Chapter 53 Handed Him His Ass in a Sling

Chapter 53 Handed Him His Ass in a Sling
The atmosphere in the McFarland Wing was a world apart from the cold, vaulted ceilings of the Great Hall. Around the mahogany table, the group leaned in, their voices low and urgent as they filled Leo in on the morning’s coup.
Franklin described the line of Dorset students, their faces pale with the fear of being cast out, and the way the McFarland seal had turned that fear into a weapon of defense. Echo explained the legal "Shield" they’d built—a wall of red tape so thick the Academy’s lawyers would be hacking at it for months.
As they talked, Leo’s hand was resting on the table, still slightly tense from the whispers in the cafeteria. Without a second thought, Franklin reached out and covered Leo’s hand with his own. It was a natural, grounded gesture, performed with a steady confidence that didn't care who was watching. There was no judgment at this table. In the quiet intimacy of the Wing, they weren't just a committee or a group of students; they had officially become a family.
When the trays were cleared, the reality of the school day returned.
"I’ll see you after your last class," Franklin said softly to Leo, his eyes lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary.
Leo nodded, a bright, resilient smile on his face. "I'll be back as soon as the bell rings." He gathered his books and headed out, walking through the propped-open door with a sense of purpose that made the "scholarship kid" label feel like a badge of honor.
The quartet—Echo, Dean, Willow, and Franklin—settled back into their workstations. But the peace lasted exactly ten minutes.
Mr. Henderson, the Academy’s head Bursar, stormed into the room. He was a man who lived by ledgers and late fees, and currently, he was clutching a stack of the cream-colored McFarland parchments like they were live grenades.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Henderson bellowed, his face a shade of purple that rivaled a bruised plum. He slammed the stack of papers onto the table, right in front of Echo. "My office has been besieged all morning! These... these ridiculous pieces of paper are being thrown at my clerks by every Dorset delinquent on the quad!"
Echo didn't blink. She didn't even stand up. She slowly looked down at the papers, then back up at Henderson with a "Macaroni" coldness that could have frozen the tea in his veins.
"Those aren't 'pieces of paper,' Mr. Henderson," Echo said, her voice dangerously quiet. "Those are legal guarantees backed by the McFarland Estate. If your clerks find them confusing, I suggest they read the section regarding the immediate injunctions we’ve filed with the regional court."
Franklin stood up then, his height and the sudden, sharp "Dorset" intensity in his eyes making the Bursar take a involuntary step back. "The Dorset students are under our protection. Any further attempt to harass them or bar them from their dorms will be considered a breach of the McFarland-Academy charter."
Dean leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, his "Sterling" silence acting as a physical weight in the room. Willow stood by the filing cabinet, her eyes narrowed, no longer the "Jello" of the group, but a sentinel.
"You can't just bypass the Board of Regents!" Henderson spluttered, though his voice had lost its thunder.
"We didn't bypass them," Puck chimed in from the corner, tossing a golden seal-stamper in the air and catching it. "We just outpaced them. And unless you want the McFarland legal team auditing your entire department by dinner time, I’d suggest you go back and start filing those waivers."
The Bursar looked at the four of them—this united front of legacies and townies—and realized he wasn't looking at students. He was looking at the new management.
The rest of the afternoon felt like a victory lap. Mr. Henderson had beat a hasty retreat, his dignity trailing behind him like a tattered cape, and the word had spread. A few more scholarship students trickled in—hesitant at first, but leaving with their heads held high and a McFarland-sealed "shield" in their hands.
By the time the final bell echoed across the quad, the Oversight Office didn't look like a boardroom anymore; it looked like a celebration. They had bypassed the dining hall entirely, opting to order a mountain of greasy burgers and salty fries from the village. The room smelled of fast food, triumph, and the lingering scent of Miri’s peppermint enchantments.
The heavy oak door pushed open, and Leo stepped in, blinking at the sight of the chaos. He set his heavy leather bag down by the door, his hair slightly windblown from the walk across the quad.
"Hey... what’s going on in here?" Leo asked, looking from the pile of fry cartons to the wide, triumphant grins on everyone’s faces. "I could hear the music from the hallway."
Franklin didn't even wait for him to finish the question. He stood up, his face radiant with a joy that had been buried under the Dorset name for far too long. "Leo! You should have seen it. Mr. Henderson stormed in here like he was going to dismantle the entire wing by himself."
"Wait, wait," Leo laughed, holding up his hands. "Who are you talking about? The Head Bursar? That Henderson?"
In an uncharacteristic burst of pure, unbridled energy, Franklin didn't just answer him. He crossed the room in three strides, grabbed Leo by the waist, and literally lifted him off his feet. Before Leo could even gasp, Franklin planted a massive, exuberant kiss right on his lips.
When he finally set a stunned, scarlet-faced Leo back down, Franklin let out a loud, genuine laugh that echoed off the rafters.
"He came in here all high and mighty, demanding to know why we were 'vandalizing' his office with McFarland parchment," Franklin explained, his eyes dancing. "And Echo? She didn't even bat an eyelash. She just sat there, cool and collected, and basically handed him his ass in a sling before he could even finish a sentence."