving comfort.
Robin wandered in a moment later. "Yo," he said, flicking his bangs. "Private throne room, huh?"
I gave a quiet hum as a greeting.
Soon after came Kyle, quiet as usual. Nicole bounced in with humming energy, followed by Alexandra, who gave me a small nod before taking her seat. Andrew strode in like he owned the place. Nika followed—loud footsteps and louder presence.
"Seriously? Rank 3? I want a recount," she huffed.
Andrew raised an eyebrow. "You're lucky you weren't bumped to Rank 5."
"I beat you in five sports. Five. And you're only president because you overachieved in academics like a robot."
"Incorrect," he said. "I also don't whine."
Nika hissed. "One day, I will dethrone you."
"Good luck surviving math class."
The bickering only stopped when our homeroom teacher walked in—Mr. Aeon Kaelstrum, sharp-suited, presence like winter air.
"Class S," he said. "Congratulations. Or condolences. You are the top seven, and from now on, your path splits from the rest. All lessons will be handled separately. All projects are individual. You are to rely on yourselves only."
No one spoke. The silence tasted heavy.
"Dismissed. Review your schedules and prepare for joint lectures with Class A-1 and B-1. You may leave."
---
Joint Class – History with A-1 and B-1
The room was massive, combining three classes at once. We sat in the back row—our golden rank tags catching stares.
Ashlyn sat in A-1, two rows down. She glanced back once and offered a small smile when our eyes met. I gave a subtle nod. She always had that grounded aura, like she didn't care about rankings or attention.
Professor Alden's voice boomed. He explained the academy's history—once a training school for political heirs, now an elite institution for leaders in every field. I tuned most of it out, flipping pages quietly, my eyes skimming while I memorized the key points.
I could still feel the whispers.
"Is that Logan Laurenz Astra-Feilds?"
"He's Rank 2, right? He looks…intense."
"He's the son of that General Astra…"
Robin passed me a note mid-lecture.
Still breathing?
I didn't reply.
---
Lucky 7 – First Meeting
We were called to a special chamber on the top floor. The "Lucky 7 Office." Polished marble, private windows, rank plaques on each seat.
> President – Andrew Lucas Denverson (Rank 1)
Vice President – Logan Laurenz Astra-Feilds (Rank 2)
Strategy Officer – Nika Louise Denverson (Rank 3)
Field Coordinator – Robin Akihiro Hikami (Rank 4)
Welfare Head – Nicole Anne Quizon (Rank 5)
Security Officer – Alexandra Rose Grace (Rank 6)
Headmaster-in-Training – Kyle Rembrandt Cruz (Rank 7)
Nika stood with arms crossed. "Rank 3. Still not over it."
Andrew didn't look up from his tablet. "Then train harder."
"I am stronger than you."
"I'm smarter. And cleaner."
"Oh, please. I can run circles around you."
"And yet here you are, circling Rank 3."
Robin snorted. Nicole was already snacking. Alexandra sat quietly. Kyle sighed into his chair like he hadn't slept since last year.
I sat and opened my notebook, pretending the arguing wasn't giving me a headache already.
We were called Lucky 7. But luck had nothing to do with it.